Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (12 page)

Unlike Maggie, Sir Lucian took Hartley at his word. Maggie supposed that this showed him to have a much better character that she or Hart could ever lay claim to.

“Indeed? I had no notion you had met previously,” the composer said politely.

Hart’s eyes met Maggie’s a moment with a devilish sparkle, and she wondered what mischief he meant to work next. Why was the man so difficult?

“Yes, I was a friend of the late baron. We met on the Tour, you know. He had an interest in botany too, did he not, Madame? And such social finesse! If I recall correctly, the baron was a particular friend of Madame la Duchesse d’Abrantès.”

Maggie just barely stopped herself from gaping. He was taunting her. And he seemed very much to be enjoying the narrative he was spinning. She wasn’t going to let him have his head on this score. “Not at all. It was chemistry in which my Georges had had an interest. As to Madame d’Abrantès, that is true. She was certainly very good to send a letter when she learned of my tragic news, though I believe she was travelling at the time: a very kindly soul.”

“Chemistry! Are you certain? I could have sworn… ah, well. I expect you would know better.” They eyes locked and Maggie wondered if Sir Lucian could feel the tension rising in the room
“Was your husband interested in music?” the baronet asked politely.

Hart raised an eyebrow, watching Maggie.

“I am afraid he only played the violin, and badly. In fact, I shall own that it was the most ghastly thing I ever had the misfortune of hearing. He had little aptitude for music. I am afraid that nor do I, for that matter. Though I have always wished that I had more talent at the piano. My father never saw much reason for me to improve. I am certain your musical training began early, Sir Lucian? ”

“Almost before I could walk. My own father had had a great interest in music – and he instilled that love in me from an early age. I recall that he and mama would sing together in the afternoons.”

“How lovely,” said Maggie, picturing what it would be like to live in such a world. “Did your father compose?”

“Only a little – though I expect that, were he still alive, the new sonata form would have caught his fancy. There is an inexplicable power in music, I have always found. It can quite transform one. It is a very evanescent magic: one can never again relive the splendour and the wonder of a single, perfect musical moment once it is gone.”

“Bravo!” Maggie exclaimed. “You make music sound to be the most frighteningly sublime force on earth – when I have always thought that honour belonged to love.”

“And do you think love so terrible then?” Hart asked quietly. “Akin to a towering mountain or a stormy sky?”

Maggie met his gaze, thinking of the years she had loved him, quietly unseen. “Without the least doubt. Nothing has such power over the soul. Except perhaps music!”

“Ah, then I see what you are about. Blake, it seems the baroness wishes you to play at her salon. She has gathered quite a fashionable following and will host her first salon on Wednesday, I am given to understand. Set to be one of the most modish in Paris. The place will positively swarm with poets, painters and musicians.”

Maggie wasn’t about to be outdone. “You put me to the blush, Lord Hartley. But you are correct: it is a splendid idea, and I should like nothing more. If you think you can stand such a shabby gathering, Sir Lucian, then you simply must attend. Perhaps you will even play for us? Next Wednesday, around five of the clock.”

Blake gave a short bow. “I should be delighted. No society could ever be considered shabby with you in attendance. Why, I shall even compose an opera for you, if only you will allow it. Though not by next Wednesday, I fear.
La femme qui rit –
for you are the liveliest lady I have ever had occasion to meet.”

Hart seemed to stifle a snort at that, disguised as a cough. Maggie raised her eyebrows at him.

“Oh dear. I hope you are not coming down with a chill, Lord Hartley.”

“No, no. Ah, pardon me. Certainly, I hope not. Dreadful things, colds. But I fear you shall have to stand in line, Blake. Was there not a painter who wished to render your face in oils, Madame?”

“I am very certain you are mistaken.”

“Impossible. I remember it clear as day. It was as Penelope, patient and true, was it not?”

