Animating Maria (15 page)

Maria dug the point of her parasol into the grass and twisted it. ‘So shall we say it is at an end?’ she said.

‘Walk a little with me.’ The duke took her arm. He felt hurt. It was what he was sure he had wanted, and yet he felt hurt. ‘Perhaps we should leave it a little. Your parents must be enjoying their visit. Would it not be kind to leave our announcement until later?’

‘How much later?’

They had walked over a rise and the rest of the guests were hidden from view. ‘Just for a little,’ he said. ‘Besides, I wanted to show you the site I have chosen for my model village.’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘My friends tell me I have run mad and I dearly need someone to share my enthusiasm.’

‘Very well.’ Oh, why did she sound so reluctant, thought the duke crossly. ‘Where is it?’

‘South of Bethnal Green. Beyond Jews Walk, there is Bonners Hall, and beyond that, open land which I have purchased.’

‘I would like to see it,’ said Maria.

‘Perhaps I could take you there tomorrow?’

‘You must ask my parents’ permission.’

‘I shall do that.’

They walked on in silence.

‘Who are these lovers of yours?’ he asked abruptly.

Maria coloured angrily. ‘I have no lovers, sir.’

‘You told me you had been in love many times.’

‘Oh!’ Maria looked up at him shyly. ‘Dream lovers, that is all. Every young girl has romantic dreams.’

What a splendid day it was, thought the duke. He had really never before noticed what a jolly place the English countryside was. He thought quickly. If Maria’s parents knew he was going to take her out driving as far as Bethnal Green, then they might say they would come, too, or they might insist she took her maid.

‘I do not want to be on bad terms with your parents,’ he said. ‘They might be like my friends and disapprove of my plans. I shall simply tell them I am taking you for a little drive without saying where.’

‘I think they would approve of your plans,’ said Maria, ‘but, if you wish, I shall let them think we are going to the Park. We have walked a long way from the other guests. Do you not think we should turn back?’

He obediently turned around. Maria was very conscious of the pressure of his arm. She kept remembering that kiss at the inn. Some imp prompted her to say, ‘I wonder who I shall marry. Can you recommend anyone?’

‘With your face and fortune, you may have your pick,’ he said sourly.

‘A merchant or some man of the professional class?’

He did not reply. He seemed to retreat into himself. Maria longed to make him smile at her again. ‘How is Betty?’ she asked.

‘Betty?’

‘The woman with the baby in John Street.’

A flash of amusement lit the duke’s eyes. ‘Betty was taken to the country by my reluctant agent. She has settled in very well but affects grand London airs and says loudly she is not accustomed to the company of peasants.’

‘I am sure that cannot be true,’ said Maria. ‘Your agent does not like the extra work and therefore is telling you tall stories.’

‘I believe him. He does not like hard work, I agree, but I know him to be honest.’

Maria walked on in silence, her face averted. ‘What did you expect?’ he teased. ‘A humble and grateful Betty? Roses round the door and love in a cottage? Endless gratitude?’

That was just what Maria did expect. ‘The poor are not always worthy,’ he went on. ‘How can they be? Their minds and bodies have been warped for so long.’

‘Then why take the trouble?’ demanded Maria.

He looked surprised. ‘It is my duty. A duty I am grateful to you for bringing to my notice.’

‘A duty? Did no pity move you? No warmer feelings?’

‘I cannot indulge in pity or warmer feelings, or the sights of London would break my heart. Come, Miss Kendall, what would you have? Were my emotions involved, then I should spend my life being bitterly disappointed when my charitable efforts were met with sullen ingratitude. I am realistic.’

‘And not romantic?’

‘I do not waste my time in idle fancies.’

But as they approached the guests and Beau strolled up towards them, his blue eyes dancing with pleasure at the sight of Maria, the duke mentally picked up Beau, carried him by the seat of the trousers across the field and dumped him face-down in a cow pat.

