Duchess in Love (24 page)

C
arola Perwinkle was beside herself with a combination of nervousness and joy. “I think the plan is working. I believe—he kissed me.” She stopped for a moment. “Isn't that
wonderful,
Esme? Isn't that simply wonderful?”

Esme pretended that she was too busy adjusting a pincurl to turn around. They had retreated to the ladies' dressing room. She had her hair up à la grecque again, and her toque had a lamentable way of lurching to the side. “It
is,
darling,” she said, injecting warmth into her voice. “I'm so happy that Tuppy is seeing the light.”

“Perhaps he'll kiss me again during the evening.” Carola smoothed the front of her straw-colored crepe ball gown. “I wasn't going to wear this because it's so low around the bosom, but then I remembered—” She was interrupted by the door opening.

Esme turned around and a genuine smile broke out on her face. “Helene, love, what a pleasure to see you! I had no idea that you were planning on making us a visit.”

The Countess Godwin had sleek blond hair caught up in a complicated arrangement on her head. She was tall and
slender, with cheekbones so prominent that she gave the impression of being too thin for perfect health. “Good evening, Esme. And what a pleasure to see you, Carola!”

Carola rushed over like a kitten, words tumbling over each other.

Helene relaxed into a chair, laughing at Carola's exuberance. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “You have decided that you want your husband back, for goodness knows what reason, and our own Esme has given you such excellent advice that the poor man is beside himself with lust after one fishing excursion. I hope that rain is not forecast for tomorrow. It would put such a damper on this budding affection.”

“Rain calls fish to the surface,” Carola said, grinning. “I'm quite the expert.”

“What a lovely image,” Helene replied. “You and Tuppy shivering on the riverbank while you exchange heated glances in the rain. Even the thought makes me glad not to be a fisherman.”

Carola broke into a peal of laughter. “Oh, Helene, one cannot imagine you on a riverbank at all. You are far too elegant!”

“Thank goodness,” she replied, turning to Esme. “Well, how is our local heartbreaker? Is Dudley as luscious as you said in your letter?”

“Not Dudley,
Bernie
. And yes, he is luscious. But as a matter of fact, to use a piscine reference, I am about to throw him back into the sea.”

Carola had bent over the dressing table to tuck in an errant curl, but she turned around at that. “You
are
? But I thought”—she smiled mischievously—“that you hadn't quite reeled him in yet.”

Esme wrinkled her nose. “Enough, pipsqueak.” She shrugged. “I'm borrowing a leaf from your book, Carola. I'm taking my husband back.”

Carola gasped. “Miles! You're taking back
Miles!
”

“He's my only husband to date.”

Helene didn't say anything, but her eyes narrowed.

“I want a child. And Miles is the obvious man to fulfill that desire.” There was no point in dressing up the truth, at least not in front of her friends.

Carola sank into a chair, dismay written on her face.

Esme almost laughed. “You both look as if I had announced a funeral.”

“Won't you miss Bernie?” Carola asked.

Esme shook her head. “Absolutely not.”

“That is quite a sacrifice,” Helene said, watching her.

“I want a baby rather terribly,” Esme replied. “It's grown so that I don't care very much about Bernie, or his muscles, or indeed any man's muscles. I just want a baby.”

Helene nodded. “I know what you mean.”

“I don't!” Carola said. “I don't think that Esme should reconcile with Miles—I mean,
Miles!
He's run to fat. And he's slaveringly attached to Lady Childe.”

“Not anymore,” Esme said, with a gleam of amusement in her eyes.

“He threw her over for you?” Carola exclaimed.

“There's no need to sound so surprised,” Helene said with a gurgle of laughter. “Miles would be lucky to come within ten feet of his wife, and I'm certain he knows it.”

“Miles is a nice man,” Esme said. “A very kind man. He genuinely loves Lady Childe. But he wants an heir.”

“Well, it's true that I've never known you not to win any man you desired, Esme,” Carola said. “It's just such a shock to think of you with Miles. Goodness' sakes! He doesn't compare to Bernie, does he?”

Esme picked up her fan from the dressing table and waved it before her face. “I haven't the faintest idea what can be found in Bernie's head: whatever it is, there aren't many brains to challenge it.”

“Still, what a change this will be. Here I am, reconciling with Tuppy—or I hope to, at least. And Gina is about to marry her marquess—”

“Perhaps,” Esme interjected.