“Now you are mocking me, Lord Hartley, for it can only be Monsieur Jerome you are referring to. That isn’t very fair. I know you don’t much care for such things, but I thought he was very charming, if somewhat full of youthful exuberance. Artists are generally a fairly exuberant lot. ”

“No doubt he shall also attend your salon – he approaches your company with an almost worshipful dedication,” the marquess said dryly. “You’d better be prepared for that, Blake. Exuberance does not begin to suffice in describing it.”

The composer seemed more amused than alarmed by the thought of such company.

“Ah, yes. I have even heard some talk of a monkey in attendance at one of your partiess, Madame.”

“A monkey!” Maggie couldn’t help the peal of delighted laughter that escaped her at that. “Oh, no, I’m afraid that you mistake me! That was Madame d’Abrantès! A very grand party to mark the completion of the landscaping of her gardens. The celebrated Monsieur Thouin himself had been hired to oversee the gargantuan task. A young gentleman thought it would be droll to bring along a monkey he’d just purchased, to introduce to the guests.”

“It was quite the spectacle,” Hart remarked.

“It was. It flew into a debutante’s hair, and knocked over a set of some very lovely painted china as the unfortunate lady fainted dead away. Then, it had the audacity to clamber up the tallest tree in the garden and refuse to be called down. The butler had to fetch a ladder and coax it with sugar cubes.”

“Then you have no monkeys at your own gatherings?” the composer teased.

“Alas – I warned you they are quite shabby,” Maggie twinkled. “It would be impossible to out-do Madame d’Abrantes.”

“I am given to understand there was a French count once who owned a pet wolf,” Hart said, looking very much amused.

“Perhaps!” laughed Sir Lucian. “Though I expect the gentleman was not so uncouth as to bring it to parties.”

They spoke for a little longer about the marvels and oddities so unique to Paris, and Maggie was surprised to find that Hartley behaved himself for the rest of the visit. He was most agreeable, conversing with the composer about fine ground for riding out, and the latest
on dits
from London. Despite his disclaimer of ignorance, he even engaged the gentleman in a discussion of botany. Maggie had not known that the marquess knew anything about the natural sciences, and yet he seemed well able to hold his own in conversation.

When the clock in the hallway struck noon, Sir Lucian rose to leave, explaining that he had another engagement with his man of business, which was regrettably unmissable. He comforted himself with the thought of their visit to the exhibition the following morning.

“I must say, Blake, I quite envy you the outing,” the marquess said. “You make it sound so interesting, I own I should pay the gardens a visit soon myself – perhaps I shall escort my aunt.”

“A splendid idea. Only, you shall miss the exhibition itself if you tarry: tomorrow is the last day, if you recall,” said Sir Lucian “If you wish to see it, then you must go tomorrow. Why, I believe it would be possible to make a day of it. Perhaps you would care to join myself and Madame de Gramont?”

Maggie didn’t think that was a good idea at all. In fact, it struck her as very dangerous – but there was no way for her to voice this sentiment.

“A splendid idea indeed. I should be delighted. What a capital fellow you are. ”

“Ah, excellent. I shall bring my carriage around at ten tomorrow, Madame?” the composer said.

“Oh, no – I quite insist that I should drive,” Hartley said. “After all, you are being so gracious inviting my aunt and me along.”

When Sir Blake left the parlour, Maggie wasted no time in turning on her tormentor. He did not look the least bit ashamed of his ploy.

“Pray, what do you think you are playing at, Hartley?”

“Playing? I can’t imagine what you mean. I have merely made a new acquaintance, and undeniably a meritorious one. I thought you wished me to be polite? That is quite a capital fellow you have found to set you cap at, my dear. I own it was very good of him to invite me. I shouldn’t have done the same in his place.”

She straightened her shoulders, face proud and eyes flashing. “Certainly not! But Sir Lucian is a man of breeding, and you ought to be ashamed. Besides which, you know perfectly well that you manipulated him into inviting you!”

