Chapter 9
The following day the party arrived at Reims where the Duke had planned that they would stop for a few days to allow everyone to rest. There was a sizeable garrison of the Garde du Corps du Roi in the town and Guay had orders to fully brief the Commanding Officer. He was carrying dispatches but in addition, he had been ordered to tell his superior officer everything that had happened in Alsace so that a similar investigation to that which had been carried out at Chateau Hainaut could be carried out in Reims also. He was already in possession of the names of three or four newly recruited Guards whose background or reported behaviour had made them suspect.
In the end, they remained in the city for nearly two weeks. At the end of the second day of their sojourn the Duke received a request from a Captain Benoit, the garrison Commander to whom Guay had been ordered to report, that he attend the garrison headquarters as a matter of some urgency. On arrival, he presented himself and was immediately conducted by a menial to the office of the Captain who rose and walked to meet his visitor.
“Your Grace, thank you for coming so quickly.” He spoke impeccable English. “I am afraid I have bad news, Sergeant Guay has been injured.” Benoit explained that Guay had volunteered to assist in questioning the Guards whose loyalty to the King had been questioned. In respect of the first two individuals on the list, the suspicions had proved to be utterly groundless. Each soldier had a record of poor behaviour but it was obvious that this was linked to immaturity and youthful high spirits. Their loyalty was unquestionable. Earlier that day he had been sent, together with a Lieutenant from the Garrison to speak the third individual on the list. Before he could even introduce himself, the Guardsman drew a sabre and slashed viciously at the sergeant with it. The Lieutenant had drawn his weapon just in time and had managed to deflect some of the force of the blow but nonetheless Guay had sustained an injury to his upper arm. He would not be able to travel for at least a week.
The Duke’s immediate concern was for Guay but Benoit reassured him that although the cut was deep and there had been some bleeding it was nonetheless a clean wound. Sergeant Guay was with the surgeon who took a very hopeful view for a quick return to duty. Thus reassured, the Duke said they would await Guay’s recovery before setting out for Amiens.
The Captain had yet more news. The Lieutenant had attacked the traitor and, after a brief but determined battle in which he had himself sustained an injury he had succeeded in dealing a blow which the Captain said would almost certainly amount to a fatal injury. The man had rapidly fallen unconscious but not before he revealed that he had been warned that the “English Duke” was on his way escorted by a detachment of Kings Guardsmen and that on arrival there would be an investigation. Benoit said that he had already sent an urgent message to the garrison Commanders in Metz, whereat Guay had reported a few days previously, and in Strasbourg that there was a traitor at one, or possibly both, of these locations.
But Benoit had a further concern. If his arrival at Reims had been expected, then might it not be the case that an assault on either him or upon his party was planned? The Duke considered this seriously, he had pledged his word to Viscount Borden that he would escort his niece safely to England and clearly therefore her safety was a matter of grave concern especially in view of this disquieting news. After a few moments’ thought he asked the Captain;
“Can you think of any reason that we would be attacked? We have no part in the dispute between the King and those who would prefer a republic, and the conference is now over. Hainaut sought to use his capture of Miss Leighton to force her uncle to assist him. That plan relied on the only people being aware of Miss Leighton’s capture being Hainaut and the Viscount and of course Miss Leighton herself.” The Duke continued, thinking aloud. “If it had become generally known that the Viscount had been compromised he would have simply been sent home. If we are captured or killed now, I cannot see how this would advance the republican cause at all. Your government would commence an immediate inquiry and the government of my country would not change its policy of support for the King. Indeed, taking a direct action against an English Duke and the English lady travelling under his protection might even be considered an act of war. Surely the last thing the republicans would want would be a pledge of military support from His Majesty from King George?”
“You are of course right Your Grace,” accepted Benoit whose expression had relaxed considerably as the Duke spoke. “Attacking you now would appear to be, from their perspective, entirely counterproductive. Nonetheless I think while you remain in Reims it will be clear, to everyone, that you do so as a guest of the King.” When the Duke protested, Benoit continued with a charming if self-deprecating smile. “It will be my honour Your Grace. I suspect my superiors would not be forgiving,” the smile he bestowed upon the Duke at this point indicated that this was a masterly understatement “if any harm were to come to you in my City.”
Captain Benoit’s intervention resulted in a surprising missive being delivered the following morning to the Duke whilst he was still at breakfast with Miss Leighton. The Duke turned over the crisp letter noting that it bore an impressive seal he did not recognise.
“I wonder who could be writing to me here?” The Duke looked at Sarah with a curious expression on his face and, as it was clear that Miss Leighton could shed no light on the mystery, shrugged, broke the seal and started to read; “His Gracious Majesty King Louis XVIII is pleased to invite His Grace the Duke of Sale, together with all members of his party to a reception and ball to be held in his honour at the Palais de Tau on the forthcoming Wednesday evening.” At this Francis, who had been until that moment employed in serving breakfast and was now standing in the background discreetly left the room.
The Duke looked at Miss Leighton with a look of open astonishment. For a moment neither knew quite what to say. Eventually Sarah, whose face had suddenly assumed a most thoughtful expression, broke the silence,
“May I see?” she asked. Without a word, the Duke handed the letter across the table. Having scanned the letter quickly and then re-read it thoughtfully a number of times her expression cleared, “Ah!” she said, “Now I understand.”
“You will have to pardon me,” the Duke replied sardonically, “but what exactly is it, that you now understand.”
