Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (44 page)

“What of the Maison Clermont?” she asked
flatly.

In a blink the smile was wiped from his face
and he left her to stand by a window. She knew at once she had
pushed him too far.

“They are nothing these females of the
Maison Clermont, I know that. Nothing. Nothing at all,” she said in
a rush, clasping and unclasping her hands. “All the French nobility
go there. What man of fashion does not? It is expected. It is
tolerated by wives and mistresses alike. I should disregard the
existence of such women and I know it is wrong of me to even
mention such a place. And I tried very hard to ignore your visits
to this place and your mistresses. I told myself that these women
mean nothing to you beyond a temporary satisfaction. After all, the
wives of noblemen accept such unfaithfulness in their husbands as
part of their duty but… But ever since we shared a bed and you
showed me how wondrous it is to make love I find that the thought
of you pleasuring other women—of you being pleasured by them—makes
me so very sad. I do not think I could ever come to terms with such
an arrangement. That is my great failing, I know it, but the idea
that you could prefer their company to mine, that you would need to
frequent such a place because I bored you, or did not please
you—”

“I need not justify my—er—past to you or to
any other,” he interrupted tonelessly. “Nor do I offer up my
apologies for how I have spent my life. I can’t change the past,
Antonia, but I have no desire to, could I do so.” He looked down at
her with a crooked smile. “I can only offer you the future, such as
it is, with a nobleman who has a past that is beyond redemption.
Mignonne
, you deserve so much better than I.”

“I do not want better,” she said simply. “I
have never wanted any man but you. I love only you.” She smiled
tremulously. “We are fated to be together, Monseigneur. I knew that
from the moment I first saw you.”

These words, spoken with quiet simplicity,
shattered the last vestiges of the Duke’s reserve and in two steps
he had her in his arms and stooped to kiss her with that light in
his eyes she had seen at the Theatre Royal. “Fate, is it?” he
admonished her lovingly, looking down at her upturned smiling face
within the circle of his embrace. “Then I will blame fate for
causing me many a sleepless night from the first day I clapped eyes
on you at Versailles. I did my best to ignore you, to forget you,
to rid you from my thoughts, by attempting to find consolation in
the arms of others. But you—the mere thought of you, you little
wretch—made this—made this old
roué
incapable. You see,
there has been no one, no one else, since that day you fled with me
from Versailles.” He kissed her forehead and carried her to the
window seat where he deposited her standing up before him. He made
her a sweeping bow. “And since we shared a bed I find that I’ve a
mind to become respectable. You, my darling girl, will never have
cause for a single doubt. That I pledge on my honor. So, there is
your confession, mademoiselle.” When this was met with tearful
happiness he smiled nervously and took her hands in his. “No more
playing with time. If you truly are eighteen years of age and not
twenty, then so be it, though I shudder at being so cruelly
used…”

Antonia hung her head to hide a guilty
blush. “But, Monseigneur, you would never have made love to me had
you known my true age.”

“You calculating little wretch!” he said
with a laugh and lifted her chin. “And no more nonsensical talk of
fleeing to Venice,” he said darkly, looking into her eyes. “You are
staying with me.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. I should like that very
much.” She dimpled and mimicked her grandmother’s voice and sour
demeanor. “Will you inform Lady Strathsay of her granddaughter’s
fall from grace, or shall I?”

At that the Duke laughed out loud and pulled
her to him, arms encircling her small waist. “You really have no
idea how much I love you, do you? I
love you
. I want you for
my life’s partner, not my mistress,
mignonne
. I am asking
you to
marry
me.”

Antonia’s green eyes widened and at first
she could not find the words to express her happiness. “Yes,
M’sieur le Duc, I should like that more than anything in this
world.”

