Dancing the Maypole (15 page)

“Dreams often
are. If it’s not too indelicate a question who is this woman
haunting your dreams?”

Peter looked
away tempted to make up a name. “Mademoiselle de Bourbon.”

“The woman you
called a maypole, slung over your shoulder and carried from the
house?”

“Yes,” mumbled
Peter.

“Ah!”

Peter sat down
on his bed and stared at the floor in despair. “I c-c-called on her
today and asked her to marry me…again. She demanded to know why I
want to marry her. I told her the truth, and she slapped me.”

“Truth has that
effect on women,” said Lucius. “What was this awful
revelation?”

“That I
d-desire her.”

“Ah! You have
to admit the lady’s lack of faith is understandable.”

“Yes!” snapped
Peter. “But what can I tell her? I can’t think. I need help.”

“Your boys are
worried you need Bedlam. They begged me to come save you. I’d no
idea they rated my talents so highly. Did you really throw gold
guineas at invalids enjoying the King’s Bath?”

“Half pennies…”
said Peter. “And I d-didn’t hit any of them, not
intentionally.”

“Does this mean
you’ve been sneaking up on old ladies and tying silk ribbons to
their persons?”

“That was
harmless. I was g-giving them a ribbon.”

“And then you
tried to make love to them?”

“I only
k-kissed them on the cheek. I was trying to make g-g-gossip.”

“You
succeeded.”

“Isabel…Mademoiselle de Bourbon gave me the boot. I went to
apologise for mistreating her person and I… I made the situation
worse. She slapped me and told me she never wanted to see me again.
I’m giving people reason to talk in hope that she’ll think about
me.”

“I’ll wager the
lady is thinking you’re a lunatic. Did Agnes concoct this heartless
plan?”

“Peter
Augustus!” Peter started as the romantic agent sat down beside him.
“Don’t listen to Lucius Smirke; gossip is working a treat.”

“Where the hell
did he come from?” Both Peter and Agent 1680 stared in disbelief at
Lucius.

“You can see
him?” Peter’s eyes went wide with hope. “What is he wearing?”

“Some hideous
brown costume from the seventeenth century…”

“Hideous?” The
romantic agent jumped up to better display his attire. “This is a
fashionable attire for a man of taste. The cut of your coat, Lucius
Smirke, is hideous. What sort of man leaves the house without
ribbons on his shoulder or red silk stockings on his legs?”

“Who the hell
is he?”

“He says he’s a
romantic agent,” said Peter. “He says he’s on assignment to help me
find love.”

Lucius snorted
in contempt, “He’s probably the devil.”

“I’m a romantic
agent on legitimate assignment. I have my papers here
somewhere.”

“Only a devil
would try to persuade a man that making an ass of himself will win
a lady’s heart,” sneered Lucius.

“What do you
know about ladies, Lucius Smirke? When love steps on your
spectacles, and forces you see with your heart, it’ll take you
months to realise you’re a blind man.”

“I know wealthy
women don’t run up the aisle to chain themselves to lunatics.”

“Peter Augustus
isn’t a lunatic. It so happens; he’s trying to impress a woman who
lives in a fantasy world where men do more than stand around like
propped up dummyboards. Isabel Désirée is pouring her heart into
her diary as we speak. The lady’s thoughts contain very little
other than Peter Augustus.”

“What did she
write?” asked Peter. “Is she reconsidering my proposal? Did she…did
she write anything you could repeat?”

“Peter
Augustus, if Isabel Désirée wants you to know her private
scribblings she’ll share them with you.”

“My Lord,” said
Lucius. “Ignore the dead and concoct a sane scheme for winning
Mademoiselle’s heart. Have you tried sending her flowers?”

“Flowers?”
Agent 1680 rolled his eyes. “Next you’ll advise Peter Augustus to
visit Isabel Désirée dressed as a shepherd with a lamb under his
arm ready to sing some sickly pastoral ballad in his awful voice.
Isabel Désirée wants romance; something fantastical, something
she’d write in a romance novel.”

“Women enjoy
receiving flowers,” said Lucius. “It’s traditional or have you been
dead so long you don’t remember?”

“If that’s the
best you can do Lucius Smirke I suggest you consider new
employment. If Peter Augustus loses the love of his life because
you counselled him against risking everything you’ll be as welcome
as a poxed whore.”

Lucius visibly
winced as if regretting his next question. “And what do you suggest
he risk?”