Helene raised an eyebrow, but Carola kept going. “And you are going to have a child with Miles. Are you planning to live with him?”

“Yes. He thinks it would be best for the child. And I believe I agree with him,” Esme said with an air of surprise.

“How odd,” Carola exclaimed. “There will be three of us actually living with our husbands. No longer the most scandalous set in the
ton,
by any means.”

“I shall have to hold up the torch for the rest of you,” Helene put in.

Carola grinned. “Oh, Helene! You are the antithesis of scandalous.”

“I am not,” she said with faint indignation. “After all, I don't live with
my
husband, and since I couldn't contemplate lying next to him unless we were both in a tomb, I won't be joining the three of you on your merry, married adventures.”

Esme gave a wry smile. “You think I'm making a devil's bargain, do you?”

“No, I don't,” Helene said. “I would love to have a child. And if my husband were even half as respectable and kindly as yours, I would break down his door demanding my marital rights. But as it is—”

“Why did you join us here?” Esme asked, carefully not looking at her friend, but instead watching the lazy sway of her fan. “I thought you were determined to stay in London for the month.”

There was a moment's pause.

“He attended the opera last night,” Helene said. “With his young woman in tow.”

Carola gave a squeak of disapproval. “That dissipated, degenerate—”

“—debaucher,” Esme chimed in.

“I was going to say bounder,” Carola said with dignity.

“You could say dog,” Esme added.

“Or dastard,” Helene put in.

“Lord Godwin is a pig! I can't believe he brought that trollop to the opera. Don't tell me they entered the box!” Carola's eyes grew round at the thought.

Helene sat with her back perfectly straight, a posture normal to her. But her chin rose just a fraction of an inch in the air. “They did.”

“Oh my goodness!” Carola cried.

Esme snapped her fan shut. “
Dastard
is too good for him.”

“I was seated with Major Kersting,” Helene said. “It was a difficult moment.”

“It must have been horrible,” Carola said. She pressed Helene's hand.

“I wouldn't describe it as horrible. But it was difficult.”

Esme grimaced at her. “Cut rope, Helene! Difficult? It sounds hellish to me!”

A smile curled the edge of Helene's lips. “Major Kersting was a support to me.”

Esme snorted. “About all he could be, the old stick. I can't understand why you like going about with him.”

“He knows his music,” she replied. “And he has no interest in making advances.”

“I should say not!” Esme says. “Why everyone knows that—” She broke off.

“Knows what?” Carola asked. “I never heard it rumored that Major Kersting was enamored of any particular woman.”

“He isn't,” Esme replied. “That's the point, Carola. He prefers male companionship.”

“Oh!” When Carola was shocked, her eyes grew as round as a baby's, and she looked even more cherubic than ever.

“He's a dear man,” Helene said, with a hint of sharpness in her tone.

“I didn't mean to disparage one of your entourage,” Esme remarked. “I like Kersting, for all his primness.”

“At any rate,” Helene continued, “Major Kersting was very helpful. He talked…talked to
her
until the theater was darkened, and then we left, of course.”

Esme opened her fan again. “I don't see why your husband takes such great delight in tormenting you. Isn't it enough that he moved the woman into your house?”

“I expect he didn't consider whether I would be there. He simply wanted to introduce the girl to
Cosi Fan Tutte.
He says she has a voice.”

“Oh, I'm sure!” Esme said in a tone of pure disgust. “A voice that she—”

“I have come to the conclusion that she is not to blame for her situation. I had the sense that she was only fourteen or fifteen. She spoke in an extremely youthful fashion.”

“Fourteen! Your husband is
disgusting
!” Carola squealed.

Esme threw her a quelling look. “That has been an accepted fact since Godwin invited his youthful trollop into the house. There's no need to reiterate it.”

“I would antedate general acceptance to the point when he invited three female members of a Russian singing group to live with him,” Helene said thoughtfully. “It was a low moment for the ancestral mansion, or so the servants said. They left in droves and informed most of London of their reasons. That was before you debuted, Carola.”

Esme nodded. “I remember. The girls were dancing naked on the dining room table when the butler walked in. It was just after you left the house, wasn't it?”

“Oh yes. Perhaps he was lonely,” she said with a touch of irony.

“Not for long!” Esme pointed out.

