“Barbaric,” murmured the Earl, “and magnificent. You are going to arouse a great deal of envy in many virginal breasts.”
Tilda smiled. “Trying to turn me up sweet?” she inquired. “There is no need. I do not mean to quarrel with you tonight. You are my escort, after all, and I am not so rag-mannered.”
“Have you considered,” the Earl inquired, “how your reputation must suffer for this?” Tilda idly noted his unusual seriousness. “Agatha cannot have thought; the gossips will link your name with mine.”
“To my discredit?” Tilda smiled vaguely at an old acquaintance. “Nonsense! What can they say but that I am your latest flirt?” She grinned. “And that can only add to my consequence, for you are known to be a most discriminating gentleman.”
“Are you so determined to be thought dashing?” The Earl took her arm. “The gabble-mongers might say a great deal worse of you.”
“They may say what they please,” Tilda retorted. “It is not like you, Micah, to be so concerned with propriety.”
“Propriety?” Micah laughed, bringing upon them even more speculative glances. Wilmington was not a man given often to mirth. “My dear girl, half the people here are now convinced that I mean to seduce you.”
Tilda shrugged. “I do not care for that.”
“On the contrary,” remarked the Earl, “you would enjoy it excessively.”
Tilda refused to rise to this bait, and merely awarded her companion a twinkling look. In full evening regalia, Micah was so fine that he not only drew the eye of every unattached young female present, but aroused the warmer emotions in the breasts of more mature ladies who should have known better. The Earl wore a corbeau-colored double-breasted dress coat with covered buttons, a white single-breasted waistcoat, and cream-colored kerseymere breeches, and Tilda, under no circumstances, intended to let him know that she considered his appearance the most splendid in the room. Micah had been smothered with feminine adulation since the moment of his birth. Tilda suspected they dealt so well together simply because she had long ago demonstrated her immunity to his not inconsiderable charm.
“Palaverer!” she murmured. From long experience, Tilda knew it prudent to place little importance on the Earl’s more outrageous remarks. He was adept in the art of flirtation; his exploits in the field of amorous dalliance were legendary, despite his dangerous reputation; and it had been a very long time since he had cherished any emotion stronger than friendship for her. All the same, it was pleasant to make such a successful reentrance into Society, on the arm of one of the town’s most notorious gentlemen, and in a gown that even Agatha, after her initial shock, had agreed would render its wearer most satisfactorily conspicuous.
They made their way through the multitude. Had Tilda not cherished few illusions about her contemporaries, she might have been overwhelmed by the welcome she received; but she knew that much of this attention was due to her unexpected escort. She glanced at him, but the Earl wore his habitually sardonic expression. “Letty has managed to lure White’s select inner circle to her daughter’s come-out,” he remarked. “I wonder how she accomplished it.” Since no lady who valued her reputation would dare be seen passing that select gentleman’s club during the afternoon hours when its elite membership displayed itself so advantageously, he kindly explained the famed bow-window set. “Brummel, of course, and the Duke of Argyll, along with Alvanly, Sefton, Worchester, and Foley.” He paused. “I do not see Poodle Byng, Sir Lumley Skeffington, or Golden Ball Hughes.”
“How I should love to observe them!” Tilda’s eyes danced. “I doubt they deign to look down upon those lesser folk who pass beneath them.”
Micah smiled. “You shock me, Tilda! And continue to delight me, as I have said before.”
“Then you are an oddity,” Tilda parried. “I am generally considered shockingly outspoken. Paugh! Like Caro Lamb, I should have been born a boy.”
Micah spared a glance for the object of that unconventional young woman’s affections, for Letty had persuaded even Byron to attend. No social affair was considered a success without the poet’s brooding presence. “That would have been a great pity,” he remarked. “Come, Tilda, I realize you are angry with Agatha for forcing you to attend this dull affair, but you shall not convince me that you do not enjoy being the cynosure of all eyes.”
Tilda gave voice to her husky laugh, thus drawing even more attention to them. “We’ve set tongues to wagging, I fear, with our apparent enjoyment of each other’s company. Where is the chit that has filled Agatha with such enthusiasm? Introduce her to me, so we may make our excuses and depart. I confess a livelier curiosity concerning this actress who’s become the rage, and I shall hold you to your promise to escort me to the theater. What is it they call her?
La jeune fille aux yeux bleus?”
