Danse De La Folie by Sherwood Smith
Kitty would admit to no one that the work of rewriting had become more drudgery than inspiration. But she was determined not to be a charge upon her brother. Why, if she were successful, not only might she help discharge the debts of the estate, but she could come to London again!
So she launched into a detailed summary of her novel, as Clarissa and St. Tarval established that the weather was excellent, and each other’s health was good. Then they reached a slight impasse, for neither felt it right to reveal what lay in their hearts.
And so he said, “One of the tasks I had to accomplish was to execute a commission for Kitty, in preparation for her grace’s masquerade ball. To which we are also invited. Have we you to thank for the distinction of our invitation?”
“If it is a distinction,” she said, smiling. “But you need not thank me. I believe my grandmother discovered by some other means that you and Lord Edward were arrived in town. Kitty and I called on her not too long ago, and she took a liking to your sister. So you may credit Kitty with such distinction as exists.”
The marquess glanced Kitty’s way, and overheard enough to cause him to exclaim, “I would not interrupt her for the world.”
He was such a good brother, Clarissa thought, her eyes stinging. Her heart was so full, another moment and she feared she would betray herself.
He was struggling under similar sensations. He hitched his chair a little closer, reaching for words that would be acceptable, yet still express what he felt, when a shriek from downstairs startled them all.
A moment later the door banged open, and Amelia raced in, waving a folded newspaper under Kitty’s nose. Then she saw who had arrived, and whirled to face the surprised St. Tarval.
“Why did you not tell us? You might have—we could have hosted a party!”
Amelia stammered out her felicitations to the stunned marquess as Kitty’s astonished gaze and Clarissa’s stricken one took in the words:
A marriage has been arranged between Carlisle Claudius Stephen Decourcey, Marquess of St. Tarval, and Miss Lucretia Augusta, elder daughter of Sir Henry Bouldeston, Bart.
TWENTY-EIGHT
St. Tarval had to make his way past the entire Bouldeston family before he could speak to Lucretia.
Lady Bouldeston was in the parlor. She greeted him pleasantly enough, but he had begun their acquaintance years ago being made to feel as if he were a grubby schoolboy. On reaching adulthood, he had come to see that she regarded the entire world with that air of cynical disappointment.
“Ah, St. Tarval, you are finally here. You will wish to speak to Sir Henry, I know,” she said with a languid wave of her hand. “He will be downstairs anon. You will find the girls in the young ladies’ parlor.”
St. Tarval passed Sir Henry on the narrow stairs. Sir Henry blinked rapidly, his gaze red and bleary. “Lucretia tells me you’re impatient to get it done. Well, well, my boy. All my life I have wished that I could break the entail, but never more so than now. You two might not have a penny to bless yourselves with, but at least you come together with no surprises.”
With a friendly clap on St. Tarval’s shoulder, and a gust of whiskey-laden breath that made the marquess’s eyes water, he passed on by.
St. Tarval heard shrill voices coming through the door of the young ladies’ parlor. Lucasta’s rose higher. “... think yourself so superior, Lucretia, when you have not managed to attach anyone beyond Carlisle Decourcey. Yes, he has a very grand title, but as for your ladyship, and your entering any room before Mama and me when I am Mrs. Aston, very grand indeed will you be in your ramshackle dining room, serving three peas apiece on that horrid plate that was out of fashion at the time of Queen Anne!”
The door was wrenched violently open and Lucasta nearly ran St. Tarval down. She brought herself up short, hiccupped tearily, and said in a quick rush, “I feel sorry for you, Carlisle, even if you wear a shabby coat. You have always been kind.”
She did not wait for an answer, but pushed on past and all he saw was a flurry of skirts as she bolted upstairs.
St. Tarval entered the parlor to discover his betrothed sitting in a chair, arms crossed. She wore, as always, a pretty pink gown covered in ribbons and furbelows, but as he looked across the room it struck him that in ten years Lucretia would resemble her mother.
