Talk of the Town (21 page)

“But I am engaged to Miss Ingleside,” St. Felix pointed out.

“I know that! Ain’t a complete fool. A minister of the Government, after all. Didn’t have to go getting engaged to her. That Pealing woman—not the thing." Upon becoming a minister, Larry had raised his standards of respectability, and Effie’s heart of gold had ceased to excite his admiration.

“There’s nothing wrong with Countess Standington!” Uncle Algernon took up the cudgels in her defence. “And you didn’t think so yourself twenty years ago."

“Twenty-five! I was only a boy. I didn’t know any better.”

“Well
she
did! She knew enough not to give you a look-in, and that’s what’s bothering you now.”

“There is no need to rake up all that ancient history!” Bess intervened.

“I want it all raked up and buried once and for all,” St. Felix said. “I don’t mean to bring Daphne into a family where she is looked down on and whispered about behind her back. We all know about the aunt—she has caused a good deal of bother in this family one way or another, but not nearly so much as she could have caused—and it has nothing to do with Miss Ingleside.”

“She has caused enough bother on her own,” Bess said, cross at her husband’s rough treatment from Uncle Algernon.

“She wouldn’t have caused any bother if the men of this house hadn’t all made fools of themselves over Mrs. Pealing,” St. Felix adjured.

“She came here to blackmail us!” Bess reminded him.

“Countess Standington never did anything of the sort,” Algernon shouted, jumping to his feet and promptly sitting down again as a stab of gout racked his knee. “And neither did her niece!” he insisted, without knowing a thing about it.

A fine family brawl ensued for the better part of an hour, with Algernon calling Sir Lawrence a drooling idiot, Sir Lawrence reciprocating the compliment by pointing out that Algernon had never been made a minister or anything else of any importance, Bess dissolving into tears, and the Dowager saying she was glad her husband wasn’t alive to see them all acting such a Cheltenham tragedy over nothing. The whole mess was thoroughly hashed over, raked up, and buried. When they were finally allowed to leave, they were all back in spirits, with Lawrence promising to send Uncle Algernon a very interesting report on the fur trade in Canada to look over (and hopefully explain to him, for it seemed very complicated). They were each fully aware of the roles they were to play in the coming days.

The Dowager Duchess of St. Felix and her son drove in the Park with Miss Ingleside the following afternoon and left off an announcement of the engagement at three newspaper offices, having decided to let the shock waves subside before their ball. In the evening a large party was assembled at Carlton House, where the Prince Regent was polite to Lord Standington, taking him aside to explain which party they were supporting this year and that Lord Standington’s attendance at a few sessions of the House was highly desirable to defeat those rabble-rousing Whigs. Castlereagh flattered the Irish lord into believing he knew what was going on in the sphere of politics and said he was delighted to finally make the acquaintance of Lady Standington, endowing Effie with her old, and soon to be new, title for the occasion.

Prinney coyly took Effie’s hand and said, “I see now why you turned me off, sly puss. But you might have told me what was in the wind. I was very much hurt at your treatment of me.”

“Oh, Your Highness—it is no such a thing,” she began. Happily, she was then struck with a thought rather than a feeling and realized that his vanity might be wonderfully salved by this face-saving explanation. “I could not tell you before Standington arrived. I promised him I would not. How rattled I was when you came to my apartment. I hardly knew what to say—such an honour!”

“No need to say a word. I understand, my dear Countess.” The Prince, too, gave her the dignity of her old title, but his roving eye was soon intercepting a smile from the charming Lady Conyngham and he waddled off in her direction.

Standington, too, received a few encouraging glances from the shorter ladies present and felt he could put up with London for a week or so. It was clear to the onlookers at the party that Mrs. Pealing was to be counted amongst their friends, and before she left she had three invitations to tea and four callers asking exactly where on Grosvenor Square her apartment was to be found.

Miss Ingleside was found to be charming, and as no one was rude to her, she got through the night without saying a sharp word to anyone. She was disappointed to see Mr. Brummell was not there but was told by her groom that Carlton House was the last spot in London one would expect to see him.

The Beau was no longer welcome at the Regent’s residence, which made it very necessary for him to read all reports of happenings there. He read with mixed emotions that Miss Ingleside and Mrs. Pealing had been amongst the guests and sat down to compose a few remarks worthy of the young Incognita when next they came to cuffs. That she was to marry St. Felix was also read and digested, and when finally he confronted her at Lord St. Felix’s ball, to which he had been invited at the express wish of the young lady, he was ready for her.