“The King is not expected to last out the year. He is in Paris and not well enough to travel. I naturally wondered therefore, how he could invite you to a reception at the Palais De Tau in Reims a hundred miles away from Versailles. This letter gives us the answer, although you would have to know a little more about French politics and the traditions of succession than I suspect you do currently.”
“Pardon my ignorance Ma’am,” Sale replied meekly, “pray enlighten me?”
“It will be my pleasure” responded Miss Leighton primly, although there was a decided twinkle in her eye as she continued, “although the invitation is from the King,” she quickly scanned through the letter, “this letter goes on to say that you will be presented to the Compte D’Artois. Herein lies the clue. The King will not be there and the Compte, as the heir apparent, will stand in for him. By tradition the heir apparent resides at the Palais De Tau until he moves to Paris for the Coronation. This invitation is a tacit statement that the Compte D’Artois will soon be His Majesty Charles X of France. You have afforded the king to kill two birds with one stone.”
“I realise that to someone whose knowledge of matters of state is as broad as yours I may appear to be a simpleton but while I hear your words I still do not understand your meaning.” Sale spread his hands out to emphasise he was all at sea. “Could you try again,” he pleaded, “but please be a little less cryptic.”
“The King needed to demonstrate publicly that you are travelling under his protection but there is another reason for this ball; effectively you have provided the King with an opportunity to endorse the succession.”
“Does this mean I have become enmeshed in politics?” The Duke asked in accents
of foreboding, “Because I have to say, I have little interest in such matters and even less in international diplomacy.”
“Oh well,” said Sarah brightly, “This may be an invitation to a ball, and if it is more than that, it is not often a person is called upon to represent their country at such an important function at such an important time in history. From what I have observed thus far, you will do famously.”
“I thank you for your expression of confidence in my abilities Miss Leighton,” the Duke remarked sardonically, “but I am afraid much of the burden will fall on you.” The Duke assumed an air of innocence. “I shall need you to advise me what to say.”
“But... But... I cannot go,” stammered Sarah, horror struck, as the full import of the Duke’s words went home. “I have never been to any functions like this. I sit in the background to watch and record. I... I would not know how to go on.” She cast around for an excuse to explain why she could not possibly attend a royal ball and suddenly her face cleared as a way out occurred to her, “In any case, I don’t have anything in my wardrobe remotely suitable to wear at court.”
“Liversedge?” The Duke posed the obvious question to his Major Domo who had just unobtrusively entered the Room.
“Yes, Your Grace,” answered Liversedge in his usual ponderous fashion. “On being informed of the contents of this letter by Your Grace’s valet and apprehending that neither Your Grace nor Miss Leighton have anything suitable to wear at court with you, I took the liberty of enquiring of the Maitre D’Hotel whether he could recommend a suitable tailor and dressmaker who might be available to produce suitable apparel at very short notice. As I had expected, he is a resourceful individual, word has been sent and I have been given to understand that these individuals will present themselves here in less than the hour. Since the invitation makes it clear you are here at the express wish, and under the protection, of the King, it seems likely they will exert themselves exceedingly.”
“Liversedge,” asked the Duke in appreciative accents, “are you never at a loss?”
“Very rarely, Your Grace,” came the reply as he bowed himself out.
“Well that is settled then.” Said the Duke smugly. “I trust you have no more objections, Miss Leighton.”
“None at all,” came the timid reply.
It was borne in on the Duke over the next few days that, despite her initial, if reluctant, consent, Miss Leighton had not given up on finding an excuse for avoiding attendance at the reception. Having been measured by the modiste the Duke had commissioned she ventured to suggest that her dress could never be made fitted and finished in only five days. Liversedge, at his most bland, reassured her that the Duke had informed both the Dressmaker and the tailor who was to make his Grace’s clothes, that money was no object and that they could both hire as many staff as they considered necessary to complete the commissions on time. There would, he said, not be the smallest possibility that her dress would not be finished.
Next Miss Leighton suggested that she might not be able to dance well enough for such an occasion. The Duke responded by hiring a dancing master to ensure they did not disgrace themselves. The Duke’s skills in the ballroom had become somewhat rusty of late and Sarah, who had only ever learned a few steps, knew her dancing would leave a great deal to be desired also. Once again Miss Leighton proved her mettle and the Dancing Master gave it as his opinion that Mademoiselle was so light on her feet she would be sought after as a partner and further opined that he had rarely had the privilege of instructing someone with such natural aptitude.
Sarah then argued that, whatever the wording of the invitation, it could not have been the King’s intention to extend it to include her. Sale pointed out that the invitation expressly included his “party.” As the only person who might be supposed to be included in the ‘party’ was her, and the Compte D’Artois knew full well she was travelling under his protection it followed the invitation must include her.
However, it was her Uncle who finally decided the matter. The day before the reception a letter arrived at the hotel, delivered by courier from Viscount Borden who was by now settled in Paris with the ambassador. He explained that, as much as he could have liked to have been there to escort her himself, it was impossible for him to leave Paris at this moment. Nonetheless, in view of the symbolic significance of a ball given by the heir apparent at the Palais De Tau it was important for a representative of the British Government to be present at this reception if only on an unofficial basis. He had written separately to the Duke to beg his assistance (the letter having been delivered by the same courier) but, while he had a great respect for his Grace, there was no denying that he had no knowledge of diplomatic matters. Sarah’s uncle begged her, in the strongest terms, to place her considerable knowledge and experience at the Duke’s disposal. He finished by stating that he knew he could rely on her and that, as no-one who would be at the ball could possibly know her history, she need have no concerns as to the warmth of her reception.