He moved off to talk to the other guests and did not notice that Frederica Sunningdale had joined Beau and Maria and that Beau seemed more interested in Frederica than in Miss Kendall.

The duke approached the Kendalls and bowed. Mrs Kendall dropped a correct curtsy and Mr Kendall gave a stately bow in return.

The duke said the weather was fine and the Kendalls murmured their agreement. He said Maria was looking very attractive and both smiled and nodded. Intrigued by this change in the normally garrulous Kendalls, he was about to see if he could extract some speech from them when Amy Tribble appeared on one side of him and Mr Haddon on the other. Amy pointed with her parasol away from the Kendalls and said the champagne was about to be served. The duke turned and looked as well, and when he turned back, the Kendalls had disappeared into the crowd.

‘I was going to ask the Kendalls’ permission to take Miss Maria driving tomorrow,’ he said to Amy.

‘You may have my permission,’ replied Amy, ‘although I think you should leave the girl alone. This is not the way to encourage her to break the engagement.’

‘It is one way to give her social consequence which will stand her in good stead once the engagement is over,’ he pointed out.

‘A very true if smug remark,’ said the irrepressible Amy.

He wanted to join Maria again but she was surrounded by a group of courtiers. One was holding her parasol over her head, a second was holding her fan, and a third was offering a glass of champagne to her. He stood and watched her. She did not once look in his direction. He turned away and began to flirt easily with several of the young misses who were present so that his entourage might rival Maria’s, but every time he looked across at her, she was laughing at something someone had said and appeared to have forgotten he was at the party.

She would not be allowed to behave so once they were married, he thought. Then he remembered they were not to be married, that he had offered the Tribbles money to see that they should never be married, and that Maria herself was eager to break the engagement. At this, he thought the party a cursed flat affair, damned the Season as a load of silly frippery and heartily wished the whole business were over and done with.

Leisured society is full of people who spend a great part of their lives in flirtation and conceal nothing but the humiliating secret that they have never gone any further.

George Bernard Shaw

‘Now, sister,’ said Amy sternly, ‘when Berham comes to call, do
not
looked pleased to see him.’

‘But, why?’ wailed Effy. ‘There was a point yesterday when I thought they would suit very well. Surely only Maria would take an interest in those charitable schemes of his. Any lady of the
ton
would consider it a waste of money.’

‘We did not consider it a waste of money when we were so very poor and Mr Haddon gave us coal.’

‘That was a present,’ said Effy huffily. ‘No lady accepts charity.’

‘Which is why so many of them starve and leave a household of fat servants behind when they die,’ said Amy roundly. ‘If Berham thinks we’re all eager to see him marry Maria, then he will turn cool. The Kendalls will be out with baby George when he calls – I have seen to that. They did very nicely yesterday.’

‘So sweet the way they dote on that baby.’

‘George is a darling.’ Amy suffered a pang of conscience. Yvette had so much work to do – too much. She eased her conscience by promising herself to see to it that once Mrs Kendall’s gowns were completed, Yvette should have several weeks free.

‘If you say so, I shall be cool to Berham,’ said Effy, standing on tiptoe to look in the mirror and adjust one of her many gauze shawls about her neck. ‘But I have been thinking, Amy. If Maria does not wish to marry him, then we stand to gain a great deal of money from Berham and we could take a little rest. We could perhaps have next Season all to ourselves.’

‘Won’t do,’ said Amy. ‘London eats money. And we must start putting something by for our old age. Mind you, we already
are
old.’

‘You may be, sister, but I am in my prime.’

‘We are twins – or had you forgot.’

‘Age is all in the mind.’

‘Fiddle,’ said Amy crossly. ‘Age at this moment has settled in the small of my back and it aches like the devil.’

Effy tweaked a curl and eyed her sister speculatively. She herself was suffering from back pains, strange heat, and swollen ankles. She was frightened to send for the physician, for he would bleed her and leave her feeling weak. Perhaps she should discuss her symptoms with Amy. But Amy had that wretched diamond brooch back again, pinned on the front of her gown, and jealousy decided Effy against confessing any weakness to her sister.