“The girl with the blue eyes,” drawled a voice from behind them. “You must not imagine that she is another Madame Vestries, my dear.”
Tilda turned and extended her hand; the speaker bent over it in a most gentlemanly way. His cold eyes lingered on the heavy pendant at her throat. “Alastair!” she exclaimed. “I did not expect to see you here. Are your pockets so to let that you must avoid your clubs?”
Lord Bechard acknowledged this palpable hit by a tightening of the lips. There were few who would dare speak to him in such a manner, but he was well acquainted with Tilda, having been an intimate of her late spouse, and knew there was little she would not dare. “I leave you speechless, I see,” Tilda commented with satisfaction. “It has long been an ambition of mine.”
“And an unworthy one,” remarked Lord Bechard. “I am glad to see you so well recovered from Dominic’s death.” His glance at Micah was not without significance. “It was a grievous blow for those of us who were his friends.”
“Cry peace,” Micah interjected, thus drawing two pair of eyes, one indignant and the other coolly amused, to him. “This is not the place for the renewal of your hostilities. Have you met the guest of honor, Alastair?”
Lord Bechard’s cool glance swung to where Maddy was in animated conversation with a brown-haired youth, aloof in both demeanor and pose. Although many found Lord Chesterfield too haughty to be a comfortable companion, Tilda was fond of Agatha’s grandnephew, and suspected that Lionel’s awareness of his consequence was a result of succeeding to his title at an absurdly early age. For any young lady to attract Lionel’s disdainful attention was a signal honor. Tilda considered Agatha’s reaction should her grandnephew choose to upset her plans.
“It is a pleasure,” Lord Bechard replied, “that I anticipate. The chit bears a marked resemblance to her mother.”
Tilda thought the gentleman’s tone held a note of pique. “You know the family?” She scented mystery.
But Lord Bechard was not inclined to continue the discussion. He awarded Tilda a glance that made her seethe with rage, then turned his attention to the Earl. “Lady Henrietta Whipple was the ruling belle of her day, and created quite a scandal when she ran off with a penniless younger son.” He inspected Maddy through his quizzing glass. “The girl cannot hold a candle to her mother. I observe that she already holds Chesterfield in thrall.”
Tilda glanced at her companion, curious to see if, as Agatha had implied, this girl had succeeded in sparking some emotion in the Earl’s jaded breast.
Micah’s countenance expressed only boredom. “This is not the first young lady to so affect Lionel,” he commented. “Nor do I expect her to be the last.” The Earl had long been an influence on Lionel, though this interest had been at his godmother’s insistence, and not of his own inclination. Catching Lionel’s eye, he signaled imperiously.
Maddy allowed herself to be escorted to the Earl and his companions, and hoped her features didn’t reveal the conflicting emotions that she felt. Mathilda Tyrewhitte-Wilson was even more attractive at close view than she had been from afar, and Maddy found herself instinctively resenting this tall and ethereal creature with the soft brown eyes and curling red hair. “You must allow me to call on you,” Tilda said. “Agatha also asked to be remembered, and I was to tell you that she will make every effort to see you again as soon as she recovers from her infirmity.”
“It is very good of the Duchess, and you,” Maddy murmured, at her most demure. “I trust that she is not seriously ill.” She thought, with some chagrin, that even the light freckles scattered across Tilda’s nose didn’t detract from her undeniable beauty.
“Not at all,” Tilda replied, with a kind smile. “She merely suffers from overfatigue, and assures us that she will be herself again in a few days’ time.”
“I told her how it would be,” Lord Chesterfield remarked, “but she was determined to persist in this racketing about the countryside.”
“Ah,” interjected Micah, “but with what happy results! Not only has Agatha restored Tilda to us, but she was instrumental in delivering the dazzling Miss de Villiers to London.” He treated Maddy to a bewitching smile. “We must not scold Agatha for her impetuousness, but express our gratitude instead.”
Tilda might be immune to flattery, but one glance was sufficient to assure her that Miss de Villiers was not. The girl’s mischievous glance indicated that the Earl’s remarks had not been misunderstood.
Alastair Bechard had been too long ignored. Maddy, confronted with this impeccable gentleman, surveyed him curiously. “My dear child,” he said, “I am long acquainted with your family, and trust you will remember me to them. Your mother was once a most particular friend of mine.”
Maddy did not care for the dark eyes that were fixed unwaveringly on her face, and was somewhat startled to discover that the extreme pallor of Lord Bechard’s complexion was due to the application of paint. “Be assured I shall, sir,” she replied.
