Dancing the Maypole (18 page)

“Because it’s
amusing.”

Isabel’s lower
lip quivered, “Do I look amused?”

“You look as
though you’ve spent the night in a brothel entertaining three
different men. Pray your smirking tent pole never sees you until
after your morning toilet or he won’t make an offer for any amount
of gold.”

Isabel sucked
in air as her eyes brimmed with tears. “Tu es un petit vache!” Her
insult rang down the corridor. “What woman will fall in love with
you? You look like a boy wearing a fake moustache. Do you find that
amusing?” She untied the ribbon from her wrist and threw it at his
face. “Tie it around your neck. Maybe some woman will think you’re
a lost pet and lead you home.” Running back to her room she slammed
the door as the scene replayed in her head. Her little brother was
a cow, but he was a highly sensitive cow. Cursing her tongue she
slowly returned to her brother’s door and stood listening to the
sound of something heavy being dragged over the floor inside.
“Louis?” The dragging momentarily paused. “I’m sorry Louis…I
shouldn’t have said those awful things. I was disappointed. I
thought…”

“That your tent
pole had snuck into a locked house and tied one of his ribbons
around your wrist?” The closed door muffled the words. “You deserve
him. Be Mrs Big Cow for the rest of your life for all I care, but
don’t expect me to visit. If I want to be towered over, I’ll encamp
in a forest.”

“Someone told
me he might come in the night,” said Isabel.

“Who? Our dear
cousin who married that idiot who thinks his evil kith and kin are
incorruptible paragons?”

“No, Mr Lucius
Smirke.”

“Never heard of
him.”

“I met him last
night. He wears spectacles.”

The door jerked
open. “Some four-eyes tells you a big cow will sneak into your
house and moo over you in your sleep, and you believed him?”

Isabel sighed
in disappointment, “He seemed sincere. He said he was worried for
Lord Adderbury’s safety…”

“Wrong! He
sincerely hoped to discredit your giant lover so he’d have a chance
to marry your eighty thousand pounds. Papa should pack you off to
France and find you a real man.”

“Lord Adderbury
is half French. He’s as much a man as you.”

“By your
reckoning then…” sneered Louis. “…he’s an oversized pet who’s lost
his lead.” The door slammed, and the sound of dragging resumed in
her brother’s room.

“What are you
doing?”

“Packing.”

“You can’t
leave Louis. Papa will be furious.”

“Quel dommage
que blablabla…”

“Fine, be that
way!” Looking down she saw the ribbon. She picked it up and
absently rolled it around two fingers. “Louis? I’m sorry I said
those things. You don’t really look like a boy with a fake
moustache.” A cynical snort repudiated her peace offering. She
sighed in failure and muttered curses on Mr Lucius Smirke for
making her think her hero would do the unthinkable.

*

Isabel’s
morning toilet was nearly complete when she caught Marie, her
lady’s maid, watching her with a knowing smile. “Why are you
smiling like that?” snapped Isabel. “Do you know something I
don’t?”

The maid
ignored Isabel’s waspish tone. “You look très belle ce matin
Mademoiselle. Did you sleep well? Did you have the dreams agréable
avec un bel homme?”

Isabel scowled
at the impertinent question. “I don’t remember.”

“Naturellement!”

“Naturally?
What is that supposed to mean?”

The maid’s
knowing smile pursed into Gallic innocence. “Rien!”

“I don’t
remember dreaming about any man. Satisfied?”

“Le Seigneur
Adderbury, he is un bel homme. Il est trop grand, mais…”

“I don’t wish
to discuss le Seigneur Adderbury and he isn’t too big for me.”

“Naturellement!
In your bed, he could recline like a king…and he is un peu
Français.”

“Lord Adderbury
is half French. That’s more than a little and he’s never shared my
bed.”

“Naturellement!” The maid glanced at her with amused pursed lips
that indicated she believed exactly the opposite.

“My dancing
slippers need brushing and the hem of my silver dress needs to be
sponged clean.” The pursed lips soured into acute distaste as Marie
reluctantly obeyed.

Fifteen minutes
later Étienne, the footman, leered up at Isabel as she passed him
on her way to the breakfast room. “Did you have the dreams agréable
Mademoiselle?”

“I don’t
remember.”

“Les hommes
Anglais…ils sont comme ça.”

She stopped
abruptly and walked back to glare at the man. “What do you mean,
English men are like that? Like what?”