Some ten minutes after she had received her letter the Duke gently knocked on her door and, after being bidden to enter, he looked around the door, his eyes brimming with laughter and waving his own letter.
“Well now are you going to stop ...” he halted as Sarah turned a woebegone and tearstained face in his direction. “Good God,” he said urgently as he strode across the room to her. “Whatever is the matter?”
It was quite a while before Sarah could compose herself. The Duke summoned Martha to her aid and tactfully turned his back while she dried her tears. After a few minutes, he heard a sniff as a nose was defiantly blown and he turned to face her.
“I knew you didn’t want to go.” He began tentatively, smiling down at her with such compassion that she had some difficulty in stopping her tears returning, “But this is much more than a dislike of grand receptions. Please explain it to me?”
“I’m terrified,” came the blunt answer. “I won’t know how to go on. I shall make a fool of myself and of you and people will laugh at me.”
It was obvious the Duke still didn’t understand. While it was a grand occasion and especially since it would involve a formal presentation to the heir to the throne of France, he could see she might reasonably be a little nervous. He could, however, see no justification for her abject terror. This reaction was even more incongruous because Sarah was the most composed and capable female he had ever met, her manners were impeccable and she had little apparent difficulty in conversing with people whatever their station in life. Yet, here she was, apparently terrified at going to a ball. He looked across at Martha seeking an explanation and after a moment’s thought she nodded towards the door indicating they should speak outside the room.
“Your Grace has been attending parties and social occasions all your life.” Martha didn’t waste any time in prevarication, “you know how to behave in such circumstances because you had Lord Lionel and your other relatives to take you and explain how to you how to go on. Miss Sarah has never been to any parties and,” at this point there was an odd inflection in her voice that the Duke noticed but could not place, “she does not have a mother or any other relatives to help her.”
“Wait a minute,” said the Duke interrupting Miss Leighton’s maid, “you said she has never been to a party. But I thought she had been present when the Viscount ...”
“Those were not parties.” Martha interjected gruffly. “There were a few, actually a very few, occasions when the Viscount had male guests at Borden Hall who knew about Miss Sarah’s situation. She sat at the dinner table with them and they discussed politics. After dinner, she retired. She has never danced with anyone except her uncle and her brother. She has never come down for dinner when The Viscount invited any ladies or there were any young men present. She has never gone into any society at all!" By way of emphasis, although by this time it was unnecessary, she added,” Not once! As she has always been told that she never would go into society, she has never even allowed herself to think about what
she would do if she did.”
“And now,” The Duke dropped his head into his hands in exasperation at his own lack of insight, “the first time she does go into society, it is at a state ball in a foreign country as a guest of honour and as a representative of the ambassador with a significant diplomatic responsibility.” Sale groaned loudly. “Belatedly Martha, I now understand. But what do we do? We have to go, to decline would be an insult to the King and his heir.” Martha’s reply surprised him.
“Well, you both go of course.” At Sale’s questioning look she continued, “just because she is frightened to death, does not mean her fear is justified. She will do excellently.”
So it was to be proved. The following morning the modiste, true to her word, delivered Sarah’s court dress. Upon hearing that her creation was to be worn at court by a young lady attending as the guest of the King for her debut and her presentation, she had excelled herself. Such motivation did not only have its root in the possibility of incurring royal displeasure, but she had been quick to see that this represented a commercial opportunity. If she did not see a queue of ladies beating a path to her door when they learned who it was had made mademoiselle’s dress she would be very surprised. Such an opportunity presented itself but infrequently and when it did one grasped it with both hands. She had therefore, exerted herself mightily. The fact that the Duke had paid half of the price before she had even commenced work with a promise of the balance upon delivery only gave her an additional spur.
Scared she might be, but Sarah had the normal reaction of any young woman at the sight of the magnificent creation which the modiste presented to her. She would have been less than human if the prospect of presenting herself in a stunning outfit had held no appeal. It did much to steady her nerves. A further letter from her uncle explaining some of the issues which might be discussed during the evening also helped. Upon reading it she realised that there was nothing she could not have anticipated and, in any event, she knew that on political matters at least, she was on home ground. As she read on she realised that this was not a briefing letter, rather an aide memoire to remind her some of the issues she might have forgotten. There were no explanations of what she should say or to whom she should say it. There were no warnings who she should avoid and who she should cultivate. Her uncle knew, and by his omission he was telling her he knew, that she did not require such guidance. The letter was therefore an implicit statement that he had every confidence that she could carry the thing off. As she had, on many occasions, heard him animadvert caustically upon the inability of some of the paid officials at the foreign office to grasp even the basic foundations of diplomacy, it was clear to her that her uncle had no reservations as to her performance.
The party was due to leave the Hotel at about six o’clock to ensure they would arrive in time for dinner at the Palais at half past seven. Sarah was nearly ready when Véronique came into the room.
“Ohhhhhh Mademoiselle,” she breathed upon catching sight of her mistress in all her finery. “Vous êtes tres, tres, belle.” As she continued to gaze in wonder it became apparent that she had completely forgotten the purpose for which she had entered her mistress’ room. She was recalled to the present by a cough from Martha who was somewhat irritated that her mistress should be interrupted at such a moment. In confusion, and with profuse apologies, Véronique passed over a small parcel she had been holding hidden in the folds of her skirt.
