Talk of the Town (8 page)

“Well, the little story about Arthur discovering myself and Ansquith together got about. It happened at Sprocket Hall on a house party. Everyone was talking about it, as people will do. When St. Felix learned Arthur didn’t mean to defend my name, he said he would do it himself or other gentlemen would try to take advantage of me. I daresay he thought to shame Arthur into it, but he didn’t; and the next thing I knew the duel was over and done with, with only a shoulder scratch. They used swords in those days, which is less likely to be fatal than a gun, and much more civilized, I’m sure. Ansquith was touched in the shoulder and St. Felix never hurt at all. He said I had to marry him for he was ruined anyway fighting a duel over another man’s wife, but we managed to keep it hushed up. Georgiana knew, of course, but she wouldn’t tell a soul. So that is when I thought of suicide; oh, not committing it, of course, for that would be so very fatal, but of pretending, like Prinney. So the next night when St. Felix came to see me and tried to talk me into running off with him, what did I do but have a glass of wine and vinegar sitting by me. I kept looking at it nervously, and a little later, St. Felix picked it up to take a sip, for I made sure not to offer him a glass. He noticed the odd taste right away, and I knocked it out of his hand as though I were scared to death and said he must not drink from that glass. But I let him get one sip first, and he thought immediately what I meant him to think— that I was drinking poisoned wine. He carried on so—oh, my! How it was a sin and worse, and why was I doing such a thing.

"Well, I gave him to understand it was unhappiness with his behaviour that led me to it; that I would sooner die than let him ruin his life for me. I told him I loved him too much to see him ruined, and a good deal more nonsense of that sort, with tears and all the rest of it. I told him the only thing that could induce me not to take my life was for him to go back to his wife and family and make something useful of his life. He said it was impossible and even suggested at one point that we both drink poison—so uncomfortable, and awkward, too, me with not a drop of real poison in the house. I would have looked silly if he’d pushed it, but I reminded him of his family obligations at this point, you may be sure. And made him get rid of his other flirt, too,” she added.

“He sounds a sanctimonious gentleman, to be sure. Had another friend, as well, had he?”

“Well, my dear, everyone had. He was not considered at all fast or loose. He had a little actress at one point, for it was never pretended to be a love match between him and the Duchess. She took the actress amiss all the same, and they were not getting along at all when he got after me. The St. Felixes, you know, were always said to live up to their full title, the saint and the dukedom, and the wife’s family was full of starch. Her brother Archie is the Archbishop of Canterbury, if you can imagine. Ho, and he as full of vinegar as any of them. But St. Felix went back to being a saint after I put a scare into him. He and his wife got back together and there was never any talk about him, so it was all for the best. How it makes one aware of one’s age. Young Richard a grown man now, and looking very much like his father, too. Finally having a son did much to settle George down. He had given up hope of it and felt that as his brother Algernon had two sons, the title would be going to them; and so I suppose that is why he didn’t care too much about running off and making a fool of himself. Only think if I’d let him and then heard the minute we set foot off the island that he had had a son! Fathers always dote on their sons when they are dead ringers for themselves, as Richard is. Someone pointed him out to me t’other day in the Park. It is why I can’t bear to see him when he comes. It brings it all back to me. I believe I loved old St. Felix. Oh, not in the way I love—loved Standington. The first passion is never quite recaptured; but I could have been happy with him if it weren’t for Arthur and, of course, the Duchess and his family. But instead of taking up with him, I went abroad and married Mr. Eglinton. I’ve led a sad and sorrowful life. Such a lot of shame and disgrace I’ve brought on everyone, but at least I don’t have St. Felix on my conscience.”

“You are a much-maligned saint yourself, Aunt Effie,” Daphne said, very moved by the story. Like everyone else, she had thought her aunt a bit of a mindless fool, but there was a broad streak of kindness, as Mama had always insisted, buried in the foolishness. “Yes, and I wager God has got a special corner of heaven set aside for people like you, too. There won’t be many in it, either.”

“I hope I am not quite alone,” Effie laughed. “It won’t be heaven to me if I am not with my friends.”