“I can't believe you two are funning over this!” Carola said. “Helene's husband is a disgusting, degenerate—”

“You're repeating yourself,” Esme put in.

“It's not a laughing matter! Here's poor Helene, living in her mother's house while her husband turns her own house into a bordello.”

“You also live in your mother's house,” Helene pointed out. “And, happily enough, I like my mother.”

“But Tuppy isn't running a bordello out of my former bedchamber.”

“Tell me more about Tuppy,” Helene remarked. “I am agog to hear when you decided that you wished to take him back.”

Carola erupted into a tangled speech about dancing and fish, with a few references to brown curls thrown in.

“Perhaps we should repair to the ballroom,” Helene suggested, smiling. “It sounds as if your Tuppy might be pining in your absence.”

Esme fixed Carola with an admonishing look. “You must not make your feelings obvious. It's all right to crow over it among us, but you must not—must not!—by any gesture or even a blink of the eye, let Tuppy know that you prefer him over Neville.”

“Well,” Carola said, “surely I could just—”

“No,” Esme said. “You may not. Let me put it this way: you must make certain the fish is well up on the bank before you remove the hook.”

“I know,” Carola said, sighing.

T
he ballroom was sparsely populated, since only the house party was in attendance. A small orchestra played a waltz at one end. Neville and Carola were soon circling the room, Neville swinging her in great arching circles with his usual flair.

“Lud!” Esme said, looking around. “There are no men tonight. Not that it signifies, given my new marital status.”

Helene was not a demonstrative person, but she gave her friend a fleeting kiss on the cheek. “I would give anything to trade places with you.”

“You would? I never knew you wanted a child!”

“There was no point in airing the subject. My husband and I will never reconcile.”

“And you are not the type of woman to have an illegitimate child.”

“I have considered it.”

“Helene!” This was truly a night for surprises.

“But quickly rejected the idea,” she continued with a fleeting smile. “For one thing, I have no interest in muscled
bodies like that of your Bernie. So who would play the role of father?”

“Why don't you ask Rees for a divorce? The two of you have so much wealth that surely it would be possible.”

“I have thought of that as well,” Helene replied. “But who would I marry? I am not like you, Esme, with hundreds of beaux wilting at your feet. I am a dull person, who only likes music. No man has made me an indecent proposition for years, let alone suggest that I divorce my husband and marry him.”

“Nonsense! You are a beautiful woman, and when you find the right person, he will fall at your feet. You would never wish to marry one of the fools I play with.”

“I wouldn't mind marrying your Miles,” Helene admitted.

“That's absurd!”

“No, it's not. I have come to value kindness above all.”

“He's plump.”

Helene shrugged. “I am too thin.”

“He's going bald.”

“I have enough hair for both of us.”

“He's in love with his mistress.”

“That's the best part about resuming your marriage. Miles will never pester you for displays of affection that you are unwilling to give.”

Esme looked at her friend curiously. “Poor darling,” she said, taking her arm. “You must be properly blue to consider such a horrid fate. Leave the plump balding men to me. We will find you a willowy man with a passion for music, and kindness dripping from his fingers.”

Helene laughed.

“Meanwhile, I'll introduce you to Bernie,” Esme said, seeing him plowing toward her. “Unfortunately, he has none of the qualities you respect. Given his extraordinary blood
thirstiness on the hunting field, I'm afraid he can't even qualify for kindness.”

Sometime later, Esme found herself dancing with her husband. Miles was not a good dancer: he tended to bounce on the tips of his toes, and wipe his face repeatedly with a large handkerchief, but he smiled so gaily and was so complimentary that it was a pleasant experience. He was considerate, Miles was. He never glowered. In fact, she couldn't remember him ever being in a bad mood.

“Why did we separate, Miles?” she asked impulsively.

He looked surprised. “You asked me to move out, my dear.”

Esme sighed. “I was a horrid little beast, and I'm truly sorry.”

“No, you weren't,” he replied. “I was tedious. I wanted too much from you.”

“Nothing more than a wife ought to give her husband,” Esme said.

“But those are wives who actually knew their husbands,” he pointed out. “Your father did you a disservice. He should have waited until we knew each other.”

Esme shrugged her shoulders. “It's a common state of affairs.”

