Escapade (13 page)

It may be imagined with what tumultuous feelings Ella heard this comment. When she wrote of him before, she had not really known him, except in a public way. Upon having observed him closely for a few days, she felt he was not so toplofty as she had believed, and the provocation for his cutting remarks was severe. In short, she had been unjust, and to continue writing of him while a guest was not only unjust, but iniquitous.

She could make no reply, and Clare continued in a light tone, “What, speechless with remorse at what you wrote of me, or speechless with anger that I read it?"

“I am only surprised you would have bothered."

“It was no bother. I had only to bend over a very little and pick it up."

“Still,” she rallied, “one is surprised to see the Duke of Clare bend at all."

“Floored again,” he said, regarding her closely in a half-smile, his eyebrows raised. “Where the deuce have you been hiding yourself all these years in London? I thought I knew all the interesting ladies, but I never knew you to be one of them till this visit."

“You have misunderstood the matter, milord,” she replied gravely. “I did not become interesting till I was singled out by the Duke of Clare for the exceedingly great honor of an invitation to his palace. You could not expect me to go on being dull after that."

He pursed his lips and tried to frown. “No, you don't find it in the least difficult to give me a set-down, do you? And I haven't even the excuse of not being forewarned, for you told me so when I made you waltz with me."

They began walking towards the doorway, a few paces behind the last of the departing guests, only Belle remaining in the saloon now. “It was unwise of you to
make
me,
n'est-ce pas
?"

“I refuse to regret it. Till then I didn't know what a nice sharp-tongued vixen you could be. Tell me, how is it you managed to convince Bippy and my Mama that you are unexceptionable?"

“I don't know what maggot Tredwell has got into his head; he scarcely looked at me till recently, but as to your Mama, it is not me she likes, but Miss Austen."

“Oh, no, she definitely called you that nice little Miss Fairmont."

“A conventional epithet."

“How very poorly you accept a compliment. You've no idea how glad I am to have found out your weakness."

“I believe Lady Honor is waiting to have a word with you,” Ella was happy to point out. Lady Honor had turned aside at the foot of the staircase. Flirtation was a new experience for Ella, and to be doing so with Clare as her first partner was nerve-wracking in the extreme. She preferred sparring with him.

“She'll be wanting me to tell her what she is to wear for the masquerade party. What shall we send her as? A zombie, perhaps?"

A spontaneous chuckle escaped Ella's lips before she took her leave and ran to catch up with Sara.

Belle rose slowly from the arm of the chair where she had been balancing, an unsettled expression on her face. It was an admixture of astonishment, jealousy, and anger. Three ladies chasing after Lord Clare were quite enough. She must cut this one out, before she became a positive nuisance.

Sara entered Ella's room for a chat before retiring and sat down on the end of her bed. “You are making yourself very much at home, having a coze with the Dowager, and a little private tête-à-tête with the Duke. Trying to steal my beau, are you?"

“But, of course,” Ella agreed laughingly. “You didn't think I'd let a real live duke slip through my fingers without trying to nab him, did you?"

“Yes, that is precisely what I thought. And don't try to con me you are on the catch for him, for I know you've bated him any time these three years. I suppose you're collecting news for Prattle. What extravagant follies have you been eking out of the poor unsuspecting soul?"

“No folly. He's not so bad when you get to know him."

“Take care, my girl, the next step is to go tumbling into love with him! We should have Prattle's first column about the visit at Clare by tomorrow. I trust Mama padded it out appropriately with London gossip to maintain the mystery."

“Oh, yes, I sent in only a few paragraphs."

“The masquerade ball will make a good story. And tell me, have you decided to go as Crazy Nellie too, for I know you said your outfit was a secret, and I have decided to be Nellie myself, so you'll have to choose something else."

“You are welcome to Crazy Nellie. I daresay she's been done a dozen times. I will be Matilda."

“Not, I trust, with your head tucked underneath your arm."

“But of course, that is the whole point of it! I hope I can find something to do for a head in the attic—an old hat form or some such thing I can paint up. And how am I to hide my own head, and still see where I am going?"