“I am delighted to see you are back amongst us. London was desolate without you.”

“I haven’t been away. In fact, I was at a party at Carlton House this week.”

He knew it well and had his reply ready. “That is as good—or as bad—as being out of the city.
I
no
longer go there, you see.”

“You could hardly do so without an invitation.”

“I have let His Highness know the futility of sending invitations to me. You don’t want to become too close to him—bad
ton.
But you have made a much better alliance, I hear, with the Duke of St. Felix.”

“A grand enough match that I took the risk of inviting you to our ball, Mr. Brummell.”

“And
I
took the risk of accepting, for the pleasure of your conversation. One must live a little precariously.” His insolence, delivered in drawling accents with a half-smile on his face, did not goad her into anger any longer. He was really rather pitiful.

“Don’t live too precariously, Mr. Brummell. I would miss you if I should wake up one morning and find the King of Absurdity had been dethroned.”

“You are too kind, but I fear the King is more likely to be decapitated than dethroned. St. Felix is looking daggers at me. The fellow is a fiend of jealousy, you know. I must drop you a word of warning.”

“When you undertake to counsel me on how to deal with my husband, you are really overstepping the bounds, Mr. Brummell.”

“It is commonly said my impertinence knows no bounds, Ma’am. But my discretion does, and I shall take my leave before he comes. Good evening. I look forward to meeting you again, very soon.”

He scraped a leg and left, with a warm smile on his petulant lips, to have a word with Lady Melbourne and plan new mischief.

“Setting up a flirtation with the Beau?” St. Felix asked. “I wondered at your eagerness to have him here.”

“I owe him a few debts but find them devilish hard to pay off. What a tongue the man has.”

“That must recommend him to you, no doubt, but I have someone else who wishes for your acquaintance. My Uncle, the Archbishop of Canterbury,” he explained, and led her to make the acquaintance.

The honour granted, Daphne asked, “Did you actually present Aunt Effie to the Archbishop?”

“It was not in the least necessary. He used to be one of her court twenty-odd years ago, when he was only an archdeacon. I notice Standington is keeping a sharp eye on him. Quite an infamous lady, that aunt of yours. It is as well she is to be taken to Ireland.”

“There isn’t room in London for two of us black ewes.”

“I mean to do a much better job of keeping you in line than old Standington did with your aunt,” he informed her sternly.

“I am used to dealing with you tyrants. Papa was just such another, and you will recall my trick to get him to let me come to London.”

“You are welcome to come to London whenever you please, so long as I come with you, or so long as you behave yourself.”

“How dull—to come with my husband and to behave myself. I might as well stay locked up with the flowers in Kent.”

“I didn’t say you must do both—you may misbehave yourself as much as you like, so long as you do it with me. Shall we slip out the door for a little misbehaviour now? There is a nice private morning parlour just around the corner in the hall that might have been made for the purpose.”

“It likely was, if your ancestors were anything like yourself.”

“We know what a model of propriety Papa was. The room I am speaking of is right here.” He took her elbow and walked to an elegant little parlour hung in blue velvet draperies with a blue carpet.

“This looks as if Effie might have had a hand in decorating it,” she said, and felt very much at home in the room. “Or
some
lady with a fondness for blue, in any case,” she added with a pert smile.

“Who knows? Father may have had it done to please your aunt. It is clear, I think, that the room has not been redecorated recently, and not, I assure you, by any friend of mine. Papa tried to give Effie a blue ring once, you know.”

“It is reassuring to know such a wide streak of fidelity runs in the family I am about to join.”

“Faithful to the very marrow of the bones. Papa’s mistake was in marrying before he met Effie, I suppose. I have been more fortunate. What a man should do is marry the woman he would want to make his mistress. It gets rid of a lot of problems."

“That rather depends on his taste in mistresses. I foresee a few difficulties if certain gentlemen were to marry their present flirts.”

“We are talking about
you.
I foresee no difficulties."

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“If you choose to take it as one. It is a roundabout way of saying I won’t make my father's mistakes. You are the only woman I want, or have ever wanted.”

“Amy will be sorry, and surprised, I wager, to hear it,” she said with a lift of her brows.

“She was not surprised—
was
not, you notice. I have cleared up all the loose ends.”

“How thorough of you!” she congratulated him with a breath of relief.

“I believe in doing things thoroughly,” he replied, and, drawing her into his arms, he kissed her very thoroughly, indeed.

Copyright © 1979 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest Books

Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.