“It shouldn't be.” There was an edge to his voice that made Esme look at him in surprise. “I don't feel right about it,” he confessed. “I feel as if I bought you. I saw you dancing, and I had to have you. Presented myself to your father the very next morning.”

“Yes,” Esme said, feeling very tired. “I remember.” She remembered the summons to come down to the library, to answer a plump, yellow-haired baron who had just asked for her hand in marriage. Given her father's approval, there was no answer other than yes expected, and she had said yes.

“It wasn't right.” The dance was over and they walked
toward the chairs at the side of the room. “I should have introduced myself to you, courted you, but I was overcome by your beauty. All I could think of was asking for your hand before someone else took you. They were calling you the Aphrodite, that season.”

“I'd forgotten that,” Esme said, thinking of Gina's statue.

“So I bought you,” he repeated. “I shouldn't have done it. I've felt it was a wrongful action ever since I saw you crying before the wedding.”

“You saw me crying?”

He nodded. “I came around the church and you were crying and holding on to your mama. I felt shabby. And I've felt shabby ever since.” He pressed her hand. “I want to apologize before we try a new life together. Will you forgive me, Esme?”

“Of course.”

He looked rather pink. “If it is quite all right with you, I might visit your room day after tomorrow, if you…you—”

“That would be lovely.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Quite, quite certain. You see,” Esme said, grinning at him, “I am choosing you, rather than my father doing so. And that makes all the difference, Miles.”

He smiled too, rather uncertainly.

“Have you spoken to Lady Childe, then?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, turning even redder. “She is most understanding, most kind, most understanding…” His voice trailed away.

Esme took his hand. He had a beautiful, fine-grained hand, quite unlike his ungainly body. “If you ever change your mind and wish Lady Childe in your life,” she said in a low, clear voice, “I would understand.”

He shook his head. “That would be shabby as well. I've grown too old to behave like a child. My opinion of myself matters a good deal to me these days.”

Esme leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his lips. His eyes were blue and utterly round. “There are a good deal of people, myself among them, who act like children every day. I am proud to think that the father of my babes is not one of them.”

A flush jumped up his cheeks. “No need to say that. Ah, here is your next partner, unless I miss my guess.” He stood up and beamed at Bernie Burdett.

Esme choked back a giggle. Only Miles would smile at the man half the
ton
believed to be his wife's lover.

Carola was still dancing with Neville when Tuppy entered the ballroom. She gave her partner a huge, glimmering smile.

“Let me guess. Perwinkle has arrived,” Neville said.

“How did you know?”

He rolled his eyes. “Remind me never to partner you in whist.”

“Do you think Tuppy will ask me to dance?”

“Has he
ever
danced with you?”

“I think so. We must have danced when we first met. But he absolutely refused to dance in the year during which we were married. I mean,” Carola said rather confusedly, “during the first year of our marriage.”

Neville expertly swung her in a circle. “I expect he hates dancing, in that case. The fact that it is your favorite activity might give one pause.”

Carola nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on his face so as not to look at Tuppy.

“Are you quite certain that you want to reclaim your boring husband? Because I love dancing.”

“Thank you, Neville, but no.”

“I am ten times more handsome.”

“How very ungracious of you to point it out!”

“You don't seem to have noticed my manifold virtues,” he
complained. “So I am forced to bring them to your attention. Shall I end this dance next to your beloved, then, and hand you over?”

“I don't think so,” Carola said, succumbing to an attack of shyness. “You have to act naturally. I shall die of humiliation if he suspects my intentions.”

“Of course he suspects. Didn't he kiss you?”

“Anyone could have kissed me.”

“Men rarely kiss women without provocation. For example, I've never kissed you,” he pointed out.

“Perhaps you should,” she said with a speculative gleam in her eye. “Is Tuppy watching?”

“Carola, kissing on the dance floor is paramount to declaring that we are engaged in an extramarital relationship,” Neville objected. “Not only would it damage your reputation, perhaps irredeemably, but it isn't the case, more's the pity.”

Her mouth set in a stubborn little line. “Will it damage
your
reputation?”

“To the contrary.”

“Then kiss me. Now, please.”

Neville slowed his dance step to a near standstill and leaned forward so his face was a fraction of an inch from hers. “When I kiss you, I'd like you to think only of me.”

“I'll try,” she said with a little giggle.

He looked over her shoulder. “I think we have achieved the desired resolution without endangering your reputation overmuch. Your husband is coming this way looking like a thundercloud.”

