Maddy’s journey took her through a part of London that she had not previously known. She was privileged to be abroad on a market morning, when the filth and mire were ankle deep, and the thick steam that rose from reeking cattle mingled with fog that hovered over the chimney tops. A hideous and discordant din rose from every corner of the marketplace, a screeching discord comprised of ringing bells, animal cries, and the oaths and roared abuse that issued from each public house. Maddy shrank back in distaste from the unwashed figures that ran constantly in and out of the throng.
Startling, too, was the neighborhood surrounding Covent Garden. Now that Maddy gazed about her with no fear of incurring Letty’s displeasure, she began to understand her aunt’s squeamishness. Splendid mansions, fitted with plate glass and stone balustrades, stood side by side with hovels of abject filth and poverty.
Even this was not the worst. Maddy had never heard of Seven Dials, and thus had no forewarning of the surroundings in which she’d find her friend. After begging the driver to await her return, she lifted her skirts and entered a building so ramshackle that she expected it at any moment to tumble down. Her fastidious nostrils were assailed by the stench of dank walls, rotting floorboards, and other horrors that she dared not pause to categorize. Had it not been for the driver’s insistence, she would have suspected he’d misunderstood the address.
To further add to her distress, Maddy was not able to speak with Clem, but was instead privileged to meet the master player of the troupe. Maddy could not care for him, his manner was too obsequious, his sunken eyes too shifty, but she entrusted him with Lady Henrietta’s letter and an accompanying note. She did not think that Mr. Willis excelled at his profession, for he had the hollow cheeks and sallow complexion that spoke of scant food and ill health. Maddy fled quickly down the narrow, dimly lit hallway, trying not to see into the rooms that were crowded with adults and children of all ages, nor to hear their noisy quarreling and pathetic cries. She had imagined Clem’s situation as dire; the reality was countless times worse. To complete Maddy’s unhappiness, on the threshold she passed Lord Bechard. It was too much to hope that she’d gone unrecognized.
* * * *
“It grieves me to say so,” commented the Duchess with patent insincerity as she settled herself comfortably in her elegant coach, “but Laetetia Jellicoe does not possess what one might consider the best of taste.”
Tilda, who had been hard pressed during their short visit to hide her fascination with a firescreen that depicted Faith, Hope, and Charity encircled in pale convolutions worked in mother-of-pearl, smiled. “It seems our visit was not well timed. Letty appeared to be exceedingly uncomfortable. I wonder why.”
“I suspect,” offered Wilmington, who had startled both ladies by offering to escort them and who had, furthermore, displayed remarkable diplomacy in dissuading Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson from adding a monkey to her menagerie, “that she was pleased enough to see us until she discovered that the bird had flown.” The Duchess regarded him with interest. The Earl’s good temper had miraculously survived prolonged visits to her favorite dressmaker and milliner. “It was obvious that she thought the girl safely in the house, and she suffered severe discomposure when she learned otherwise.”
“What a suspicious mind you have,” Tilda remarked. “Are you imagining Miss de Villiers involved in some sordid intrigue? I think it far more likely that she was shopping with her cousin, just as her aunt said.”
“More fool you, then!” snapped Agatha. “That pudding-faced creature was in the house, for all she played least in sight. Letty had no more idea of where Madeleine had gone than do I, and perhaps less. She’s not what
I
would consider a suitable chaperon, being far too light-minded for the task. Heaven only knows what scrape the girl may involve herself in.”
“I hope she may enjoy it,” Tilda intervened. “But if you are correct in your assumption, why would Letty try and fob us off with such a clanker? She could have said instead that Miss de Villiers was unwell, or any number of unremarkable things.”
“Letty Jellicoe’s imagination is not powerful,” commented Micah, unperturbed by the prospect of a visit to a select establishment on Oxford Street where the Duchess proposed to inspect ostrich plumes. He appeared equally unconcerned with Maddy’s whereabouts. “She was cast into the liveliest apprehension lest Agatha prove inquisitive.”
“And well she might!” retorted that worthy, not ill pleased. “Letty is far too lax, as is evidenced by her daughter’s unseemly behavior. But Madeleine appears to be a well-brought-up young woman, and I do not suspect that she has stolen away to visit the fleshpots.”
