Fallen Angel (44 page)

When she entered her grandfather's house, she made straight for her chamber. Once there, she sat down at her elegant escritoire and extracted a sheet of paper from a drawer. At the top of the page, in pencil, she wrote the word,
problem
and underneath, the word
baby.
Her mind then grappled with solutions. After half an hour, she'd come up with ten, all recorded neatly. One by one she eliminated the more far-fetched ideas till her list was reduced to four: Tell Deveryn; Tell Grandfather; Marry Raeburn; Go home. After a moment's reflection, she eliminated a further two. That left her with "Tell Deveryn" and "Go home."

She crumpled the paper into a ball and tossed it in the fire, watching till the flames licked round it and burned it to white ash. She began again with a fresh piece of paper. This time, she wrote only one word at the top of the page—"Home." She stared at the word for a long time before that sheet of paper was also discarded and tossed on the flames.

She had no home. Even if she went to Scotland, without Drumoak, she had no means of supporting herself and could not now, in her condition, find employment. Furthermore, she would have to go into hiding since she was still under age. She wondered fleetingly at a country whose laws permitted a woman, on the one hand, to marry the man of her choice when she was sixteen years old, and on the other, kept her a minor till she was one and twenty. But then, Deveryn had never been her choice, not really. There were no laws, as far as she could see, which vouchsafed any kind of liberty to a woman if some man wished to flaunt them.

Tell Deveryn. Tell Deveryn—the words seemed to drum in her head. What choice did she have? Without a penny to call her own, she was stymied, and she knew it. For all her fine clothes and grand style of living, she might as well have been a pauper. She'd heard herself called an heiress. That was a joke, only she did not feel like laughing. A woman never had control of her own fortune. And like her property, she too would be passed from the control of one man to another—her father, her guardian, her husband. She supposed that when she was old, and if she outlived her husband, her sons would have the management of her person and property. Intolerable!

To escape her unhappy thoughts, for the next day or so, she immersed herself in preparing her paper on
Medea.
There was the odd outing in Raeburn's carriage, Miss Spencer always in attendance to Maddie's great relief, but there was little offered in the way of more elaborate entertainments. The Season was not yet in full swing, and Maddie's engagements in society were confined mostly to musical evenings and small gatherings in the homes of ladies whose acquaintance she had made through the offices of her aunt.

Her first party of any major consequence was scheduled for Saturday night—not a ball by any means, but a glittering affair for all that. They were invited to attend a soiree in the Prince Regent's private residence, Carlton House. Maddie had heard from the little housemaid, Libby, that all the great town houses in Mayfair were in a state of readiness for the return from their country estates of the blue-blooded aristocrats who were fortunate enough to secure one of the invitations to so illustrious an event. She wondered if Deveryn would be there, and what she should say to him if he were.

By the time Saturday night rolled round, her nerves were on edge. She paced her room, rehearsing for the thousandth time in her head what she would say to the father of her unborn child. She did not think she could bring herself to the point unless she had some assurance that he would be a faithful husband. And then she thought that there was nothing he could say, in light of his history, that would ever convince her of his fidelity.

She was saved from further gloomy reflection by the entrance of the upstairs abigail whom she shared with her aunt. Over Bertha's arm was the dress that Maddie was to wear at the Carlton House soiree that evening. Of pale lavender silk tissue and heavily embroidered at the square cut bodice and hem with silver thread, its resemblance to mourning dress, in Maddie's opinion, was slight. She had a leisurely bath, and allowed Bertha to dress her without a murmur. She was putting the finishing touches to her toilette when a velvet box was delivered to her bedroom door. Inside was a rope of diamonds for her hair and diamond droplet earrings to match. On the note which accompanied it, in her grandfather's spidery scrawl was written, "Wear these just for tonight. They were your grandmother's, and it would please me to see them on you."

How could she refuse? She thought that it would be a very long time, if ever again, before her grandfather would be gratified by anything his granddaughter might do. Obedient to his wishes, she allowed Bertha to adorn her with the priceless gems.