“And should events not proceed as you anticipate,” Lord Bechard continued, “do not hesitate to come to me. I should be pleased to be of service to you, for I have an old debt to pay.”
Maddy expressed polite gratitude. It was encouraging to have aroused the interest of this wicked-looking man, but Maddy was more concerned with Lord Chesterfield. Since learning of his connection with the provoking Earl, Maddy had begun to formulate a thoroughly unscrupulous and altogether delightful plan. She bestowed a smile of breathtaking brilliance upon the unsuspecting Marquess.
Tilda had been an interested spectator to this byplay. “I trust your exertions will not be necessary, Alastair,” she said lightly. “I am sure that Miss de Villiers stands in no need of friends.” From long acquaintance with the gentleman, Tilda suspected that Alastair’s honeyed words veiled a threat. But to what end might he intimidate young Madeleine? Tilda’s curiosity was aroused.
Chapter Five
Maddy looked about her with fascinated interest. Her curiosity had remained unsatisfied during their drive to the theater because of Letty’s scandalized strictures concerning her vulgar behavior when she had made so bold as to peep through a carriage window; but Kenelm, despite his mother’s patent disapproval, had been so kind as to speak of the stinking alleys and narrow streets, the notorious dens of iniquity, that surrounded Covent Garden. Maddy’s one glimpse had afforded her a view of The Cat and the Fiddle, but she was not to know that this was the headquarters of that good-natured and witty procuress, Mother Murphy, who was perhaps the most unlikely of the Duchess of Marlborough’s acquaintances.
But the royal patent theater of Covent Garden offered Maddy opportunity enough to stare. That particular evening the usual program of Shakespearean tragedy and comedy was enlivened by the revival of a tragically ending comedy.
The Follies of Marianne.
Its tone was, perhaps, not the most elevating, for the tale revolved around the capriciousness of a married lady who chose her lover unwisely, but a satisfactory end was provided when the lady’s love went unrequited.
Though fascinated by the plot, which reminded her of the romantic novels that she delighted to read, Maddy found it difficult to keep her attention on the stage. She had already been gratified by a view of Madame Vestries, that dazzling actress who performed with such famed abandon. The lady’s legs, as Kenelm so improperly remarked, were discussed with enthusiasm by those young bloods who had been privileged to witness one of the performances in which she donned breeches for a role.
Kenelm leaned slightly forward so that he might command a better view of the stage and its occupants. Maddy glanced covertly at the box that Lord Chesterfield shared with the Duchess, Wilmington, Lady Tyrewhitte-Wilson, and an unknown gentleman. Despite her antagonism toward the Earl, Maddy could not help but appreciate his appearance, for Micah wore a dress suit of deep green superfine that had undoubtedly been made by Weston. An opera cloak lined with scarlet serge only accentuated his buccaneer air. As Maddy watched, Mathilda laughed and the Duchess rapped her godson’s knuckles with an exquisite fan.
But Lionel was above such levity. He looked straight at Maddy, who pretended not to see and ignored Alathea’s sharp nudge. The young Marquess had already paid her the honor of appearing in the box for the sole purpose of speaking with her, and Maddy felt that her plans progressed admirably. It was not surprising that Lionel found her attractive; he was not the only man to do so, and Maddy considered Motley’s warnings not to overestimate her allure a spinster’s jealousy. With her bronze curls dressed in the Roman style, and in her becoming gown of the palest yellow with its tiny puffed sleeves and fine French lace, Maddy felt she merited all the attention she received.
There was further reason for complacency in the approval of her aunt. Letty professed herself well pleased with Maddy’s success, and waxed eloquent on the subject of Lord Chesterfield, though she, like Motley, expressed doubts that Maddy could bring him to the speaking point Lionel was most elusive, by all accounts. Maddy smiled. She knew she could, by the exercise of a little skill, so bedazzle the young Marquess that he would propose, but she had not yet decided whether she would accept him. Lord Chesterfield was very haughty and extremely proud; he might benefit from a set-down. There was also her lack of dowry to consider. Maddy did not think that Lionel would care to be made to look a fool, and thus would not be inclined to discuss her lack of fortune, but she feared that he would apprise the Duchess of the truth. Maddy was not so naive as to be unaware that her successful entrance into society was not due so much to her aunt’s efforts as to the Duchess of Marlborough’s goodwill.