“And that must stop,” he scolded playfully,
taking from his frockcoat pocket a small gold band set with
emeralds and diamonds and slipping it on a finger of Antonia’s left
hand. For good measure he then kissed this her betrothal ring. “To
seal the bargain… No more M’sieur le Duc. It is a wife’s privilege
to call her husband by his Christian name… in and—er—out of
bed…”

“Yes, Mon—
Renard
. I will try and
remember,” she said with a shy smile, arms around his neck. “That
is, it would be much easier for me to remember if you were to kiss
me again…”

A carriage and four driven at a cracking
pace rounded a sharp curve in the deserted country lane and
narrowly missed colliding with a shepherd tending his flock. The
driver of this elegant equipage shouted abuse at the shepherd. But
the man seemed without a care in the world. He had no intention of
hurrying his charges toward the grass verge that bordered the
imposing entrance gates to his master’s estate. Thus the driver was
forced to maneuver the bays around this obstruction with all the
skill of his twenty years’ handling of the ribbons. The carriage
then swept through the gates and on up the winding drive. The
shepherd had never heard the French tongue but he was quite certain
he would know it if ever it was hurled at his head again.

Inside the speeding vehicle a gentleman and
his lady wife viewed the tree-lined drive, and the expanse of
scenery beyond, with not much more than a blink of interest because
they were in a heated argument that had no end.

“If Roxton ain’t here I give up!” the
gentleman declared and attempted to take snuff. The pinch fell on
his lap. “Damme!”

“Where else could he be, Lucian? I do not
believe at all those lackeys who say he is not at home. The house
in St. James’s Square is empty save the housekeeper. And our
message to this place? It went unanswered. He is angry with us I
tell you!” Estée Vallentine gripped the leather strap above her
head with a gloved hand. “This driver, he goes too fast. What is
the point of it now when we are weeks late? It was you who wanted
to go up to London when I said we should come here first!”

“Now listen, my love. If you recall it was
you who was eager to see London, not I! I admit I didn’t think
another sennight would make much of a difference to Roxton. He’s
waited this long. I wasn’t to know we’d get caught in a damned
avalanche in Switzerland. Confound the wretched place!”

Estée pouted. “At the time you said it was a
romantic interlude you would never forget. And now you damn it. The
honeymoon, it is truly over!”

“Now, Estée, don’t cry!” pleaded his
lordship. He threw himself to sit beside her and took her free hand
in a firm clasp. “You can’t show your brother tears. What would he
think of me, his brother-in-law, eh?”

“He would think you what you are! An unkind
and unfeeling—
brute
.”

Lord Vallentine gave up any attempt to stem
the tide and merely handed her his handkerchief. He thrust his
hands in the pockets of his frock and frowned. “Know what confounds
me: the Countess. You think she would know the whereabouts of her
grandchild. But no. She acts like the child ain’t even hers! I told
Roxton at the time no good would come of sending the chit to that
woman. Did you notice the amount of lead on her face? Can’t be
healthy, can it?”

“That woman is a harlot.”

“Look here, Estée, I ain’t disagreeing with
you, but don’t say so in front of the child. The woman is her
grandmother after all.”

“Her face, it was as painted as a whore’s.
And to think she admitted us to her boudoir dressed only in a thin
chemise and her robe all open! I did not know where to put my
eyes!”

“Disgusting,” muttered his lordship and
pretended to search in a pocket to hide a grin at the memory of the
Countess’s enticing figure. “I wonder where I put that damned
etui.”

Estée was not fooled. “I’ll wager you cannot
tell me the color of her robe! Your eyes, they did not leave her
large breasts the whole interview!”

“The robe? It was a yellow. A primrose
yellow!”

Estée laughed and pinched his square chin a
little too hard. “It was a cinnamon with ghastly flowers
embroidered on the cuffs and hem; lilies, I think.”

Lord Vallentine slapped the side of his
silken breeches. “If only we had come straight here!”

“It is too late to say that now.”

“What if they ain’t here, eh? What
then?”