He shrugged his
shoulders, “Inférieur to les homme Français.” He pursed his lips in
self satisfaction as if he knew something amusing at her expense.
“The lovers Anglais are not…mémorable.”

“I wouldn’t
know. I’ve never shared my bed with a man and if you again imply
that I have I’ll slap you so hard you’ll find your teeth embedded
in the wall.”

“What iz
embedded au Français? It sounds…intéressant…”

“It means if
you don’t shut up you’ll wish you’d joined the Army and died in a
ditch.” The smaller man leered up at her up and then pursed his
lips with smug satisfaction before politely staring past her as if
he were the ideal footman. Feeling out of sorts, Isabel entered the
breakfast room to find her parents nose to nose at the table.
Hearing her footsteps, they turned to stare at her. Her mother
looked dismayed. Her father had that dangerous expression that
usually meant he’d soon need to clean his pistol. “I’d say good
morning, except the morning has been anything, but good.”

Isabel kissed
her father on the cheek, but he was staring up at her as if he
might have to kill someone to save her honour.

Monsieur de
Bourbon’s eyes narrowed with concern, “Did you have the dreams
agréable Chérie?”

Isabel flung up
her hands in exasperation. “Why is everyone asking me if I had
pleasant dreams?”

“You have the
dark shadows under the eyes…as if you did not have much sleep.”

“How am I
supposed to sleep with servants making a din late into the night?
I’m getting old…”

Monsieur
snorted in contempt, “Not too old pour Lord Adderbury…he
called…yesterday, non?”

Isabel filled
her plate and sat down, “Yes…and he asked me to marry him…”

Smiling, her
mother reached out and touched her father’s arm. “Ah Louis! C’est
parfait!”

Her father’s
thin moustache twitched with pleasure as he grasped his wife’s
hand. “Mon Dieu…c’est un miracle!”

“…but I refused
him.”

Her parents
happy faces contorted with horror. “Mais pourquoi?” shouted her
father.

“Because…”
Isabel took a deep calming breath. “Because I asked him why he
wanted to marry me, and all he could say was that he desired me. I
can’t marry a man who’d offer such a pathetic lie. All he had to
say was he wanted my money and I’d have set a date.”

Her father’s
stared at her open-mouthed as if she’d declared an intention to use
her inheritance to build a memorial to Robespierre, the infamous
French revolutionary. It was several long minutes before he turned
to his wife. “Votre fille est un idiot!” He was now waving his arms
like a general abandoned on the battlefield gesturing in rage at a
retreating army ordered to stand and fight. “I see with the eyes;
Adderbury he has the desire for Isabel like un homme Français! He
was kizzing her…comme un amant qui a affamé!”

Isabel blushed,
“Lord Adderbury wasn’t kissing me like a starving lover. He was
trying to distract me so he could grab my fan.”

“Bof!” Monsieur
thumped the table with his fist, “Il tu veut!”

“Just because a
man kisses me, doesn’t mean he wants me.”

“Isabel…” Her
mother was giving her that awful look that made Isabel feel naked.
“You’re too old to lead Adderbury a merry chase. If the man says he
wants you, take him at his word and meet him at the altar before he
decides to find a more sensible bride. Happiness doesn’t occur with
a snap of the fingers. Just as you had to learn how to
waltz…happiness comes with practice. A handsome husband and a
wedding ring won’t transport you into bliss.”

“Bon!” snapped
Isabel. “I’ll marry him. If I end up miserable you can console
yourselves with the fact that Louis’s bride won’t have to share her
home with an old maid; if he can find a woman desperate enough to
endure his tongue.” Isabel wiped away her tears with the back of
her hand. “Louis snuck into my room last night. He tied a ribbon
around my wrist to make me think Lord Adderbury had come in the
night. He said he thought it would be funny.” Her parents looked at
each other in disbelief. “The heartless swine! I feel so
stupide…”

“Petite, you
are not stupide.” Her father’s voice was soothing as if she were
still in the nursery. “You are romantique. Has Adderbury brought
you the flowers or the poem d’amour? Non! He is stupide! I shall
have with him un tête-à-tête.”

“Don’t threaten
to kill him if he doesn’t bring me flowers. I don’t want a man
bringing me flowers to avoid gangrene. That’s not romantic.”

“Bof! I know
the men…he will take the advice d’amour. He is un homme
Français.”