The parcel bore her uncle’s handwriting. It had been addressed to the Duke with a request that it should be given to Miss Leighton shortly before they left for the Palais De Tau. Hesitantly Sarah opened the parcel. It contained a small box and a letter. She opened the letter first.
My Dearest Niece,
I know you will do well tonight but, as it is your debut, please remember to enjoy yourself as well.
I asked his Grace to give you this box tonight so that you may wear the contents. They belonged to my mother and would, had I married, been passed to my bride. I have decided that they should now come to you.
Your uncle
The box when opened revealed a superb diamond set including circlet, necklace and bracelet.
“Ohhhhh Mademoiselle” repeated Véronique as Martha retrieved the box from Miss Leighton’s suddenly trembling hand and commenced placing the Circlet in her hair.
“You may leave Véronique” said Martha severely as she stood back to observe her handiwork. When the door had closed behind the reluctantly departing French girl Martha said in a passable imitation of Véronique’s girlish voice, “Ohhhhhhh Mademoiselle.” Both ladies then collapsed into a tension releasing fit of giggles.
Miss Leighton came downstairs some half an hour later. The Duke was gazing out of the window deep in thought and did not hear her entry.
“Will I do?” she asked softly
The Duke spun around and Sarah was gratified to note that her appearance had much the same effect upon her escort for the evening as it had upon Véronique. His jaw dropped and for a moment he was stunned into silence as he gazed on the vision in embroidered white silk before him. From the top of her head, adorned with the Viscount’s diamond circlet, to the tip of the vivid green train over her robe, the Duke thought she embodied perfection. She looked taller and more stately, and it was hard to imagine that this was the same lady who was becoming so proficient with the foils.
“Madam,” the Duke achieved, after a lengthy delay in which he was apparently incapable of speech, “I am not sure I know who you are, but whoever you may be, I am honoured.” As he bowed over Sarah’s hand with a flourish he became aware that his throat had become very dry, “I shall be the envy of every man present tonight.”
Sarah, no more impervious to such attention than any other member of her sex, merely smiled, dropped a slight curtsey and allowed herself to be escorted out of the room.
They travelled to the Palais de Tau in the richly decorated carriage the Compte D’Artois had sent for them and other than the odd inconsequential remark, little was said. Each appeared to be lost in their own thoughts. However, as the carriage swept underneath the huge stone arch which formed the entrance to the courtyard Sarah leaned across and grasped Sale’s hand.
“Thank you,” she said. “Whatever happens tonight, and afterwards, Thank you.”
Before the Duke could reply, the carriage door was flung open and the line of liveried footmen awaiting their arrival beside the door indicated where they should go.
When they entered the reception room a minute or so later it was clear most of the dinner guests had already arrived. No crowd, however large, could mask the splendour of the Palais, for centuries the home of the Archbishops of Reims. It was, perhaps, not quite as large or sumptuous as the Palais De Versailles, but the Duke thought it in much better taste. He was still gazing around the room trying to take in the splendour of the place when he heard a chuckle from behind him.
“I see you like my second home Your Grace?” Turning abruptly Sale saw that he was being observed by a richly dressed man who had a decided look of amusement on his face. “I hope, when I succeed to the shoes currently so competently occupied by my brother, people will concentrate on me and not on the decorations.”
“Your highness,” Sale bowed deeply noting that Miss Leighton had curtseyed gracefully and to the proper depth. “If all your palaces are as magnificent as this one, you may indeed find your visitors somewhat distracted.” He straightened, “may I present Miss Leighton to your Highness. She is the niece of Viscount Borden who is currently with the King in Paris. I am escorting her home.”
Like every other man present the Compte wore a long frock coat over a waistcoat and the breeches which were now standard evening dress for men, the excess of the previous century with its exotic wigs and bright colours now having been consigned to trunks and chests in the attics and storage rooms across Europe. It was therefore, much more difficult to distinguish rank simply by looking at the clothes a person wore. However, this man would have stood
out in any crowd. He was a tall man with a stately bearing which proclaimed his belief in his right to rule. Although, to the casual observer, his dress was similar to the raiment of every other gentleman present, to the initiated, the richness of the cloth and quality of the cut, proclaimed access to the best tailors in France. No expense had been spared. If further evidence of the Compte’s royal rank were required it would be found in the profusion of orders, French and foreign, displayed upon his breast and the blue sash across his shoulder.
“Ah yes, Miss Leighton,” the Compte D’Artois turned to the Duke’s companion bowing slightly in acknowledgement. “When one hears from such discriminating friends and relatives as the Duc De Savois, the Duc D’Angoulême and the British Ambassador, Viscount Granville, that there is a Lady who assists and advises Viscount Borden on matters of diplomacy, one is of course curious. International politics do not usually interest the fair sex. When one learns that this Lady’s advice is inevitably sound, her questions relevant and to the point and her understanding second to none one is consumed with a desire to meet this lady. When one does so and discovers,” his highness gazed appreciatively at Sarah and smiled broadly, “that the lady in question is ravissante, one is driven to demand the first Waltz.”
D’Artois was well known as a flirt but the thought of the Compte who was already sixty-seven years old, a little overweight and dependent upon a cane, performing the Waltz, almost overset Sarah’s composure.
