Dancing the Maypole (43 page)

Her eyes went
wide with horror. If her father thought she’d shared Pierre’s bed,
he’d cart her off to a French convent. “Non! Lord Adderbury’s bed
is currently occupied. It was the thought of you trying to find
room…in the bed…” Pressing her lips between her teeth she silently
prayed he wouldn’t shoot Pierre.

Her father’s
eyes narrowed a fraction before pursing his lips in irritation as
he turned to look at his future son-in-law. “I have changed the
mind. I do not désire to see your big feet before le bal.
Comprends?” The handsome face peering into the window paled, his
lips contorting into an angry grimace, but her hero wasn’t given
time to protest. “Étienne! Fermer la porte. Vite!” Having folding
the steps, the footman closed the door and jumped onto the back of
the carriage making it rock as it pulled away.

Isabel leaned
over to watch Pierre fade from sight. “Stop the carriage Papa! Tell
Pierre he may visit. Papa!”

“Non.”

Blinking away
tears, Isabel glared at her father, but he was oblivious to her
pain. “Tu es cruel!” Her father stared straight ahead with pursed
lips as if he hadn’t heard. “Sans coeur!”

Glancing in her
direction, her father’s brown eyes were filled with hurt. “I know
the men. I have told to him not to come alors, he will come. The
men, they can not take the libertés if there are no libertés to
take. Taking the libertés makes a man feel big. C’est romantique.
Je suis ton Père. Have for me the confidence!”

“You threatened
to shoot him. He won’t come! He won’t!” Isabel sobbed onto her
vinaigrette. “We were going to go on a picnic and secretly marry in
Bath. If he has any sense, he’ll go marry a blind fatherless widow.
I’m going to die an old maid in a mouldy convent with a broken
heart…”

Her stoic
father was unmoved by her tears. “Bof! If the idiot has for you the
love romantique he will come.” Isabel’s sobs made the pursed lips
harden into defiance. Isabel could see Pierre leaving a jeweller’s
shop with her wedding ring in his pocket. He’d be coshed over the
head by thieves, and bleed to death on the cobbles. She wouldn’t
know for days. Pierre would die while she was combing her hair or
eating strawberries with cream. She’d be happy while his life’s
blood oozed into the gutter. She’d never see him again. She’d never
taste his lips again. The thought made Isabel cry harder. She hoped
her audible agony would persuade her father to turn back the
carriage, but he watched the passing scenery with a wistful
expression as though wishing he was far away in an alternative life
where he’d never had children.

Cosmo’s stomach
felt painfully flat, as if the carriage carrying away his new
friend had driven over his middle. His father stood there like a
man shaped sign, staring down the street with a pained expression.
Straightening his shoulders, Cosmo marched up to his father and
tipped back his head. “Why couldn’t you tie ribbons around your
dream mistress and leave Mademoiselle alone? Now I don’t have
anyone kind or sensible to talk to. Her father will probably drag
her off to France far away from you and your ribbons. I probably
won’t ever see her again, and it’s your fault!”

Peter clenched
his fists and roared, “She isn’t…g-g-going…to France.” The words
soared high over Cosmo’s head skimming the neighbouring rooftops
making him cringe in embarrassment. In a tense angry tone his
father continued, “You’ll see her soon enough.”

“How do you
know?” asked Cosmo.

“Parce que!
Monsieur insisted I attend a ball.”

“Why?”

Peter’s face
contorted as if he’d eaten a plate of bad oysters. “He wants tall
eligible men to fill his daughter’s d-dance card… What is it to
you?”

“If he wants
tall men, George, Cecil and I can attend…”

“You’re not
invited!” His father appeared to sigh in relief making Cosmo feel
as if the carriage had returned to run over his middle a second
time.

“How do you
know?”

His father’s
face contorted as he turned and limped off in the same direction as
the carriage. “Parce que!”

“What sort of
answer is that? Because why?” His father was going deaf. “Where are
you going? May I come with you?”

“Non!” The word
slapped Cosmo’s face with a painful sting making his nose throb.
Glaring at his father’s back, Cosmo swivelled on one heel and
gasped in pain as he strained several bruised muscles attached to
his hip. Back inside the house, he paused at the bottom of the
stairs. He was tempted to pack his bags and head for the seaside.
Feeling he was being watched; he turned to see Frederick standing
at attention in the shadows.