Tilda, who was contemplating just such an excursion, regarded Agatha with curiosity. “And the cousin does? You shock me!”
“I meant to,” the Duchess retorted. “You’re becoming far too complacent, my girl, and I know what that means. If you must indulge in one of your hey-go-mad humors, pray wait until you may not involve me.” She assumed an attitude of feebleness. “I am an old woman, and not up to your fits and starts.”
“Never fear,” soothed Tilda, who, with the one exception of her stealthy excursion to Vauxhall, considered that she had thus far comported herself with the utmost propriety. “I shall cast no shadow on your good name.” The Earl’s discretion was such that he had never made reference to that memorable night.
Agatha snorted. “Ripe for mischief,” she repeated, “mark my words. Not that anybody shall! As for Letty’s daughter, I do not say that she has fallen into dissipation, but she has been seen where she should not be, and in far from the best of company. There’s not a bit of harm in the brother, however. He appears to think and behave just as he ought, which I must consider to be little short of miraculous in that woman’s son!”
“Your sources of information are not infallible,” Micah remarked. “The young man is among the fair Clemence’s swains.”
“The actress?” The Duchess shot her godson a speculative glance. Even were the current rumors true, there’d be no harm done, except to Letty’s delicate sensibilities. Agatha liked Kenelm all the more for his bit of rebelliousness. “I’m told you are also among her admirers. Is that true?”
“True enough,” Tilda interjected mischievously, “but you need not fear that Micah will sire his heir there. Alastair means to have the girl.”
“A pity,” Agatha sighed, although she did not explain whether this was for Clem’s fate or the missing heir. “The chit is said to be of good birth, though sadly lacking in talent.”
“With her face,” Micah commented, somewhat caustically, “it matters little. She’ll do well enough for the role Alastair has in mind.”
“I am relieved to learn,” the Duchess growled, “that your heart is not involved.” Tilda grinned, and Micah raised a lazy eyebrow. Having managed to silence her godson, the Duchess turned her attention to Tilda, who was provokingly perverse. Rather than engaging in a series of flirtations, natural behavior after a year of country solitude, Tilda had limited herself to arguing with Micah, baiting Alastair Bechard, and appearing everywhere in the worthy Timothy’s company.
“You’re being mighty circumspect,” Agatha remarked, and Tilda started. “Too much so by half. I had expected you to entertain me, but you’re proving tediously humdrum.”
“Agatha!” Tilda ignored Micah’s crack of laughter. “Only a few moments past you begged me not involve you in a scandal. You’ve only to tell me which you prefer, and I will do my utmost to oblige!”
“You want,” Agatha said firmly, “a little more dash. I realize you’ve taken the town by storm, but that is not sufficient. You are a widow of nine and twenty. It will not do to let people consider you on a shelf.”
Tilda wore a rueful expression. “I begin to see the trend of this conversation.”
“I always said you were needle-witted,” Micah applauded. The Duchess ignored them both.
“You must make a push to get yourself settled,” she insisted, “before it is too late.”
“Before I sink into decrepitude?” Tilda inquired. ‘Thank you, but no. I’ve no great desire to reenter the married state, Agatha, despite Timothy’s efforts to change my mind.”
“Timothy!” Agatha repeated with horror. “I implore you, Mathilda, not to waste yourself on him.”
“What’s this?” Tilda inquired, surprised. “I did not realize you held poor Timothy in such low esteem.”
“He is not the man for you,” Micah explained kindly. His godmother awarded him a fulminating glance. “After all, you have been used to life with a libertine.”
Unaccountably, Tilda blushed. “Who then?” she demanded. “Am I to wed another such?”
“I, alas, am out of the running,” Micah remarked. He appeared to enjoy the conversation. “For Agatha has decreed that I must have an heir, and you have shown yourself sadly inefficient in that department. Nor do I imagine that she could countenance a match with Alastair, or that you would care to play second fiddle to the actress who seems fated to become his next light-o’-love. Since Timothy is not to be considered, I suggest you leave the choice of a husband to her. Though she has not chosen to confide in me, I am sure she has some fortunate gentleman in mind.”