“Your highness has put me in a very difficult position,” Sarah confidentially informed the Compte struggling to keep her expression under control. “His Grace of Sale” she indicated her escort, “has already claimed the first Waltz. Although you take precedence, and, if you insist, he will have to yield, he will not like it and as I am travelling back to my home under his protection I would be reluctant to offend him.” She leaned forward slightly, “Your Highness may not have heard” she whispered theatrically “the Duke of Sale has a volatile temper and he could make life very difficult for me in England. I must choose therefore between refusing you on the one hand, which clearly, I cannot do, and living in fear that his Grace will not forgive me. I beg you will not make me choose."
His Highness was used to young ladies who were tongue tied in his presence or who simpered at the compliments he gave. This confident sally therefore took him aback for a moment, but as he had been briefed that the Duke’s defining characteristic amongst his set was his mild manners, courteous disposition and complete lack of temper, he roared with laughter.
“It would be wrong of me to expose you to the Ducal foul temper,” he said thoughtfully once he had stopped laughing. “You shall however walk with me to dinner which, I observe is about to be served.”
The Duke and Miss Leighton were seated next to each other at the King’s table but as it was apparent that the Compte D’Artois was much interested in what was happening in London, Sale had to explain that he had been travelling for three years and was very much out of date. Miss Leighton on the other hand was but lately come from England and would no doubt be able to answer any questions his Highness might have.
The Compte had maintained a home in South Audley Street where he had lived with his Mistress for nine years, returning only briefly to France and then again after the defeat of Napoleon at the restoration of his brother to the throne. Although he had not gone into society a great deal or spent time cultivating allies his prolonged sojourn in London meant that he had some familiarity with English affairs. He did not altogether believe the reports he had received relating to Miss Leighton’s abilities, none of the ladies of his acquaintance had the slightest interest in politics, but a chance remark relating to the relationship between His Majesty King George and the British Parliament caused him to rapidly revise that view. Before long the Compte’s countenance bore an expression of dawning respect. Half an hour later, during a lull in the conversation he turned to his friend Jules De Polignac and, shielding his face with his hand he muttered that the English Mademoiselle was extremely well informed.
His Highness still fervently believed in the absolute and divine right of Kings at a time when other Monarchs across Europe were relinquishing more and more of their power to their Parliaments. Although his brother had co-operated easily with the French Parliament he did not intend, upon his succession to the throne, that parliament would tell him what to do.
“I received a communication from my brother this morning,” the Compte advanced confidentially in an attempt to draw Miss Leighton out further. “He is gratified by the assurance given to him, by your government, of Britain’s continuing support. He tells me that your ambassador has told him that the last thing your government wants to see is a republic in France.” His Highness looked politely at Miss Leighton.
“I am sure,” Miss Leighton took up the offered opening, “that His Majesty King George, and his Prime Minister are of one mind in hoping, when the time comes, that the Chamber of Deputies will support your succession and thereafter that your Highness and your Highness’ government will be able to work together as well as has been the case with your brother.”
“Indeed!” came the slightly thoughtful response, “I see no reason why it should not be so.” The remainder of the sumptuous banquet was occupied by small talk but when an hour later, the Ladies withdrew, the Compte turned to his friend, “De Polingac,” he asked, “did you hear the comment from the so shrewd Miss Leighton?”
“I did your Highness,” he paused as if choosing his words very carefully, “If I understood her correctly and if, as I suspect, she hinted as to the British position, their support at the time of your succession is dependent upon your Highness working with parliament.”
The Comte D’Artois did not reply immediately but turned and looked speculatively as footmen closed the door through which the ladies had left.
“I think, my friend,” he said slowly “that for a few months, at least until my position is established, it might be politic if we give the impression that parliament and I can work together in harmony.” He turned and saw that the Duke of Sale was standing a few yards away engaged in polite conversation with an elderly Marquise. “Your Grace,” he called in a louder voice, “your Miss Leighton is an interesting Lady, her knowledge of politics would be impressive at her age, even were she a man.”
“Regrettably, your Highness,” Sale replied with emphasis, “she is not my Miss Leighton although I stand considerably in her debt. My acquaintance with her is of very recent duration. Following the unfortunate contretemps involving Monsieur Hainaut she was of great assistance in nursing me back to health. This would of course have been sufficient for me to lend what assistance I could. There is however, another circumstance of which you will not be aware. Miss Leighton’s uncle, Viscount Borden, is my uncle’s oldest friend. When the Viscount told me that Miss Leighton required protection on the Journey back to England you will of course understand that I felt constrained to offer my assistance. But you are right, she is a remarkable woman, but for her bravery we may never have discovered that the King’s enemies were trying to infiltrate the Garde du Corps du Roi.”
In the drawing room Miss Leighton found herself the centre of attention. This was a novel experience more particularly because she was exclusively in feminine company. Hitherto, what limited social interaction she had experienced had been in small groups of men and she rapidly discovered that fending off questions from ladies was a much more challenging exercise than conversing with her Uncle’s friends. Women, she discovered, were much shrewder, especially when it came to picking up on small clues and were a great deal more difficult to avoid or distract. She was fielding, with some difficulty, a succession of questions about the Duke of Sale and her relationship with him. Did she not think he was very attractive? Yes, she supposed he was. Was he married? She believed he was a widower. Was he wealthy? She understood that he had considerable estates. How long had she known him? A few weeks. How was it she was travelling under his protection? Her uncle had reque
sted him to escort her to England. Was her uncle trying to promote a match between them? She did not think so. Would she accept if he offered her marriage?