Agent 1680
rubbed his ghostly hands with glee. “Peter Augustus, I noticed how
much you admired Isabel Désirée’s portrait. Would you believe, it
looks even lovelier by moonlight?”

“You want me to
c-c-call on Mademoiselle after dark?”

Agent 1680
rolled his eyes, “No! You’re going to wait till the house is asleep
and then sneak in for a private viewing…by moonlight.”

Peter jumped to
his feet in horror. “B-b-break into Monsieur’s house and steal the
portrait?” The thought of being able to gaze upon Isabel’s lovely
face every day caused his heart to convulse with longing. “That
would be wrong.” But, he wouldn’t be stealing the painting. He’d be
borrowing it without asking. He’d return it to Isabel after they
were married. Where would he hide a painting? He couldn’t put it
under the bed, but it would fit behind the wardrobe.

“No, you’ll
sneak into the house to view the painting and deliver a love
token…”

“Like
flowers…that will be dead by morning? That will impress the lady, ”
sneered Lucius.

“No, not
flowers! Peter Augustus, all you have to do is sneak into the
house, move the painting and leave a love token next to it. She’ll
know you’ve come in the night…”

“So will her
father,” snapped Peter. “I don’t want to die! How would I even get
in?”

“I’ll unlatch
the front door…being dead has certain advantages. Have you got a
better idea Peter Augustus?”

“I’ll send her
flowers…I’ll think of something.”

“Send her
flowers by all means, Peter Augustus, but as you lie in bed this
evening knowing your dream mistress won’t be coming to comfort
you…I think when your clock chimes half past two, you’ll be ready
to do anything…”

“My Lord, don’t
listen to that devil! You’ll be mistaken for a thief. Send some
flowers wrapped in a love song and tied with one of your lilac
ribbons. It would be safe. You’d live to kiss her.” Peter’s brain
conjured images of sneaking into Isabel’s bedchamber and tying a
lilac ribbon around her wrist. “My Lord, I have no burning desire
to work for Cecil. Let’s think of something exciting that won’t get
you killed.”

Peter gave no
sign of having heard his cousin. “Lucius, what would you do for
love?”

“Nothing
illegal or deadly.”

“What if she
needed to be rescued?”

“Few females
deserve to be rescued. Be sensible!”

“I don’t want
to be sensible,” muttered Peter. “Je veux Ma Belle.”

“You won’t be
able to make love to her if you catch a lead ball in your heart.
Kidnap the lady and carry her off to Scotland.”

Agent 1680
shook his head, “Peter Augustus, don’t listen to Lucius Smirke.
Kidnap Isabel Désirée and something bad will happen. It never
works, and I should know…”

“My Lord,”
interrupted Lucius. “If I disguise myself and kidnap the lady, you
could then rescue her and pretend to shoot me…”

“Absolument
pas! She’d find out I had instigated her terror and then she’d hate
me.”

“Exactly!”
Agent 1680 gave the unhappy Lucius a smug smile. “Bring on the
night…when romance stalks moonlit streets…”

A knock at the
door interrupted Peter’s intention to tell the transparent man to
go to the devil. “Enter.”

Agnes entered,
closing the door behind her. “Oh Lucius? I thought I smelled
something burning. Are you sharing Peter’s bed or sleeping on the
kitchen hearth? I wouldn’t want you to miss your hellfire.
Oh…forgive me I keep confusing you with Lucifer.”

Lucius’s lips
twisted into a forced smile. “Hell hath no fury like a scold who’s
lost her bridle. I have a pleasant room at a hotel. James must need
daily enemas to clear out the bile caused by your nearness.”

“Agnes, did you
come to my room to insult Lucius or was there some other
reason?”

“Forgive me
Peter, I’m afraid I find it difficult to resist any opportunity to
insult your steward. I received a letter from my cousin Isabel…”
Agnes held up the piece of paper capturing Peter’s full attention.
“I believe she enjoyed your visit.”

Peter felt
dizzy with hope, “She said that?”

“I infer it
from the contents of the letter,” said Agnes.

“Well?” urged
Peter. “What did she write?”

“She mentioned
she’ll be attending the ball this evening in the Upper Rooms and
hopes to see me there. You’ll be able to ask her for a dance.”

Peter held out
his hand. “May I read the letter?”