It was a heart-wrenching statement—Effie and her “friends,” who robbed her pockets when she was rich and accused her of blackmail when she was poor. And the St. Felixes the worst of the lot—coming with their noses in the air to pay her. She could have ruined the whole family years ago, and they would not be in such eminent positions now.

“So you tore the pages out to hide this story from me, Auntie? You have nothing to be ashamed of in it.”

“That was not my purpose in doing it, love. The thing is, Henry Colburn was to see me again the other day and asked to have a look at my memoirs. I wouldn’t want him to find out about it. There are some parts of her life a woman wants to keep to herself—or share with only a precious few. You are the only one outside myself who knows the story, and it is not to be repeated. I shan’t say a word about Standington in print, either.”

“I wouldn’t turn the diaries over to Colburn. When did he ask?”

“He has been hinting since his first visit. I ripped the pages out the first night of his visit, but a few days ago I let him scan some of the later books. He wants me to put in things I don’t want to. I’m not even sure I’ll bother writing the book. We don’t seem to have much time for it now since we are going about to parties. Only fancy, Beau Brummell coming to call this afternoon. How I regret Mr. Pealing couldn’t be here to meet him. The hours he spent with his valet trying to get his collars starched up, and Beau could tell him exactly how to go about it for sure. It was Beau who started all this starching business. They do say he has his boots polished with champagne, but Mr. Pealing tried it and says it is all a hum.”

Effie exulted in her famous caller, and Daphne had a little exulting to do herself. If the Duke of St. Felix chose to come storming in again, she would be hard put not to laugh in his face. But Effie had asked her not to repeat a word and that would be very hard to do.

“Does the St. Felix family not know about the late Duke’s involvement with you at all, Auntie?”

“The mother knows. He had given her warning what he meant to do. Such a gudgeon-like thing to do, go telling her. But the others don’t, unless she told them. I daresay the older girls might have an inkling.”

“It was the Duke I was thinking of.”

“He wasn’t even born at the time.”

“Well, if he comes speaking of blackmail again, I might just give him an inkling,” Daphne said, to see what her aunt would say.

“Well, maybe just an inkling,” Effie said with an arch smile. “But I shouldn’t tell him about the duel, dear, for he will feel a perfect fool and we wouldn’t want that.”

“Oh, yes we would.”

"That’s no way to go about winning a fellow’s affection, goose.”

“I am not interested in his affection, I promise you."

Brummell paid his promised call, standing on his feet like a gentleman. His carriage, without reinforcement, proved to be up to Mrs. Pealing’s and his own combined weight, and with a face betraying to the world nothing but delight in his companion, he drove through Hyde Park, down to Bond Street, then back to the barrier of Hyde Park, to make sure he was seen and recognized. He stopped four times, to make Mrs. Pealing known to Lords Alvanley and St. Clare, Ladies Blessington and Sefton, and two other groups of untitled notables. Lest this very public gesture should not be sufficient, he also asked permission to accompany the ladies to Lady Melbourne’s small rout a few evenings hence.

Daphne still mistrusted his intentions, but no more than her aunt did she wish to pass up the honour of being seen with him. While Mrs. Pealing rode in the Park with Beau, Daphne went with Mrs. Wintlock and Stephanie to a pic-nic at Richmond Park. She was collecting a circle of admirers, and when she went into public with the Wintlocks, the circle was swelled by Miss Wintlock’s beaux, as well. Though the girl was not a beauty, she was a considerable heiress and making a small splash.

Daphne was surprised to see that St. Felix made up part of the group. He was older than the other beaux present but clearly not counted amongst the chaperones as being of their number. She tossed him a bold smile, which he ignored completely, turning his back after a mere glance to speak to another lady.

“Do you know St. Felix?” Miss Wintlock asked.

“I have met him. He is very disagreeable,” Daphne replied with relish.

“Yes, holds himself very high, but handsome, is he not?”

“I suppose so, if you like that sort,” Miss Ingleside returned in a disparaging voice.

Stephanie stared to hear of anyone not liking a tall, handsome duke possessed of wealth and manners.

“He is said to live up to his both titles—sainthood and dukedom,” Daphne added, to imply he was too strict for her.

"That’ll come as a surprise to his flirts,” a Mr. Bosworth said. He was one of Stephanie’s admirers.