It was just as well for Miss Leighton that the conversation moved on at this point to the latest on dits from Paris as she was starting to feel her back against the wall. While it was novel to be the centre of attention, and there was a certain feminine satisfaction in knowing that one was the object of speculation, it could become a little wearing to be constantly on one’s guard.
She became drawn into a conversation regarding the difficulty one lady was having in persuading her husband, who had decided to remove his entire family to Vienna for the forthcoming season, not to do so.
“We shall not go of course,” said the lady comfortably, “my dear husband has not yet discovered he does not really want to go yet.” Sarah thought this statement incomprehensible but apparently the other ladies understood perfectly.
“Why not?” enquired a lady, barely keeping a straight face.
“Because I haven’t told him yet!” came the blunt reply. “I love my husband dearly but he does need to be managed.”
“Very true,” remarked another “my husband also likes to think he makes the decisions in our home.” An unmarried girl who had been paying rapt attention to this conversation enquired timidly if this Lady’s husband did not make the decisions then who did? “Oh,” she replied gaily “of course my husband makes all the decisions; he just doesn’t know that first they were my decisions.”
Sarah was just contemplating the thought that these ladies were all apparently managing their husband’s lives without those same husbands being aware of it, when she was surprised to be addressed in English,
“Hello my dear,” she turned to find herself staring into the face of a lady, standing some ten feet away from her who she judged to be a few years older than herself. That this lady was of some importance was immediately obvious as everyone else around her stood back to allow the speaker to approach, “I am Marie Charlotte De Choiseul Praslin.”
“Your Ladyship,” said Sarah curtseying deeply, “may I congratulate you on your forthcoming marriage?”
“You are very well informed,” said the lady, her eyes widening with surprise, “Who told you?” Our betrothal has yet to be formally announced and,” she reappraised Sarah rapidly, “I do not think we have previously met. Although of course,” she added with an enquiring look, I had only one season before I married my late husband.”
“We have never met, Ma’am, I have not, until very recently, gone into society. You may have met my uncle, Viscount Borden who, as you may know, is in Paris at the moment with the Ambassador, Viscount Granville. On occasions, I act in the role of unofficial secretary to him. When no less a person than the Duc De Polignac, close friend and confidant of the Compte D’Artois is betrothed, this is naturally the subject of considerable comment in diplomatic circles, particularly when the object of his affection happens to be an Englishwoman by birth.”
Sometime later, when the gentlemen re-joined the ladies, Miss Leighton was gratified to see Madame seek out her Fiancé and whisper something in his ear. As he immediately turned to look in her direction with a very surprised look on his face and then went to consult with the Compte, who also turned to look she guessed that they had only now realised they were under much greater scrutiny than they had thought.
Sarah had never expected to enjoy the ball, but to her considerable surprise, she had an evening of unmixed pleasure. From the moment the Duke of Sale led her out on his arm as the orchestra struck up for the first waltz, until the last chord of the last dance died away she never lacked a partner and, when she chose not to dance, she was the centre of admiring attention. As she twirled around the floor in the Duke’s arms the curious eyes that followed her energetic progress could see that she was an excellent dancer. It was not the waltz with the Duke that sealed her success however, but the next partner fortunate enough to lead her out onto the floor.
The Compte D’Artois had instructed his son, the Duc D’Angoulême, to attend the reception to support him, should he require such support, and to lead Miss Leighton out for the second dance. The Duc, much more at home in the hunting field or at the gaming tables, generally found his state duties extremely boring, but nevertheless, and with little anticipation of enjoying himself, had reluctantly come to do his duty by his parent. Somewhat to his surprise, he enjoyed dancing with Miss Leighton exceedingly. As a result of the recent events at Chateaux Hainaut, he could already claim some acquaintance with her and had therefore some knowledge of her intellect and tact. When, the Duc, whose reluctance to appear at state occasions was well known, laughed out loud on no less than three occasions during the dance it became clear that she would not lack partners for the evening. Where the son of the heir to the throne was pleased, few others would find fault.
Indeed, not one of the gentlemen fortunate enough to lead her out found any reason to dispute D’Angoulême’s approbation. Those men who looked for partner with whom one could enjoy a good joke found their verbal sallies answered in kind. On the other hand, the gentleman who liked his ladies demure found nothing to criticise either. The view of the ladies and gentlemen was that she was more than passably good looking and she had a certain something which set her apart from her fellows.
For herself, Sarah discovered that her fears had been misplaced. The looks of frank appreciation bestowed on her gave her the confidence to relax and enjoy herself. The knowledge that Sale was in the room and keeping an eye on her also helped although at no stage did she find herself in need of his assistance. On one occasion two gentlemen were disputing good naturedly over who should lead her out for the next dance and, as it was apparent that neither was prepared to yield, she hailed the Duc D’Angoulême as he was passing and asked him how she should choose.
“Choose neither, Ma’am,” advocated the Duc with a broad smile, “May I have the honour?”
“The request of a prince cannot be ignored,” Miss Leighton said to the two Gentlemen who had lately been arguing over her as she laid her hand on the Duc’s arm. “Perhaps later then?”