“Oh, Ella, marvelous! I wish I had thought of that. How can it be done?"

“Some sort of wadding stacked up around my ears to hold a dress up to head level I expect, and I'll have to cut two holes for eyes. I refuse to terrorize a whole roomful of people and not get to see the reaction myself. Isn't it going to be wonderful?"

“But very difficult to arrange. And you'll need a ruff too."

They discussed plans happily for some while, then with a yawn, Sara was off to her own room.

But when Ella lay down in her elegant four-poster bed, fashioned with a gilded birdcage on top, it was not her outfit that worried her, but her treatment of Clare, and the degree of rancor he felt for Miss Prattle, which showed itself in little ways like his limerick and naming his frog for her. She must be on her guard, say nothing to let the truth slip out, but more even than this horrible possibility, she worried about the ethics of flaying him publicly as she had been doing for years. She would say nothing else against him personally, that was the least she could do. To suddenly cut him from her column entirely would be too odd, and too displeasing to Thorndyke, too. No, she must ease off gradually, mention the party at Clare, but not the host. For the first time in her life, she was sorry that she was Miss Prattle.

Belle was the last to leave the saloon. By the time she got to the hallway, it was deserted, and she stood for a moment, looking around her, admiring it, and thinking how she would change the pictures when she was mistress here. She heard a timid footstep behind her, and looking around, nearly fell over from shock. There, in the beautiful flesh, stood Clare's flirt, whom she had seen in the village. She was dressed in a shawl for going outdoors, or had just come in.

She took the immediate resolve to find out all she could from the girl while she had such a perfect opportunity. “Are you looking for someone?” she asked, smiling sweetly, and making her voice soft.

“No, mum,” the girl said. A very common accent!

“Looking for a door perhaps?” Belle laughed kindly.

“Oh, no, mum. I've just come in."

“I see. Well, are you sure you're not looking for someone?"

“Well,” the girl licked her lips, and jiggled from one foot to the other. “A housekeeper then, mum, or the dook, maybe..."

Belle's heart raced. He had sent to have the woman come here! “Is the duke expecting you?"

“Yes, mum. He said I was to come."

“And what is your name, my dear?” adopting a maternal attitude, though she was not more than a year older than the young girl.

“Prissie. Prissie Muckleton. My pa works here, in the stables,” she volunteered.

“We must certainly let the duke know you are come,” Belle said, gloating inside with her triumph.

She had a vision of herself conducting the person to His Grace's chamber, but this ultimate glory was denied her. The butler came into the hall to extinguish lights for the night, and upon spying Prissie in conversation with a guest, took the wench by the arm and said, “Here, you. What are you doing in here?” in a very rough manner.

“I was asked to come,” Prissie said, fearfully.

“Not in the front door you weren't,” the butler replied.

“I didn't come in by the front door, but the little side door by the garden."

“The back door for the likes of you,” the stern butler decreed and carted her off.

Belle's feet barely touched the stairs as she flitted to her room. She lay long awake, deciding how to use this piece of information she had chanced across. She settled on nothing, but the possibilities were endless to one of her inventive talents.

The morning brought a respite from the rain, but no sunny skies, and Ella nurtured a secret hope that by nightfall they would be enjoying another storm. With a heavy day's work arranging her costume before her, she arose just before 9:00, thinking she would be the first one up. Several others were of the same opinion, and a full crew, even including Lady Honor, had assembled round the table before 9:30. Ella heard her name—her Miss Prattle name—mentioned by Miss Prentiss as she entered the breakfast room. She held the
Morning Observer
in her hands and was regaling them with the first column to have reached Dorset, though others were already printed in London.

“FitzPrattle has no good idea of your hospitality, Clare,” she said. “Only hear what she writes of our little party. ‘Those patrons who thought they were poorly entertained at the Concert of Ancient Music last night may thank their lucky stars they were not at C—e Palace, where the tired guests who had traveled all day were required to sing for their supper before they were allowed to go to bed. Miss P—s must have been exhausted, for rumor has it she was made to sing, dance and act two excerpts from Shakespeare. The D—e of C—e, we are happy to inform you all, was home to greet his guests. Let us hope he has something better planned for them than amateur talent nights. The momentous announcement we are all waiting for with bated breath has not been made, but Miss P—s must have got a neck ahead of the others, if entertaining is one of the requirements for the post of Duchess.’ Well, that is very bad of her,” Belle said, smiling from ear to ear.

