Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (22 page)

All Estée’s usual buoyancy drained from her.
She did not know why she should feel a sudden dread at the prospect
of Antonia’s marriage to the Vicomte d’Ambert because she had been
in favor of the match from the beginning. Perhaps it was her own
recent betrothal that had put everything into perspective and she
could more readily see Vallentine’s point of view. Besides it was
basic female intuition that told her to be wary of her cousin the
Comte and his motives and she would trust in this instinct before
anything else.

“I am not at all convinced the girl is well
enough to leave the hôtel so soon,” she said, grabbing at straws.
“Mayhap in a couple of weeks…”

“Oh no, dearest cousin,” stated Salvan with
a sweet smile and pocketed the letter. There was a flat note of
anger in the nasal voice which put Estée on the alert. “The girl
has had ample time to recover under this roof. Tomorrow I will come
to collect what is mine.” He placed his hand over hers and
squeezed. “Think, Estée. The child cannot possibly remain here once
you are married. One shudders at the thought of her here, without
you, without a proper chaperone, and with only
mon cousin
in
residence.”

Madame withdrew her hand. “Roxton looks on
Antonia as one would one’s own child, as a father would a daughter.
I will not allow you to make anything more of the situation. It is
ridiculous that you should do so to me, his sister.”

“No? You know your brother better than I,”
said the Comte and took snuff. “You do not believe the past dozen
or more years attest to a reputation most disreputable? What is one
pretty female compared to another? They all serve to satisfy an
enormous appetite. Is he not
au fai
in such matters?”

“Antonia is different. She does not play the
coquette with him and he—he has become very protective of her.”

“I do not believe you can be so easily duped
by his many techniques of seduction?” said the Comte incredulously.
“I admire his ingenuity in orchestrating these little affairs of
the heart. Such resourcefulness! Not even that consummate player of
such games, the Duc de Richelieu, could think up a more complete
way to capture the heart of a young and impressionable girl.”

Estée brought herself to sit up tall and she
glared at the Comte de Salvan with large blue eyes full of alarm.
“What are you suggesting, Salvan?”

“You have not heard the latest rumor
concerning your brother?” asked the Comte affecting surprise. “Me,
I do not know if I believe the whole. But there are those who do, a
great many who do. They applaud M’sieur le Duc his tactics on the
one hand, and on the other?” He shrugged. “They deplore such vulgar
use of an innocent. I say the girl’s injury was an accident. Not
even he would dare stoop so low. No. That is too much even for
Salvan to believe. He hired one too many scum. That two died is no
matter. We are well rid of them. The one who shot at the carriage,
he disappeared, and mayhap he feared he was the next for the
bullet? Roxton will find him, have no fear of that. To shoot your
accomplices dead is very ingenious. There can be no tales. Then who
can say it was anything but truly a hold-up on the Versailles
road?”

“That is what happened,” Madame declared
angrily. “These highwaymen they are everywhere. We are not safe,
our carriages are never safe from attack. It is a daily occurrence.
I do not understand at all what you are implying. What is this
rumor?”

“Do not alarm yourself, my dearest cousin,”
soothed the Comte. “As I said, me, I do not believe it. But if for
one moment let us pretend we do believe it. Why! M’sieur le Duc
your brother is a genius. He spirits away the little
demoiselle
to Paris where she will be safe from unwanted
attentions. And then? They are held up by these men who call
themselves highwaymen. M’sieur le Duc is very brave and mur—kills
two of them who dare to offend his person and his property. The
little
demoiselle
, she is hurt. An unfortunate circumstance
he did not account for, but she will recover. So! What has
mon
cousin
achieved? He has the girl and her total devotion for his
daring deeds. He must wait out her recovery but what is that to
him? He has the prize! His plan worked, and my son’s life it is
made miserable! I tell you, Estée, what am I to do to restore my—my
son’s
happiness?”