“It is useful,” Sarah ventured as the set formed, “numbering a royal Duke amongst one’s acquaintance. Perhaps we may meet again in Amiens?”
“Perhaps, we shall” answered the Duc appreciatively and not remotely offended by this unusual honesty. “I must return to Paris tomorrow. When do you expect to arrive in Amiens?”
“I hardly know, our travelling plans depend upon the Duke and he must wait upon the recovery of the Sergeant in charge of our escort. I understand he is not expected to be fit for some days yet. His Grace indicated that he expects to arrive in Amiens in about two weeks.”
“Then Mademoiselle,” responded the Duc, “So shall I. My business in Paris with your uncle is not expected to detain me for more than another two or three days. I have estates near Amiens which I should have visited long since.”
“Mon Dieu!” One of her disappointed suitors exclaimed to the other, “She is on better terms with D’Angoulême than is his father. What chance did we stand my friend?”
When the Dance had completed and Miss Leighton had been handed to the young man who had claimed her hand to form the next set, the Duc D’Angoulême went searching for the Duke of Sale. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, the Duc remarked,
“Miss Leighton is an exceptional woman.” He stopped for a moment but as Sale did not appear to feel the need to comment he sighed heavily, and continued, “I would like to further my acquaintance with her.”
“Certainly, Your Highness, but forgive me, why?” There was more than a hint of steel behind the question. “Your Highness will understand,” he explained pointedly, “that I am responsible for her safety return to England.”
“Calm your ruffled feathers my friend,” The Duc put a hand under Sale’s elbow and escorted him to a quieter corner of the room where they could talk and not be overheard. He sighed again. “My father di
d not fight with Wellington in Spain and, unlike my uncle the King, he did not spend his time in London making friends and alliances.” As it was common knowledge that the Compte D’Artois kept his mistress in South Audley Street and occupied much of his time in dancing attendance on this lady while his wife stayed in Edinburgh, the Duke of Sale had no difficulty in interpreting this statement. “Just so,” added the Duc when he saw the understanding in Sale’s face. “I have no love for the Court or its intrigues but I understand, better I think than my father, how important British support is to us. He is inclined to take the view that, now Napoleon Bonaparte is dead there is none who can challenge his rule and that while it is always useful to have the support of your Government, he can do well without it. He and I disagree on this. I would seek counsel from the unusually well-informed Miss Leighton but I must return to Paris tomorrow. She tells me you expect to be in Amiens in two weeks. Is this true?
The Duke of Sale did not reply immediately. Before he gave too much information he wanted to consider whether this was a connexion that Miss Leighton would want to pursue, and even if it was, whether she ought to be allowed to pursue it. The Duc D’Angoulême, Sale knew, had a much better reputation than did his father. The Duke of Wellington regarded him as a sound soldier and general, and his courage had never been called into question. He had twice tried to travel to Russia to assist in the campaign against Napoleon there but had been rebuffed by the Tsar. Furthermore, although the union with his wife Marie Thérèse was childless, if kept a mistress he did so discreetly. Moreover, he had been straightforward in his approach and had sought permission from her escort. Providing ordinary care was taken for Miss Leighton’s safety, he thought that Viscount Borden would have little difficulty with a continued relationship and in any event, it behoved him to encourage a dialogue in his country’s national interest. Then too, refusing to meet with the Duc again might give rise to some difficulty, especially as he was dependent upon his continued goodwill for his military escort.
“Your Highness will understand that we are constrained to await Sergeant Guay’s return to health. His commanding officer tells me that he should be fit enough to resume his duties in three or four days or possibly a little longer. We do not travel rapidly. I should think it will take about six or seven days to make the journey and we anticipate resting for one day at Saint-Quentin. We stop at Amiens for about three days while our escort reports to the garrison there.”
“I am grateful Your Grace,” said the Duc, “I have business in Amiens and intend that I shall reach there in about ten days.” He handed the Duke a card “a message to this address will find me.” D’Angoulême was about to turn away when Sale halted him.
“There is one small matter upon which you could provide some assistance if you would,” the Duke asked quietly, “is there somewhere we could talk in private?”
“Assuredly,” came the reply “follow me.
The only person that noticed as Sale and the Duc D’Angoulême slipped out of the room was Miss Leighton who did not mention the matter until they were in the carriage on the way back to their Hotel.
“Where did you go with D’Angoulême?” She asked as soon as they had settled comfortably against the squabs.
“Will you think me excessively rude if I excuse myself from answering your question?” The Duke replied. “I apologise for the secrecy but it does not relate to state business; it was more of a confidential and personal nature.” He had anticipated the question and had thought about how he would deal with it. The fact that he had disappeared for almost twenty minutes with a Royal Duke would not have escaped her notice. He had thought of fobbing her off by saying that all they were talking about was their future travel plans, but she would have known he was dissembling. Such a discussion would have lasted no more than a minute and could easily have been conducted in the ballroom. Privacy would not have been required. He had therefore decided that honesty was the best policy and having told her he was not proposing to divulge the nature of the conversation he awaited the expected attempts to persuade him to reveal the secret.
“Of course I should not think you rude; you are entitled to your privacy” she stated bluntly.