“If she wished
you to read my letter, she’d have sent you a copy. I think you
should wear all white this evening and one lavender ribbon…”

“Agnes, don’t
be cruel,” snapped Lucius. “Peter won’t win a woman dressing like a
badly made valentine.”

Agnes looked
Lucius up and down with disinterest, “How would you know? How many
well-dowered maidens want anything to do with you? None? As you
have no knowledge of this subject, I suggest you boil your tongue
and eat it.”

Grey eyes
glared up over the rims of gold spectacles, “How can James bear to
wake every morning knowing he’ll find you at his breakfast
table?”

Agnes smiled in
amusement, “As my husband usually wakes to find me naked in his
bed. Finding me fully clothed at his breakfast table is merely
another pleasure.”

“I’m surprised
he hasn’t starved to death.”

Peter rubbed
his aching temples. “What is the matter with you two?”

The transparent
agent clucked his tongue. “Lucius Smirke has been secretly lusting
for his cousin’s wife. The lady is discouraging the sentiment with
her sharpest weapon.”

Lucius scowled
at the agent, “Excuse me my Lord, I fear I’m about to be violently
ill. There are several papers you should look over. If you’ll step
away from the door Agnes, I’ll leave Peter at your mercy.”

“Lucky for you,
it’s easier to sneer at a tall woman. You simply tip back your
head, and your jaw drops with mindless contempt. Does it hurt when
your true self shines through?”

“I pity James,”
sneered Lucius. “His life must be hell.” The man slammed the door
behind him suspending the war.

Peter didn’t
care about his cousin’s improbable infatuation. He was too absorbed
in his own problems. “Well? Did Isabel write anything good about
me? Did she hint that she intends t-to accept me?”

Agnes shoved
the letter down the front of her dress. “She did mention you in
passing a few times, but you know how you hate gossip…”

“Reading a
letter isn’t gossip! Did she mention any other men? She’s not
p-planning on sending for Neilson? You’d tell me wouldn’t you? He
might try to kidnap her…”

“She’s in love
with you, idiot. Now about this evening…” A knock at the door
interrupted Agnes.

Peter roared
like a wounded lion, “What now?”

Sticking his
head in the door, James smiled on seeing his wife. “The angels are
finally asleep. I’m going to steal you away for that walk I
promised. Sorry Old man, she’s mine…”

“James, tell
your wife to let me read the letter she shoved down her b-bosom.
It’s from Her!”

“Letter? Oh
that letter!” James snorted in amusement at some private thought.
“I nearly wet myself laughing…”

Agnes gave her
husband an intense stare. “James!”

“What? It was
funny.”

“How would you
feel if I wrote that letter to Isabel about you?”

James grimaced
in horror, “I see what you mean.”

Peter felt
fifteen and defenceless. “What? What d-did she say?”

“She mentioned
her plans for this evening.”

“And?”

“It was a
private letter,” said Agnes.

“Then why did
James get to read it?” Peter cringed at his whiny tone. He sounded
like he was rebuking a governess for favouring James.

Agnes didn’t
answer the question, “Take a nap Peter. You don’t want Isabel to
think you can’t stay awake past eleven. Heroes need to be alert at
all hours.”

“I’m forty-four
not eighty-four!” Peter blushed in horror. Had he just shouted at
his brother’s wife?

“Come on Egg;
let’s go for a walk and let the old man rest.”

The door closed
behind Agnes, and there was only the irritating romantic agent to
wish to the devil. Peter glared at the smiling ghost. “I suppose
you read the letter over her shoulder.”

“No, I was
visiting Louis Marie to see whether I wanted to fill an application
to be his romantic agent. Heaven knows he needs one. When I got
back to Isabel Désirée, she was asking the footman to deliver
it.”

“Follow Agnes
and learn where she puts it. I have to read that letter.”

“Don’t be a
fool Peter Augustus. Agnes Sophia wouldn’t refuse to tell you the
contents without good reason. She’s not heartless. You’re lucky
Isabel Désirée still loves you. It’s not as if you’ve been a
perfect lover. If your heart’s desire wishes to rant on your
idiosyncrasies to a friend, it’s no business of yours until she’s
your wife. Stop sulking and decide what you’re going to do. Are you
going to view her portrait by moonlight or not?”

Peter was
tempted, but the scheme was illegal as well as insane.
“Mademoiselle will think me a lunatic…or worse.”

“Romeo snuck
into Juliet’s to make love to her…it’s romantic!”