Estée was appalled. “This rumor circulating
Paris, who dared to start it? It is a monstrous piece of villainy.
I knew Roxton was envied and disliked by those who do not know him
well but this, this rumor, it disgusts me! Can he be so hated that
it is dared whispered he staged a hold-up of his own carriage all
to impress a girl not quite twenty years old? It is so ludicrous as
to be laughable!” she scoffed.

The more she thought on the idea the broader
her smile became until the laughter bubbled up in her throat and
she giggled. The Comte stared at her not knowing whether to join in
her laughter or continue to appear grave-faced as he thought the
situation deserved.

“Oh, Salvan, you must tell Roxton all about
this rumor,” she said dabbing at her watery eyes with a small lace
handkerchief. “If only he was home now. It will amuse him, I know
it will. The person who started this ludicrous tale should write
for the
Comédie Française
. It is obvious this person is
insanely jealous of my brother. Does he think my brother needs
impress a female by going to such lengths? Ridiculous! Only M’sieur
le Duc de Richelieu contrives such ridiculous schemes in order to
bed a female. Do you not think it all one big joke?”

“Joke?” whispered the Comte. When he
realized his cousin was in earnest he forced himself to laugh too.
“A joke! Yes, a joke! Ludicrous! As I said, I do not believe it for
one moment. A tale put about by an-an idiot! A jealous idiot!”

Madame glanced at him over the rim of her
porcelain dish and smiled slyly. The laughter had vanished from her
eyes leaving them hard and cold. “Roxton will be amused at first
but then I think he will want to know the name of the person who
dared to try slander his good name. He will seek to teach this
jealous idiot a lesson. You would do the same in such
circumstances, would you not, Salvan?”

“Call the man out?” stammered the Comte.
“Yes, yes of course I would! It is the only response to such
slanders, I agree.”

“Another slice of cake perhaps?” asked
Madame sweetly. “And let me refill your dish. You have gulped down
all your coffee.”

“You are too good to Salvan. This
Vallentine, this scoundrel who has taken you from me, it is he who
should be called out for ruining your cousin’s happiness.”

“I ain’t adverse to the idea,” said his
lordship who lounged in the doorway picking at his teeth with a
gold toothpick.

The Comte almost leapt from the sofa with
fright as Lord Vallentine came further into the room. His lordship
kissed his betrothed’s forehead and said casually,

“I trust the good Comte hasn’t been filling
your little ear with idle gossip, my love?”

“Never idle gossip, m’sieur,” said the Comte
with a bow. “I congratulate you on your betrothal. You are a lucky
man, M’sieur Vallentine. You find me speechless that she is taken
from me! I am envious beyond words. I cannot tell you what this has
done to me. Now it is too late for Salvan. Ah! But that is the way
of the world is it not, m’sieur?”

“For a man who’s speechless you can still
manage a mouthful,” observed Vallentine. “But I thank you for your
congratulations, if that’s what you meant by that mouthful of
platitudes.”

Madame handed him a dish of coffee. “Salvan
has just been telling me the latest most interesting whisper
circulating the salons. It involves Roxton, naturally.”

“Naturally! When don’t it?” said his
lordship with a grunt.

“It is nothing, nothing at all,” responded
the Comte expansively. “I tell Estée only to amuse her. A rumor.
Nothing but a rumor put about by an idiot—a jealous idiot. We will
please forget all about it.”

“No, Salvan, you must tell Lucian. It is
most interesting. Especially now that Lucian is to be a member of
our family. As Roxton’s brother-in-law he has a right to know what
is being said.”

Salvan made a noise in his throat similar to
that of a startled pheasant and gulped down cold coffee.