“Do you require
assistance…Sir?” The words were subservient with a hint of
amusement.

Cosmo’s eyes
narrowed in irritation. How could the footman endure his heavy
green velvet coat and breeches without sweat dripping down his
face? “I need someone to wave a wand and make me twenty-one, so I
can escape my heartless father. Can you do that?”

“No, but I
could introduce you to a dozen men who starve their dependents to
have more money for drink and dice.” The bitter words were from
Frederick the man not Frederick the servant.

“I beg your
pardon?” Cosmo expected an apology for the man’s impertinence.

“Your father is
a good man. You should be grateful.”

Cosmo hadn’t
imagined it. The footman was censuring him. “How the devil would
you know if he’s good or not?”

“Servants know
everything about regular visitors.”

“Oh really?”
said Cosmo. “What’s my favourite colour?”

The footman
chuckled in amusement, “Deep sapphire blue.”

Cosmo’s lips
contorted in irritation. “Everyone loves blue. What’s my favourite
novel?”

“Robinson
Crusoe.”

“How the devil
do you know that?”

“The copy in
your luggage has accompanied you on every visit since I have been
employed here. It’s so well thumbed some of the page corners are
barely readable.”

“If you’re such
an oracle, what is the name of my father’s dream mistress?”

“If I told you,
I might be sacked,” said Frederick.

“Why?”

“I’m a footman.
I’m paid to be discreet.”

“Rubbish!”
Cosmo silently cursed all footmen to hell. “How could you possibly
know?”

The footman’s
amused snort was almost inaudible. “It’s so obvious I’m surprised
Mr George hasn’t figured it out.”

“You have
cheek! Where’s my aunt?”

“Mrs Smirke is
embroidering in the drawing room. Shall I bring you up some cake
and lemonade Sir?”

“Go feed the
Devil!”

“I’m afraid Mr
Lucius is fast asleep on your bed.”

“The devil he
is. Why couldn’t he sleep on Charles’ bed?”

“Your bed was
closer. He gulped down a large dose of laudanum and quickly
succumbed. No doubt he wished to be insensible should Mrs Smirke
insist on helping the barber remove your cousin’s trousers. Poor Mr
Lucius…”

A distant
clanging in the servants quarters made the footman turn and rush
off without a word, oblivious to Cosmo’s outraged expression.
Forgetting his aches and pains, Cosmo marched up the stairs and
back into the green and gold drawing room to find his Aunt Agnes
sitting alone embroidering a piece of silk. Looking up from her
work she studied at his face. “That’s a handsome bruise. Remind me
to give you some ointment and a dose of laudanum before you
retire…”

“Frederick has
cursed cheek! Do you know what he did? He censured me! According to
your footman, I should be grateful I’m not the starving progeny of
a drunken gambler.”

“You should be
grateful,” said Agnes. “If you were my brother, you’d have been
sold to some rich, ugly cit for an undisclosed sum that would have
been spent within a fortnight. Thankfully, before my father could
sell me to some leering nabob as a child bride, he was fortuitously
found dead. The coroner brought a ruling of suicide, but I suspect
one of the men he owed money decided to use him as an example. His
death was a blessing.”

Cosmo wasn’t
listening to her tale of woe. His own tale was worse. “It doesn’t
mean my father isn’t heartless. He never wants to spend time with
me. After Mademoiselle was driven away, I offered to walk with him.
A mob of smelly thieves threw me into the street like a turd. I’m
in pain and Papa didn’t even have the manners to thank me for
offering to keep him company.”

“Sit down,”
said Agnes. “I’ll spend time with you.”

Having a
beautiful woman offer to spend time with him was too tempting.
Cosmo grimaced as he lowered himself onto the sofa facing his aunt.
“Laudanum always gives me nightmares, but I’d rather dream I’m
being beaten like a rug by ugly parlour maids than not sleep at
all. My hip hurts worse than my nose.”

“You’ll live.”
Her blunt words offered little sympathy.

“Maybe I will,
but I wouldn’t be in pain if some people had learned to mind their
own business.”

“Is that an
attempt at irony?” said Agnes with a faint smile.

Cosmo didn’t
care about irony. “I’ve had a wretched day. As if having my head
slammed on a table and my pockets picked while being heaved into
the street wasn’t bad enough, your helpful footman gave me a
gratitude lecture and then claimed to know the identity of Papa’s
dream mistress.”