“The notice in the paper. How could you do that, Lucretia?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
Her chin jerked up, and her mouth tightened. The resemblance to her mother was pronounced. “I have been faithful to our understanding, sir,” she declared breathlessly, and daubed at her dry eyes with a handkerchief. “Are you here to confess that you dare to trifle with my affections?”
“Trifle with what?” The marquess said with asperity, “Lucretia, we are alone. If you know nothing else about me, you do know that I tell the truth. When I told you that summer that I could not marry until I had settled my father’s debts, I meant it.”
Lucretia tossed her head. “So that is why I saw you making eyes at Miss Harlowe? You would throw me over to gain her fortune?”
St. Tarval was so stunned and infuriated that he could not speak for a long moment. Lucretia glared at him in angry triumph. So there had been something in those looks.
“We will leave the lady’s name out of this discussion,” he said softly.
She tossed her head again, enraged at the very idea that he could actually prefer that dowd. “Or what? You will challenge me to a duel?”
“Or I will send a notice to the papers that the announcement of our betrothal was in error,” he said.
Fear chilled her rage. “You cannot do that.”
“I can.”
“The world will condemn you...” She hesitated, knowing who would really be the target of scorn.
“I do not care what the world says about me,” he stated. “As I am unlikely ever to return to the world of London.” Guilt assailed him at her blanched expression of fear. He would willfully hurt no creature weaker than he, and at one time he truly had been fond of Lucretia. He asked more quietly, “Why did you cause your father to insert that notice into the paper?”
“I sent you a note asking you to call,” she said, some of the heat returning to her voice. “These three days at least.”
“I had to ride down to Kent,” he said. “There was business that could not wait. You know that I am my own steward, and there are some matters that Kirby cannot compass, but we will leave that. You could not wait three days?”
Lucretia tightened her arms across her chest. “That selfish, stupid sister of mine is likely to contract a marriage with that blockhead Aston. I could not bear the thought that my sister would marry before me. The entire world will be laughing behind their fans.”
“I am sorry for it, if that is true. But you must see that you owed it to us both to talk to me first.”
“Just to be put off for another half-dozen years?”
“It might take that long to recover. You yourself know what it is to live under the weight of a father’s debt.”
Lucretia made play with the handkerchief again, mostly to gain time. Her anger had been cooled by fear, which was tempered by relief. It appeared that she had carried her point. Carlisle was not repudiating the engagement outright. The six years before they could marry could only be considered beneficial. It gave her time, for she was determined to encourage Mr. Devereaux. It could be no one else, for he was rich, and handsome, and if that fat old uncle of his didn’t produce an heir, or the other uncle in the admiralty marry, Mr. Devereaux might very well one day be a duke. Lucretia closed her eyes, reveling in the image of herself, a duchess.
She just needed time.
She opened her eyes, and gave Carlisle her sweetest smile. She must say something conciliatory, and send him away in a better frame of mind.
He noted the subsiding of anger, and her smile. If she were Kitty, that attempted smile would be her way of putting a brave face on disappointment. Surely Lucretia could not be so very different. She
The hard truth that he must face was that Lucretia’s remark about Clarissa must also be shared by the world. If Lucretia could leap to such a conclusion from afar, what must Clarissa’s relations think were he to make his wishes known?
He was very certain that Clarissa herself did not feel the same. Though he was not coxcomb enough to assume that she was in love with him without the lady speaking for herself, he was certain he could not have been mistaken in the warmth of her smile, her readiness to dance with him. This accursed notice could not have come at a worse time!
Yet even if it had not, he must face the fact that the world must think him mercenary. Lord Chadwick seemed a genial fellow, but that might change if he saw in Kitty’s brother a fortune hunter.
“There is much in what you say,” Lucretia observed in a coaxing voice. “It seems a wise decision to wait upon events. I know I cannot bring a respectable dowry to any marriage, and so I believe it is my duty to bide until affairs are more propitious. I cannot pretend to understand such things.”