“I’m ready for an interesting tale,” said
Lord Vallentine sitting forward. “And any tale about Roxton is
bound to make me laugh because it always distorts the truth. And if
you say this particular rumor was put about by a jealous idiot then
I’m all ears. And when ain’t a rumor about Roxton spread by such
numbskulls?” His lordship sat back and smiled. “Though, I wouldn’t
like to perpetuate slander ’bout the Duke. He’s rather sensitive to
it, y’see. For that matter, so am I about me and my own. He’s
mighty handy with a pistol but give him a foil and he’s just as
deadly. And there’s more sport in a good cut and thrust, ain’t
there, Comte?”

“Yes that is so,” agreed the Comte with a
nervous laugh. He looked at the pearl face of his pocket-watch.
“The porter informed me M’sieur le Duc had gone out. He disappoints
me by his absence. And the little
demoiselle
?”

“Gone for a drive in the country with
Roxton,” Vallentine informed him. “Can’t say when they’ll return.
I’ll give him your regards. Dare say you’ve got other calls to make
in Paris before you return to Versailles.”

“Not at all,” said the Comte. “I do not
return to court until the morrow so I can keep you both company all
the afternoon.”

“The son in the morning and the downpour in
the afternoon,” murmured his lordship with annoyance. “Listen,
Comte. Estée and I don’t know when they’ll be back. You might have
a long wait.”

“But it is soon the dinner hour. He will be
home to dinner? It would be too bad for him if he was not.”

“What do you mean?” growled his lordship.
“He’ll be here. He’s got to be—”

“Lucian!”

Salvan smiled and bowed to both. “Thank you.
I must speak to
mon cousin
on a matter of great importance.
Immediately.”

“Salvan has a letter from the little one’s
grandmamma,” burst out Estée. “She-she does not want her. She has
given permission for the girl to be—”

“Hush, love,” ordered Lord Vallentine with a
meaningful stare. “This ain’t the time to discuss such matters.
Leave it to Roxton. He’ll know what’s to be done—”

“To be done?” echoed the Comte. “But it is
obvious what
must
be done! She must come with me. Everything
is arranged. She is betrothed to my son. As I said to Estée all
that is needed is the old Earl’s signature—”

“Well, we’ll wait for that,” interrupted his
lordship. “Until the old man puts ink to parchment I don’t think
you’ve got a right to demand anything.”

“Pardon, m’sieur,” said the Comte sweetly,
“as you say it is a matter betwixt
mon cousin
and me.”

“Lucian, please, you must sit down,” pleaded
Estée and grabbed at his hand.

A commotion in the adjoining antechamber
diverted them and Lord Vallentine sat down again. Madame fumbled
with the porcelain dishes and stacked plates onto a tray for want
of something to do to break the heavy silence in the salon. His
lordship fidgeted at her side and rummaged for a snuffbox while the
Comte sat forward, expectant, for he recognized the deep smooth
voice of the Duke and the tinkle of female laughter. He was not to
be disappointed.

The salon door burst open and Antonia swept
in divested of warm cloak, muff and bonnet. She was laughing over
her shoulder in response to something the Duke had said as he
followed her into the room. She almost collided with Madame, who
had jumped up off the sofa to greet them, but the Duke, whose face
was tinged with color and uncustomarily all smiles, steered her
clear and she turned to Estée with bright eyes and a happy
smile.

“We have had such a day, Madame!” Antonia
said breathlessly, kissing Estée’s cheeks. “There was no hint of
bad weather and the sunshine made it seem not so cold. We saw
plenty of deer in the forest and Grey and Tan had the most
wonderful time chasing them about the wood. It exhausted them I
think.” She stripped off her gloves and threw them on a small table
by the door. “Monseigneur took me to this quaint little village
with a water wheel where we had our nuncheon and visited a fête.
There were so many, many stalls, and wait until I tell you about
the—”

She broke off abruptly, aware Madame de
Montbrail looked anything but happy. There were tears in the
woman’s blue eyes which she was quick to dab away but Antonia saw
them and frowned. “What is the matter?” she asked softly and looked
over Madame’s shoulder. She saw Lord Vallentine and the Comte and
glanced swiftly up at the Duke for guidance.