Agnes raised a
single eyebrow, “Oh did he?”

“He refused to
name her because you pay him to be discreet. I’d pay him to go to
the devil. To add insult, he said he was surprised George hadn’t
figured out her identity. Note he didn’t say that he was surprised
I hadn’t figured out her identity…”

“I noted
it.”

“I may not be
Isaac Newton, but I’m not the village idiot.”

His aunt sat
there deaf to his unspoken request for reassurance that his brain
was as good as the next man’s. “Did your father see my cousin
off?”

“Papa stood
there glaring as if they were driving away with all his gold.”

“Your father
needs a long honeymoon.”

“So do I, but
I’m not acting like a Bedlamite. Why won’t you tell us who she is?
Lucius says she’s a friend of Mademoiselle, but Mademoiselle didn’t
recognise the fan.” Cosmo sighed in despair. “Why do I care if Papa
finds a wife? He doesn’t care about me.”

“Your father is
giant fly caught in an emotional cobweb of longing,” explained
Agnes. “He’s incapable of thinking about anything, but her. It’s
one of the many embarrassing symptoms that occur after losing one’s
heart. Should you ever fall in love you’ll know what I mean.”

Cosmo felt the
words as a personal insult. “What do you mean should I ever fall in
love? Why wouldn’t I fall in love?”

She put down
her embroidery, and gave him the unnerving stare that made him feel
covered in ants. “Cosmo, you’re a good lad, but you spend every
waking hour thinking of yourself. Love requires one to look outward
and notice the people smiling at you; or at least to notice when
certain ladies happen to always be standing nearby trying to catch
your eye. I won’t be surprised if you die never knowing the fever
of amour. If you lose your heart you’ll probably assume you’re
suffering indigestion until you hear she’s married someone else, or
impulsively sailed off to the colonies. Hypothetically, your heart
will crack and you’ll become a smelly recluse who shuns soap and
visitors with equal venom. On reaching your majority, you’ll chain
yourself to the first pretty chit too smart to let on she hates you
till after you’ve consummated the wedding. You’ll be
miserable.”

Cosmo stared
open-mouthed. What was one supposed to say to an aunt who kindly
prophesied that one would die a miserable wretch? “Thank you Aunt
Agnes. It’s nice to know you think I’m a failure before I even
try.”

“At least
you’re not pompous. That may endear you to some sensible
wench.”

“I don’t want a
sensible wife. I want…” He blushed and looked away. There were some
things a man didn’t admit to female relations.

Agnes raised an
eyebrow, “Someone silly like your Aunt Joan or Mademoiselle? Yes, I
can see you happily running after some harebrained creature.”

“Mademoiselle
isn’t harebrained! She’s good and kind and amusing and it’s just my
cursed luck to make a friend only to see her dragged away by a
pistol-waving Frenchman.”

“She’ll be
back.” Agnes picked up her embroidery and resumed making invisible
stitches.

“I doubt it.
Her father looked as though he wanted to kill Papa for suggesting
he wait till the morning.”

“Uncle Louis
hates being separated from his wife. He’s afraid he’ll return to
find she’s run off with a lover.”

“Run off with a
lover?” Cosmo stared at his aunt with concern; the woman had
embroidered one too many cockerels. “She must be at least sixty.
Who’d want to run off with her?”

“Any man with a
perverse desire to feed my uncle’s grass. She was a stunning beauty
in her day. She’s still quite handsome.”

Cosmo shivered
in horror. He saw himself sliding into his marriage bed only to
find a naked old woman; unsightly wrinkles highlighting certain
parts of her anatomy. “Why would any man fall in love with an old
woman?”

“Ask your
Step-grandfather. He’d be able to explain the phenomenon.”

“I’d rather eat
broken glass,” said Cosmo. “I once asked him if he had any
interesting old graffiti decorating his property. He looked me up
and down as if measuring me for a coffin and made it clear a search
of his property would be unwelcome.”

“He probably
thought you were planning to kidnap his eldest daughter.”

“Ugh!” Cosmo
shivered in disgust. “Why would I kidnap her? She’s fourteen.”

“Fourteen,
silly, and endowed with a very large dowry,” said Agnes.

“He can cross
me off his villain list. Her money may be pretty, but she resembles
a sickly ewe. I want a wealthy heiress I can look at every morning
without worrying she’ll run out into the garden and start eating my
flowers.”