“M’sieur le Duc my brother is here. I know
it,” said Estée Vallentine with conviction. She gave her hand to
the lackey who opened the carriage door and dropped down the steps.
“You must trust my instinct, Lucian.”

“When don’t I?” said his lordship with a
smile and followed her across the graveled drive. “What do you
think of your ancestral seat? Impressive, ain’t it.”

“It is on a scale I find incomprehensible!”
gaped Estée, craning her neck to take in the sweep of buildings,
then swirling around to look out across the velvet green lawns to
the lake. “Now I understand a little better my brother’s great
arrogance. Here he is his own king! It is no wonder he was never
dazzled by Versailles and Fontainebleau. Poor Maman. Never did she
see Papa’s estate.”

“A person would get lost in this place if it
wasn’t for the army of lackeys he keeps. Got lost m’self once. When
the servants were off at a local fête. Took me over an hour to find
Roxton.”

His wife laughed. “He was hiding from you,
foolish Lucian!”

Vallentine grinned. “Know that now, don’t I.
What do you think of the setting? Quaint, ain’t it. All Brown’s
work. But you’d never guess it was artificial. That’s the man’s
trick,” he said, pointing out the lake and then the Ornamental
Gardens. “Glorious weather! Glorious country! And no better place I
know to spend time in the country than here at Treat.”

An under-butler had informed Duvalier of the
carriage’s arrival, which caused the old man to roll his eyes and
sigh. He straightened his waistcoat and frock and began the long
walk to the front entrance, the under-butler close on his heels. He
had the servant repeat the well-rehearsed lines as they went, and
counseled him to set his features in an expression that would give
nothing away to the uninvited guests. If the intruders proved
obnoxious or persistent, as a few had been in the past, they were
usually satisfied once shown the Blue drawing room off the foyer,
with its furniture under covers and the windows shut tight. The
butler permitted himself a private smile. The west wing told an
altogether different story.

Duvalier stood well back in the foyer and
the under-butler signaled to the footmen to open the doors. He
stepped out into the light and made a customary short bow to the
figures coming across the drive. The well-rehearsed speech tumbled
effortlessly forth as he straightened to meet the visitors’ gaze
one for one.

“Don’t give us that twittle-twattle, man!
Damme! Where’s Duvalier?”

In an instant the butler pushed aside the
blabbering underling. “M’sieur Vallentine! Madame!” he stammered
and ushered them into the hall. He helped his lordship out of a
coat and took his sword, and pushed these onto a footman. “We have
been expecting you this past fortnight, m’sieur. May I say how glad
I am to see you and Madame safe in England.”

“Thank you.” Vallentine grinned. “If you
gave all the others that haughty put-off I ain’t surprised no one
believes M’sieur le Duc ain’t here. The place looks like a
mausoleum! Why the covers and lack of wax? Roxton ain’t
economizing, is he? Things must’ve taken an awful turn. Or is this
some sort of game he’s playing? What is it? I’ll wager it’s the
latter!”

“Don’t be so mean to poor Duvalier!” scolded
Lady Estée. She smiled at the old retainer. “It is a comfort to see
a friendly face and one whose French is not appalling. These
English they are exactly as I always thought them; so much
phlegm.”

“Aye! That’ll do, Estée. Duvalier ain’t
interested in your opinions. Show us to the Duke.”

The butler stiffened and some of his hauteur
returned. “I will have you shown to your apartments and then,
perhaps, you would care for refreshment.”

Lord Vallentine was looking at the pearl
face of his gold pocket-watch. “Roxton ought to be at his
breakfast. It’s gone the hour.” He smiled down at his wife. “A
quick change and we’ll join your brother, Estée. It will be like
old times in Paris! What think you, Duvalier?”

The butler declined to comment. Nothing, he
thought, could be further from the truth. He instructed a footman
to show the Vallentines to their apartments and took his leave of
them, returning in half an hour to escort the new arrivals to the
west wing.