Miss Wintlock was amazed at the radiant smile this brought to her friend’s face. “Now she is interested. You see what a minx she is,” Stephanie laughed to the group.

“You have my character in shreds at a word,” Daphne replied and was immediately at pains to get Mr. Bosworth to herself to discover all details of St. Felix’s flirts. What she learned cheered her greatly.

“Very active in the petticoat line,” Bosworth informed her with a knowing look. “Well, a bachelor, of course. It’s only to be expected.”

“Not of a St. Felix bachelor surely,” Daphne prodded.

“I don’t know about any other St. Felixes, but this one is no dashed saint. Has the prettiest chick in town under his protection. Name is Amy, or Aimée or some such thing. Well, she ain't French, but you know how those girls give themselves fancy names. A dainty little blond girl. You must have seen her dashing through the Park in that blue rig he gave her, and a pair of cream ponies. She always wears blue, to match her eyes.”

“I know another lady who does the same,” Daphne returned, smiling more broadly by the minute.

“That so? Well, Amy has brought it into fashion very likely. She’s all the crack.”

“Yes, I daresay my friend got the idea from St. Felix’s flirt,” she answered, and fell into an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

She longed to taunt St. Felix with all her new discoveries. To see him standing about looking bored to flinders, as though he had no interest in the young girls, riled her.

He looked towards Miss Ingleside. Indeed several peeps in her direction had taken place already, as she was the only reason he was present. Upon hearing that Mrs. Wintlock and her daughter were to be of the party, he had accepted an invitation to join it. Daphne had been too absorbed to remark his other glances, but she saw this one and nodded her head, smiling broadly. St. Felix took a step towards her, which caused Mr. Bosworth to discover a friend elsewhere. He had told no more than the truth, but there is a disagreeable quality in having to face one’s victim so soon after an unnecessary telling of the truth.

“We meet again, Your Grace,” she said in a very civil tone, but was at once busy to be teasing him. “Our new sofas and chairs have missed you. I would have thought their being blue might please you."

“You seem well amused today,” he said with a cool look. Not a trace of a smile himself, though he was very much aware of the attractiveness of the impish smile facing him. He was wondering just what that reference to blue meant, and fearing he knew.

“I am never so well entertained as when I am discovering new scandals,” she replied enigmatically.

“This seems an unlikely spot for it, with innocent green nature everywhere.”

“It is people who cause scandal, not places.”

“I see nothing scandalous going forth.”

“You would see the exalted Duke of St. Felix speaking to that disreputable Miss Ingleside if you had a mirror. Even in Richmond Park I am bent on mischief.”

“And find it, unaccountably, a matter to boast of.”

“We will all boast a little of our successes, even in our less worthy schemes.”

“Was it your aim, then, to engage me in conversation, as you speak of success?”

“Indeed, no, this is a quite unlooked for honour. I had hoped for no more than a glance from afar.”

“You knew I was coming?” he asked with interest.

“No, how should I? Even the pleasure of a glance was not anticipated in advance, thus robbing me of half the pleasure. It is the looking forward to a thing that gives a good deal of the enjoyment. I might have been
aux anges
all last evening had I known you were to be here. But I have something quite different to anticipate now.”

“Am I to assume that cryptic utterance relates to myself?” he asked, regarding her suspiciously.

“That assumption would be less wrong than some others you have made.”

“What are you up to now?” he asked baldly.

“What is the likes of me ever up to? Chicanery, and if you are at all curious you must bring a bale of gold to Upper Grosvenor Square and find out.”

A glint of amusement appeared briefly in his cold grey eyes. “You are aware of my aversion to that place. Can’t you tell me here?”

“Give up my secrets without receiving a fortune in return? How can you take me for such a flat!”

“I take you for a brass-faced gypsy, Miss Ingleside.”

“Unlike some people, I do not try to pass for what I am not,
Saint
Felix.”

“We do not emphasize the saint.”

“Indeed we do not.
Au contraire
, Your Grace.” She left with a taunting smile to return to her own group, where Miss Wintlock called her the slyest thing in nature, to be flirting with St. Felix after letting on she didn’t care for him in the least.