Miss Sheridan grabbed the paper to make sure no mention was made of Miss S—n's performance. “She hasn't said a word about me,” she pouted.

“Take heart,” Clare told her. “This is only the beginning. It will get to you soon enough."

“He means Prattle,” Bippy advised Miss Sheridan. “Calls her it."

“This paper is days old,” Belle said. “I wonder what she will say about our frog contest."

“She'd better say I won with Green Boy, or I'll write her a letter,” Peters said.

“Accuracy is not one of its concerns,” Clare warned him.

“She doesn't mention any of us but you, Miss Prentiss,” Sherry said, when she had investigated the paper thoroughly. “Not even Lady Honor. Everyone will be wondering if I even got here, though at least they know
I
was invited. It never said you and Miss Fairmont were coming, Lady Sara. Strange that Miss Prattle did not say you were here, too."

“Clare only invited us at the last moment,” Sara said. She was secure enough in her social position that she could admit it without shame.

“Yes, and, of course, she would not have named Miss Fairmont as one of the three in the Judgment of Paris contest."

“You take FitzPrattle too seriously, my dear,” Clare told her. She did not catch that he was saying he had no intention of choosing a bride from among the three, but Miss Prentiss, who alone knew of Prissie Muckleton, put this interpretation on his words. Of the three original girls, she had always felt that she had the inner track. And of the three, she was also the only one who had noticed his new partiality for Miss Fairmont. Being a worldly girl, Belle had assumed Miss Fairmont was along to lend an air of respectability to Lady Sara's presence. She was one of his long-standing flirts. But the presence of Prissie Muckleton shot that theory into a cocked hat. No, Miss Fairmont was not her aunt's chaperon, but a threat in her own right. After that flirtation—really it went beyond conversation to reach the elevated status of flirtation—she had overheard between them last night, she was on her guard. She might have to take steps to eliminate Miss Fairmont.

Clare turned to Miss Fairmont. “No doubt your name will appear in tomorrow's column, Miss Fairmont."

“I can't think she will consider me newsworthy.” Ella well knew her name would never appear in Prattle's column.

“You underrate yourself,” Clare replied. “If Fitz does not see fit to name the inventor of the contest, we must certainly write it a blast of a letter."

“By Jove, yes. All your idea,” Bippy backed him up.

“Ella is not disappointed to be omitted,” Sara told them, enjoying this little game to the fullest.

“No, indeed."

“It's a damned impertinence the way she rakes us all over the coals. But why are we discussing such a tedious subject?"

“It's time to go,” Honor told Clare. “Get your hat."

“Yes, ma'am, and you get your bonnet.” So that's why she's up before noon, he thought. By God, she must be serious, to have hauled her carcass out of bed at this hour.

The others went to the ballroom, except for Lady Sara, who went to inquire of Clare for keys to the attic.

“Sara, I'm glad to see you alone. You must come with us,” he said, in a very urgent voice.

“What in the world for?"

“I have had a chat with mama, and she pointed out what I should have seen for myself. It is as good as announcing an engagement if I go making a call to every home in the neighborhood with Lady Honor. Just the two of us—it will be bound to be misunderstood, and I daresay that is precisely what Honor had in mind."

“You overestimate her."

“Well, I suppose such cunning is beyond her, but she thinks she is going to marry me—her whole family thinks it—and no doubt it seemed entirely appropriate to her that she come with me."

“You refine too much on it, but I'll come if you like."

“I insist—dash up and get your bonnet, or she'll have me into the carriage and off before we know what has happened. How does she do it, Sara? I pay no attention to her outside of what common decency demands, yet here she is at my home. I am standing up with her first at every dance; she is coming with me on these calls, and if I don't watch my step, she'll marry me when I'm not looking."