“I did no such thing. You wound me. He was positively pleased to have the approval of your dear old friend. Furthermore, much as I am enjoying this little masquerade of yours, you are not, in fact, a widow. Certainly, you cannot go without a chaperone.”

Maggie huffed at that. “Hardly. I am a widow in the eyes of society – your opinion is of no consequence. Even you must have noticed by now, Lord Hartley, that it is the eyes of society to which one must conform. If I wish to amuse myself, I have every right. As much as you and my brother do every time you make a dash for the village. I have told you, I shall languish no longer.”

“Languish!” Hart said, his cheeks colouring faintly at her accusation. “And we did
no
such thing – we merely went to London, as gentlemen do.”

“Fiddle. Furthermore, you are no connexion to me: I may go where I please. Do you mean to threaten me with ruin, with all your talk of propriety?”

Hartley, however, refused to indulge his own considerable temper. “I think that you are being needlessly theatrical. I am given to understand that society already awaits the day the mysterious Madame la Baronne publishes her scandalous memoirs. There is little I can do to add to that. I hardly think threatening you with scandal will do any good. I can only hope that I may keep you from the worst of it. How long do you mean to play at baroness? Masquerades do grow tiresome when allowed to continue overlong, I find. Now, I had better go. I have an appointment. Good day.”

Left alone, Maggie retrieved the gown on which she had been working, and ordered a carriage to take her to Madame Finette’s. She couldn’t afford to worry about gentlemen and their abject silliness when she had so many gowns to make and so little time.

Cecile was already hard at work when Maggie arrived. She noted with interest the tall, handsome gentleman who exited the shop just as she descended from her carriage. He had intelligent blue eyes and a kind face. He tipped his hat politely to Maggie before heading on his way.

Manon was sewing lace onto a shift at the back of the shop, looking sleepy in the quiet afternoon, and Cecile stood over a ledger, writing intently. She looked up when the bell over the door tinkled faintly, and smiled at the sight of Maggie.

“Hello!” Cecile exclaimed. “I have such fine news. I just received a letter informing us that the shop is to be mentioned in the
L’Arlequin
, right next to the article on the Venice lace.”

“Venice lace?” Maggie asked, taken aback.

“Yes, most lately seen on dinner gowns in silk. But that is neither here nor there. We are to have a
mention
,” Cecile said archly.

“
L’Arlequin
… Truly?” Maggie felt herself flood with delight as this news sank in. “Why, that will put us firmly in the spotlight of the fashionable world. It’s just a matter of weeks before you will become the leading Parisian authority on fashion!”

“One can only hope!” Cecile exclaimed, before smiling mischievously. “You know, Maggie, I think that Paris is in dire need of our modish authority. Why, just this morning I talked a lady out of trimming her gown with a girdle of beaded fringe under the bust and matching it with the latest diagonal stripes, as in the fashion plates. Stripes! Just because a thing is modish, doesn’t follow that one ought to wear it. I can’t imagine the lady who would make such a gown look becoming.”

Maggie shook her head fondly. “You are the ministering angel of the fashionable elite, Madame Finette. I do not envy you the role.”

“I do not envy myself the role just right now either, dear Maggie. We have a new order for a day gown of Turkey red. Most urgent, of course. But isn’t it always? How fortunate that my fabric order has already come in.”

Despite her grousing, Cecile seemed truly happy, Maggie noted, with a warm pleasure in her heart. She had found her dream at last, bossing customers and buried under mounds of fabric samples even as she made notes in the ledger book with her free hand.

Maggie was very happy to spend the afternoon in the company of Cecile and Manon as she finished the dress she had brought and began work on a new one.

This one was a novelty: it had a green base and a blue and pink print. Maggie loved working with print fabrics – they were so innovative and light. The built-in border would require careful laying-out of the fabric and a special sewing technique. Her fingers itched to get started, so that she might lose herself in the work.

While her life seemed to have descended into a sort of madness, the shop served as a special sanctuary of peace and reason.