She gave him a smile so brilliant it looked as if it had been painted on. “Don't leave me!” she whispered.

“Only if violence is imminent.” Then he bowed urbanely.

“Lord Perwinkle, what a pleasure to see you again. How was the—”

But whatever kindly remark Neville was about to offer was cut off by a solid
thwunk
of fist meeting chin.

He flew backward, unconsciously trying to regain his balance by tightening his grip on the nearest support—Carola. And Carola, being a little pint of a person, flew through the air even faster than Neville, and landed even harder.

He grunted; she shrieked. The orchestra stopped playing instantly and craned their necks. Tuppy Perwinkle, maker of his own fishing lures and a man resigned to the bachelor state, stood over his two victims trying to figure out what the hell had happened.

“Carola,” he growled, “get off the floor.”

But she had landed hard on her bottom. Worse, her dignity had taken an even harder beating. She ignored him and came to her knees next to Neville. “Dearest!” she cried, “are you all right?”

Standing to her right, Mr. Reginald Gerard rolled his eyes. Amateur actresses invariably overacted, and Lady Perwinkle was no exception. Neville Charlton, on the other hand, was maintaining an enviable calm, and seemed a good candidate for the stage.

Neville opened one eye and peered at Carola. Then the other eye opened and he regarded the concerned and excited faces that ringed his vision.

“Ow!” he said, rubbing his chin.

Carola ignored her husband's outstretched hand and scrambled to her feet.

“You must be cracked!” she said, fists clenched. The circle of faces around her nodded. They agreed. The provocation (while notable) was not equal to the punishment.

Then everyone looked back at Neville, still on the floor. He came to his feet in a leisurely kind of way and began to repair his neck cloth.

Tuppy was beginning to feel like an almighty fool. “You look all right.”

Neville fingered his jawbone. “I believe I shall survive,” he said, as if discussing a fall from an apple tree. “Do you intend to air your reasons for this assault?” He said it in the nicest possible tone.

“No,” Tuppy replied. “I do not plan to do so.” Despite himself, his hands curled into fists again when he saw how Carola was fluttering around Neville, brushing his coat.

Neville pushed her away. “Let's not provoke the maddened bull, shall we?”

But Carola was beside herself with rage and humiliation. She flew back to Neville's side and clutched his arm. “How dare you assault my future husband!” she shouted at Tuppy, her voice high. “The man I love more than anyone in the world!”

Tuppy turned even paler. “I foresee a small problem—” he began.

“As do I,” Neville put in.

But Carola was almost panting with rage. “You had the temerity to assault the man I love! You must
apologize at once
!”

There was a dreadful moment of silence.

“All right, I apologize,” Tuppy said, turning to his victim.

Neville was still rubbing his chin and trying to pretend that he was elsewhere. He dropped his hand and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. Surely Perwinkle was saner than his wife? But alas, not so.

“You can have her,” Tuppy snapped. “Take her. I don't want her. I can't imagine why I tried to protect her reputation.” With that he turned on his heel and walked from the room. Bystanders fell back in utter silence as he walked by.

Helene stepped forward and took Carola's arm. She smil
ingly looked around at the fascinated eyes of the women surrounding them. “Lady Perwinkle must refresh herself,” she announced. “Men are exhausting, are they not? So much passion. Only a woman as beautiful and chaste as she could provoke so much passion!”

Lady Troubridge nodded, and everyone else followed their hostess's lead. Helene drew Carola from the room.

Gina felt her husband's presence at her elbow before he made a sound. “Good evening,” she said. “Did you see your friend Perwinkle's remarkable performance?”

“Make sport of the throes of passion at your peril,” he said with mock gruffness.

“What do you know about the throes of passion?” she laughed.

“Too much,” he said, his voice taking on a husky undertone. His wife was wearing an absurd evening dress. It was extremely tight in the upper body and trimmed with a little frill around the neck. With her red hair and white skin, she looked like a seductive Queen Elizabeth.

“And when was the last time you defended a lady's virtue?” she asked.

She had eyes the color of a piece of glass fished from the Greek ocean. And hair like an early sunset.

“Do you want to go back to the library and pick up where we left off?” he said. “It would be a shame not to answer Bicksfiddle's letters promptly. Perhaps there are emergencies we should be discussing.”