The Duchess was torn between irritation with her godson, whom she considered to be employing unfair methods in the matter of their wager, and surprise at Tilda’s discomfort. She wondered at it, for Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was not one to balk at frank speaking. “You might do worse, my girl,” she said, “than to leave the matter to me.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Tilda retorted, “but it is unnecessary. I am of age to determine my own future, you know. You would do better to try and make a match for your young friend.”
“I already have
tha
t matter well in hand.” The Duchess was serene.
“It should not prove difficult,” Tilda commented. “She is a refreshing change from the young ladies who’ve learned too well to keep their brains inactive and their lips pursed.” She glanced at Micah, and wondered if his interested regard was prompted by her sentiments or the subject they discussed. “Letty Jellicoe seemed to think that Lionel’s intentions might be of a serious nature. It would be a good match.”
Agatha was unimpressed. “Calf love,” said she. “The chit can look higher than Lionel.”
“I believe Lionel’s affections have become fixed,” Tilda offered cautiously. She wondered if the Duchess considered that Micah would be a better catch. “He exhibits a remarkable steadiness of purpose.”
“I hope,” interjected the Earl, whose swarthy features wore an expressionless mask, “that Lionel might not have to repent of his choice.”
“As do I,” said Tilda quietly.
* * * *
Maddy had expected to find her aunt’s countless retainers thronged in the hallway, in each eye a censorious stare. Unusual as the occurrence was at a time when one-sixth of the population was engaged in domestic service, and in a household that included haughty menservants in yellow plush uniforms, dozens of maids housed in attics and basements, coachmen and grooms, there had been no one to witness her return. Maddy was able to scrub away the filth of her adventuring and to don a charming gown of pale blue muslin, trimmed with knots of white ribbon, before confronting her aunt.
She glanced down the length of the table to where Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson was engaged in conversation with Sir Timothy Rockingham. Tilda’s tunic dress of shimmering green hung loosely from the shoulders. Maddy could not deny that the gown admirably set off Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson’s slenderness, but even those graceful folds could not disguise the poor creature’s unseemly height. This reflection made the flawless emeralds that encircled Tilda’s throat much easier to bear, and Maddy tamed her attention to Chesterfield, seated by her side. Letty was deep in conversation with the Earl.
“You are very quiet,” Maddy offered, with an arch look. “Can it be that you have nothing to say to me?” From across the table, Agatha observed that her grandnephew’s serious smile was not without charm. Nor had she failed to note that Maddy’s flirtatious looks, this evening, were entirely for Lionel.
“On the contrary,” Lionel replied, his voice so low that only Maddy could hear, “I have a great deal to say to you. May I hope to speak with you privately?”
“It would not be proper,” Maddy protested with a wide-eyed look and a great deal of satisfaction. Her ploy was succeeding admirably. She lowered her eyes. “Is it so important, this secret matter of yours?”
“To me, it is,” Lord Chesterfield replied.
“Then perhaps—” Maddy sought to keep the triumph from her voice “—something may be contrived.”
* * * *
From her demeanor, no one would suspect that Letty seethed with rage. Certainly none of her guests was sufficiently mannerless to remark on Kenelm’s absence from the feast, but Letty determined to reprimand her errant offspring most severely for his negligence. Despite his distaste for social functions, Kenelm had never before failed to perform his duty. All through the long meal, from the soup, fish, and the side dishes, through the entrees and the roasts into the sweets and the savories, Letty had brooded upon Kenelm’s perfidy, for he had left her to entertain illustrious guests without a host. Whatever must the Duchess think? By the time her impassive servants brought the fruits and nuts, the sweetmeats and bonbons that ended the repast, Letty was quite willing to wring her son’s thoughtless neck.
Tilda gazed with fascination upon a silver epergne whose treelike branches supported a curved dish in which a variety of fruits nestled in silver-paper leaves. At the tips of the branches were glass dishes filled with other fruit; glass baskets swung gently below.
“You look enchanting, Tilda, as always. -Those are magnificent gems.” Timothy touched her hand. “Though they are not truly suited to you. I would prefer to see you in pearls, and, perhaps, amber.”
Tilda bit back a remark concerning Timothy’s preference for the virginal and smiled at him. “Dominic,” she replied, “did not share your tastes.”
Timothy appeared to consider this a compliment “No,” he agreed, “except in one matter.” He surveyed her warmly. “I believe I need not say more.”