While Effy and Amy prepared for the duke’s call, Mr and Mrs Kendall put George in his new perambulator and headed for the Park. ‘You know,’ said Mr Kendall, ‘I’m blessed if there ain’t a prime piece of business under our noses.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Mrs Kendall looked fondly down at George, who was clutching a toy soldier firmly in one chubby hand.

‘That Yvette. See here, how many ladies complimented you on your gown yesterday? Lots. Did any of those grand folk in Bath ever say a word about your dress? Never. When I think what a mint one pays dressmakers in Bath. Imagine what a really good one could earn in London.’

George gleefully threw his soldier in the direction of a dowager and Mrs Kendall clucked fondly as she retrieved it, trying for the dowager’s sake to pretend she was angry with George and not succeeding very well. ‘Do you mean you are going into the dressmaking business, Mr Kendall?’ she asked.

‘Not me. Yvette. I could buy her a shop. All grand and tasteful, like. She sets up in business and I take a percentage of her earnings once she’s got on her feet. She’ll need to have seamstresses and a nurse for George. Take a lot of money, but I’ll swear it will pay back well.’

‘Them Tribbles would be furious,’ pointed out Mrs Kendall. ‘Remember, they’re friends of the Prince Regent.’

‘They’d come about,’ said Mr Kendall easily. ‘Now, that Amy, she looks the strong one, but she’s got a heart like butter. They could’ve turned Yvette out into the street, baby and all.’

Mrs Kendall looked doubtful. ‘Miss Amy and Miss Effy won’t like the idea of having to pay through the nose to get gowns made for them.’

While Yvette’s future was being discussed, the Duke of Berham was seeing Miss Amy Tribble at her grandest. She was a stately figure in dove-grey silk, made with a high neck edged with a small ruff of lace, Yvette having at last persuaded her that low-necked gowns were unflattering. She wore a grey gauze turban and heels to her shoes, which gave her extra height, making her almost as tall as the duke.

‘We just want to assure you,’ said Effy, who had been well schooled by Amy, ‘that we will do everything in our power to persuade Maria to end the engagement.’

‘I do not wish you to turn her against me,’ said the duke sharply. ‘Leave the girl to make up her own mind.’

‘It is for her own good,’ said Amy. ‘You would not suit, and it is not as if it is a love match.’

‘Miss Kendall tried to terminate the engagement yesterday,’ said the duke abruptly. ‘I told her it would be kinder to let matters rest while her parents are in London. I beg you, say no more on this matter to Miss Kendall at present.’

‘As you wish,’ replied Amy, with seeming reluctance.

By the time Maria appeared, the duke was anxious to take his leave. He told the Tribbles they would be out for some time, as Maria wished to see a little more of London.

Maria noticed as she approached the carriage that his tiger was not present. She also noticed that his hand rested lightly on her waist for a moment as he helped her in.

The fine weather had broken, and although there was no rain, it was chilly with an irritating, frisky wind, blowing straw about the street and snapping in the blinds and awnings over the shops and houses. Because of the recent sunshine, all London had hoisted full sail. Every house and shop in the West End had its buff or striped canvas awning so that the sunshine should not fade either the goods in the shop windows or the carpets in my lady’s drawing room.

Maria was wearing a Polish robe of purple velvet ornamented with gold cord and tassels at the waist and edged with fox fur. On her head, she wore a jaunty Polish cap with a peak and cord and tassels hanging from the right side of the crown. On her hands were York tan gloves, and on her feet, gold kid half-boots.

The duke was aware of every inch of her. Because the Tribbles had made her appear forbidden fruit, he was sharply conscious for the first time how very seductive her body was, how thick and glossy her hair, and how perfect her skin.

That kiss at the inn did not count, he found himself thinking. What would it be like to kiss a willing Maria, a pliant Maria?