The Duke’s initial thought was that this was mere petulance or a feminine tactic to persuade him to be more open but as he looked at her in the limited light in the carriage he realised that she meant no more nor no less than her words. If he was unable or unwilling to discuss the conversation which had passed between herself and D’Angoulême then she was happy to accept his reticence without a comment. The Duke was put off balance by this. None of the other ladies of his experience, not even Harriet, would have accepted such a reply with equanimity. Without exception they would have tried, with varying degrees of subtlety to prise the information out of him. ‘How’ he asked himself ruefully, ‘is one supposed to deal with a lady, if none of the normal rules of engagement apply?
Unaware of the Duke’s reaction to her words, Sarah’s only thoughts were mild surprise that he should consider her feelings in the matter in any way. Sarah had lived with secrets all her life and having been told that the matter was confidential she would not have dreamed of prying further. While her uncle had taken into his confidence on many matters, and she knew some very surprising things about great many people, there were some discussions from which she had always been excluded and some doors which would always be closed to her. If you live with secrets, you learn to respect secrecy.
“In any event,” said the Duke in a teasing voice and filing away yet another piece of information about the unpredictable Miss Leighton, “I think there is a bigger story tonight. Miss Leighton, you have become, in one evening, une successe fou. There were many young men who begged me to introduce me to you and some I had to decline. There was not enough time or enough dances. You set the ball alight!
“Do you really think so?” Sarah’s voice was almost shy. “There were so many accomplished and well born and beautiful young ladies there...”
“And most of them,” interrupted the Duke laughing, “were more than a little put out at the foreign beauty who came in and eclipsed them all, particularly when the men could talk about nothing else but you.”
“Oh No!” cried Miss Leighton, very distressed, "I wouldn’t want to put anyone out."
“Ma’am,” said the Duke in a voice of exaggerated patience. “Enjoy your triumph. I can assure you that many of the older ladies and most of the men were considerably entertained at the sight of one or two young ladies, whose petulance is legendary, having to take a back seat. Monsieur Galarde, the father of one of those ladies introduced himself to me and went so far as to thank me for teaching his daughter a much-deserved lesson.”
“I cannot but think, that if those same ladies and gentlemen knew that I was a fraud, the illegitimate daughter of a millworker, they would have had me thrown out,” Miss Leighton said pensively, and added sadly, "but I do thank Your Grace for taking me, I have never enjoyed anything so much and I shall have a memory of the night when I felt like a princess.”
“I beg to differ,” said his Grace hugely enjoying himself. “You will have more memories than that. I have been much gratified by the number of invitations I have received. I would no doubt be flattered if it were not for the fact that I have been, on every occasion, enjoined to ensure that I bring the beautiful Mademoiselle Leighton as well. We are engaged tomorrow, to join a party to drive out into the countryside to see where Champagne is made and thereafter, to enjoy a small nuncheon in some Chateau or other. In the evening, we shall have to choose between another ball held by some Contessa, whose name I cannot remember and a select house party at the residence of a Marquise.”
It was, in fact, five days later when the Duke and his party departed Reims taking with them the good wishes of their new friends and many commands to return as soon as they could. It was the universally held view of the nobility of Reims and the surrounding area that the Duke of Sale was as pleasant a man as could be imagine
d; but the young lady travelling in her protection; what charm, what espièglerie! In an age when young ladies were properly bored, to find one whose enjoyment of every moment was so obvious was a refreshing change. With her impeccable manners, genuine modesty and extremely well-informed mind she had rapidly become la dernier cri.
Even the young ladies, fully prepared to dislike her intensely, found that she was an entertaining companion. She could tell stories, albeit carefully redacted to remove the choicest morsels of scandal, of matters from which ladies were usually excused. She was thus interesting to talk to. Then again, she could neither draw, nor sew or play a musical instrument and stood in frank admiration of those ladies who possessed these skills. It was a chance remark that sealed the matter however. Sarah had been dancing with a young man generally held to be one of the most eligible bachelors in Reims. His frank appreciation of the charms of his partner was manifest; his laughter arousing some very ignoble and unchristian thoughts in more than a few of those ladies watching their progress. Upon returning to her seat one young lady, in the expectation of provoking blushes gaily suggested she had made a conquest. Much to her surprise Miss Leighton evinced utter disinterest.
Such a reaction merited further investigation, especially since this particular young lady would have been far more receptive to the attention had it been showered upon her rather than the English visitor. Miss Leighton explained her lukewarm reaction by explaining there was a prior attachment. More than this she would not say but, as it became quickly obvious that, while she enjoyed the attention, she was not remotely interested in any of those gentlemen who paid court to her she was no longer regarded as competition. Not the most assiduous persuasion would make her reveal anything more about the object of her affection and, as she had a certain sadness about her, it was generally thought that her English uncle must have forbidden the match.
A few suggested that the mystery lover could be the Duke, but it became known that their acquaintance was only of recent duration and Mademoiselle Leighton had let it slip that her affections had been engaged while she was still in the schoolroom. There was, in addition, nothing remotely lover-like in the Duke’s attitude. He was amused by her certainly, and they had been seen in deep conversation, but he made no claim on her time, and was perfectly happy to consign her to the chaperonage of a respectable lady or relinquish her hand to another man seeking a dance. Finally, although the Duke was a widower, he was still a young man and known to be fabulously wealthy. He would make an unexceptional bridegroom. No guardian, however high in the instep, could object to a match in that direction.
“It will be very hard,” observed Sarah to Martha as they left the Outskirts of Reims behind “to return to my old life after this journey comes to an end.”
The Travellers Page 10