The marquess perceived this much: she agreed to give him time.
She had been watching him carefully. Seeing the signs that he was relenting, she said coaxingly, “I told Mama that, given the circumstances, a betrothal party might not be the thing, and so we might make it a musical party instead, a general party. You will find the invitation among those notes that you did not see. The party is for three days hence. That will enable Lucasta and Mr. Aston to shine their particular lights.”
He hesitated, the desire to speak the truth nearly overwhelming. Fortune hunter—Sir Henry as neighbor—that stupid promise he’d made six years ago—he forced himself to say what was expected, and took his leave.
o0o
Lucretia’s chief motivation for talking her parents into hosting a musical party was ostensibly to show off Lucasta’s accomplishments, but in truth it was to be a family party, which would enable them to include along with the older Harlowe girls their guest, Bess Devereaux. Lucretia had learnt through Lucasta that Mr. Devereaux’s sister had musical pretensions. And from thence it was quite natural to send an invitation to him.
Once this schoolgirl had been visiting in Mount Street, even if her brother did not accompany her, it would be quite natural to include him in subsequent invitations, and as an engaged woman, Lucretia would not be perceived to be on the catch, as the vulgar termed it. She simply had to make certain that it was evident her intended marriage was not a love match—that a jealous admirer might with impunity sweep her off her feet.
Already there were unexpected benefits to the engagement with St. Tarval. First of all, Papa must quit himself of recommending his daughters to particular cronies, like that horrid Mr. Redding, or old Lord Penwick. While both were wealthy, there their recommendations ended, the one having an unsavory reputation, and the other his age.
Then there was the invitation to the Duchess of Norcaster’s masquerade ball. The duchess herself wrote, begging pardon for the lateness of the invitation. In her old-fashioned handwriting that made f into s in the middle of words, she praised the Decourcey family, and wished to extend her welcome to their prospective connections.
The Bouldestons had never before attained such select company, and the girls’ mother was in a fit of temper over how to contrive suitably sumptuous masquerade costume. No dowdy dominos for them, Lucasta exulted, dancing the invitation around the room.
Lucretia agreed fervently, for Mr. Devereaux was sure to be there.
o0o
Lucretia wore one of her finest gowns the night of the musical party, and when St. Tarval arrived, she acted the fond part of the future wife so that when the Harlowe party arrived with Bess Devereaux, she quite naturally crossed to the other side of the room. Bess must not see them together, and report it to her brother, whose name was not announced.
Lucretia had no interest in music at any time. She sang when it was her turn, but she had long since discovered that no one but her mother enjoyed her singing, an observation that simpleton Lucasta had yet to make. Two songs only she sang, and then she made a little business of modestly retiring. As always, only her mother called for more.
Then Lucasta took over, Mr. Aston leaping up to turn pages for her, though his shirt points were so high that Lucretia wondered if he could even see the music for the blinkers at either side of his foolish face. But Lucasta was so busy rolling her eyes and striking absurd attitudes that she neither observed her ridiculous swain nor the boredom of her audience.
Lucretia occupied herself with that tiresome brat Bess Devereaux, offering her the most favorable place in the room, and constantly pressing refreshments on her, then seeing to it she took her turn at the instrument, turning the pages for her, and leading the applause. So why did the chit sit there like a stuffed owl?
Lucretia’s third piece of business was to introduce Catherine to Lord Penwick, just as the singing began. But when Catherine, after rising to get a glass of lemonade between songs, chose another seat, Mr. Redding took the one next to her, and exerted himself to win her smiles with the sorts of compliments ladies liked. He cared too little for what might go on inside the heads of beauties to notice that Kitty’s flush was not one of pleasure.