“Papa please!”
begged Isabel. “Promise me you won’t speak to Lord Adderbury about
romance. He’ll think I sent you. He’ll think I find him
inadequate.” Her parents glanced at each other again. Her father’s
pursed lips promised nothing. Staring into her tiny cup of coffee,
Isabel could easily imagine Peter Smirke’s reaction to her father’s
lecture on the art of love. Her hero would die of embarrassment,
and then she’d die of a broken heart. Her only hope was that her
hero would repeat his proposal before her father made an
appointment to shoot Pierre.

“Cosmo, you
don’t need that much butter.” Cosmo Smirke ignored Cecil as he
concentrated on ensuring the whole piece of toast was covered
equally before allowing the silver butter dish to leave his
possession. “If you spread half an inch of butter on every piece of
toast, you’ll soon look like a pig.”

“He is a pig,”
sneered Robert.

The familiar
taunt jabbed Cosmo in the heart as he glared at his younger
brother. It wasn’t as if anyone else would ensure his wants were
filled. No-one commented when Cecil, the heir, finished off the
butter, or danced with the prettiest girl, but if the fourth son
dared take what he wanted he was a pig. Cosmo sneered back; “I’d
rather be a pig than a whoremongering crackfart. If Papa knew what
you were doing yesterday while you were supposed to be attending
that lecture on dead bugs he’d lecture you to death.”

“Tell him, I
dare you. While I’m getting a tongue lashing I’ll let slip how you
persuaded six dying relations to leave you their properties and why
you had to give four of them to your beloved brothers. If Papa knew
your sins, he’d force to you give your remaining spare estate to
Cousin Lucifer.”

“He can’t make
me give it to anyone,” snarled Cosmo. “It’s mine!”

Robert smiled
in amusement, “You won’t be able to sign the papers fast enough if
Lucius digs up embarrassing dirt…Speak of the devil…”

Cosmo turned to
see Lucius Smirke stroll into the room with his habitual cynical
expression etched deeper with fatigue. “You look like hell. What
were you doing all night?”

Grey eyes
glinted like sharpened steel through gold spectacles as Lucius sat
down in one of the three chairs separating Cosmo and Robert and
poured himself a cup of chocolate. “Is your father still abed?”

“Snoring like a
dog twenty minutes ago,” said Cecil. “I went to ask him for money;
poked him three times, but he didn’t flinch. I thought you said you
were going to help him. I was entertaining several young ladies
last night when he appeared with a leer and demanded I introduce
him to my friends. He then asked them all if he could have a dance.
They didn’t dare refuse; he was smiling as though he was planning
to eat them.”

“Oh good, he
was practising his smile.” Six faces stared at Robert in dismay.
“What? I told him to smile like this…” Robert demonstrated his
come-hither smile prompting groans of horror from his brothers. “To
be charmed, the ladies need to know a man finds their charms
charming. If Papa calls on his dream lover with his habitual social
glare, she’ll feel as tempting as a plate of Amanita phalloides. He
won’t need to eat deadly mushrooms; he’ll die of a broken heart.
You should thank me. He was about to tie one of those stupid
ribbons around his waist and drape it over his left thigh.
Thankfully, I was there to intervene.”

“Papa dresses
to the left,” gasped Cecil. The brothers’ eyes widen in horror.

Cosmo shuddered
in horror, “What was Papa thinking?”

“I assume,”
said Robert, “that he was hoping to draw the ladies attention to
his…er…big manly parts. You can thank me for pinning the ribbon to
his coat. I wish I knew the identity of his dream lover. I’d beg
her on my knees to marry him tout de suite. If only we could
dissuade Papa from decorating himself with ribbons. People are
starting to call him Lord Maypole. The rest of you might not care,
but Nana says when I finish growing I’ll look just like him. I
don’t want ladies thinking I’d dangle ribbons over my parts.”

Cecil turned to
George sitting on his left. “If I offered Papa’s dream lover my
estate to marry him, would you let me live with you until Papa
dies?”

“Of course,”
said George. “Perhaps if we added Cosmo’s second estate…”

“I’m not using
my inheritance to pay some woman to marry Papa. He can buy his
dream lover with his own money.”

“The lady
doesn’t need money.” Lucius’ revelation brought an instant hush to
the table. “I’m afraid his Lordship has little hope…” Lucius
glanced at the footman standing at attention inside the room next
to the door. “Frederick, would you please ask the kitchen to send
up more toast…and close the door.” Lucius leaned forward and
dramatically lowered his voice, “I understand your Papa’s dream
lover is a friend of Mademoiselle de Bourbon.”