It can safely be said that no one enjoyed the music other than Lucasta, Mr. Aston, and Lady Bouldeston, who liked seeing her girls the center of attention. Bess only enjoyed playing, but not with Lucasta’s horrid sister standing so close.
A convenient clap of thunder brought the evening to a close, everyone claiming they must get home before the impending storm broke.
Kitty’s complaint about that horrid Mr. Redding, ready to be aired the moment they got outside, died when she saw the familiar tension in Clarissa’s brow. “Headache?” she asked, reflecting that Clarissa had not betrayed that faint wince once in the days since her break with Lord Wilburfolde.
“A little,” Clarissa admitted, and then, as she always did, “It will pass off presently. Fresh air is beneficial,” she added as they stepped into the street.
Kitty loved London, but she had to smile at the idea of the sooty air being fresh, so still and warm it was, not to mention the odor left by the horses passing up Mount Street. Lightning flared somewhere to the south; the air was heavy with that peculiar stillness before a storm, but as yet no rain fell.
As they walked down to where their carriages waited, Clarissa murmured, “You did not appear to be pleased with your place.”
“I do not know why, but I do not like that Mr. Redding. He smiles too much, he sat too close, and even though the music was indifferent, I would rather have listened than to be whispered to, and to have to thank the man again and again for compliments I would not have received. There! Scold me for being impossible to please.”
Clarissa shook her head slowly. “I would not do so.” The only good thing she had heard about Mr. Redding was that he was not a fortune hunter, but as everything else was gossip, she did not say more.
When everyone reached Brook Street and rejoined in the Parlor, Amelia greeted Kitty with a scowl. “I do not blame you a bit, Lady Kitty, for changing your seat, but it was a hard thing to have that horrid Lord Penwick patting my hand through Lucasta’s caterwauling.”
Mrs. Latchmore exclaimed against that, then added, “Lord Penwick is extremely well-to-live, I will remind you.”
“With nine children to provide for?”
“Even so,” Mrs. Latchmore said. “And a new Lady Penwick would never have to see them. The elder two are married, and the younger ones can be left in the country. Lord Penwick has a very fine house in Grosvenor Square, and it is said that he is looking in particular for a young wife.”
“He’s old,” Amelia stated in disgust.
“It is said that an older man makes an excellent husband,” Mrs. Latchmore chided.
“Then you marry him, Aunt.”
This unfor
As soon as the door was shut, Amelia heaved a loud sigh. “Was not Lucasta’s singing hideous, Bess?”
“Oh, I am well enough accustomed to Lucasta’s airs, always rolling her eyes in that die-away manner, and pretending to faint as she squeaks those high notes, but my brother said not to blame her for she is probably tone deaf, and though I think him tiresome all the time, there are moments when he is right, for she cannot seem to hit any note true. What frightened me was the way Miss Lucretia danced about piling my plate with food, and asking if I should like another cushion, or a better chair, and then breathing down my headdress when I played. After all of Lucasta’s stories about the mean things her sister does to her, I kept expecting a frog to jump out of a pastry, or a goldfish to be swimming in that punch, or her to drop a spider down my dress while I played.”
“That was very odd,” Amelia said. “I noticed it as well.”
“At least it is over,” Bess said with an air of casting off a great burden. “Now we may be comfortable.”
As Kitty and Clarissa walked upstairs toward their bedchambers, Kitty looked with worry at her friend, who had not spoken a single word since their arrival home. She said tentatively, “I do so hope your headache is gone by tomorrow.”
Clarissa looked up in an absent manner. “Tomorrow?”
Kitty stared. “We are to accompany your cousin to Hampstead.”
Clarissa’s indifference astounded Kitty when she said, “Is that tomorrow, already? I had forgotten.”
Kitty wished her a good night and passed into her bedchamber, not knowing what to think. She had fully intended, now that Clarissa was free, to encourage Clarissa and her cousin. For days she had thought out every aspect of this prospective outing, but always with the idea of self-sacrifice so that the other two might be alone to speak.