They were the first thing that drew Deveryn's eye as Maddie entered the octagonal vestibule of Carlton House on her grandfather's arm. He had positioned himself on the gallery above so that he could watch for her entrance. Though all the rooms of state were on street level, some upstairs chambers had been reserved as cloakrooms and retiring rooms. It was inevitable that Maddie cross the marble floor of the 0 ctagon to reach the Oval Staircase. When she did, Deveryn was there to feast his eyes on her.

He thought that he had never seen her look more beautiful. In the months since he had known her, she had allowed her hair to grow. It was no longer an unruly mop of curls but the elegant coiffure of a lady of fashion with wanton tendrils artfully brought forward to frame her face. Under the brilliance of the gilt chandelier, her tresses shone like burnished copper. As her head moved, diamonds flashed in her hair and at her ears. Her skin, he thought, looked as soft as the silk of her gown which showed at the edges of her dark mantle. Though she was smiling, it seemed to him that there was an aura of sadness about her. He had thought, once, that he could banish that look forever.

Maddie's eyes swept up and travelled the press of people in the gallery. They alighted on Deveryn and passed on, then quickly returned. He tried to capture her gaze but only succeeded in driving down the long sweep of her lashes, like shades on windows, blacking out the probing rays of the sun.

As she brushed past the scarlet and gold draped curtains of the arched entrance to the Oval Staircase, Maddie's steps slowed to allow her aunt to catch up with them.

Miss Spencer was in transports. "This is beyond anything. No wonder Carlton House is extolled as the finest royal residence in Europe. And we haven't even begun to see its treasures." She drew in her breath. "So this is the famous Oval Staircase. It's . . . it's . . . ," she floundered for words, her eyes darting up the long graceful sweep of granite green walls with decorative arches in intricate white and gold plaster work.

"Magnificent," supplied Samuel Spencer, "also Baroque. Don't miss the Rococo pedestal clock on the landing below. I was instrumental in acquiring that little piece for His Highness."

As they followed the press of people up the cantilevered staircase, Maddie listened with half an ear as her grandfather drew the ladies' attention to various architectural details, and she dutifully let her eyes wander up over the sumptuous blue and gold lace-like balustrade and beyond, to the glazed dome high above in the roof. Inwardly, she was striving for composure for that first face to face encounter with Deveryn since Oxfordshire.

When they stepped into the gallery, her eyes could not find him. Her first feeling was one of relief. A moment's consideration, and her relief was replaced by unease. Deveryn, it appeared, was trying to avoid her.

Her unhappy thoughts stayed with her until she stepped into the Crimson Drawing Room on the ground floor.

"It's . . . it's . . . ," she stammered.

"Magnificent," supplied Miss Spencer with a touch of smugness.

Samuel Spencer merely murmured, "Save your superlatives, Nellie. You'll need them for the Circular Room." He spoke in Maddie's ear. "Who do you think supplied the crimson damask?"

The walls, the windows, the upholstery were all done in crimson satin. Maddie looked a question at her grandfather.

"Yes, yours truly," he replied with more than a hint of pride. "And it's British through and through, specially woven for the Prince in one of my own factories. And the Rubens on the wall over there," Maddie followed her grandfather's gaze to one of the many gilt-framed masterpieces which adorned the walls, "I got that for him at Christie's for a veritable song. Yarmouth was beside himself."

Like her grandfather, the Earl of Yarmouth was a collector and also acted for the Prince Regent in finding and purchasing acquisitions for Carlton House. Though there was a certain rivalry between Samuel Spencer and the younger earl, as was only natural, they were often to be seen in each other's company at Christie's and at house sales in and around London. Maddie listened attentively as her grandfather drew her attention to other
objets d'art
which he had procured for his Prince.

She knew that her grandfather considered his presence at Carlton House that evening as the acme of his ambitions. He had confided his sentiments when the gilt-edged invitation card had arrived in Curzon Street. Though he'd been often in the Price Regent's private residence, and had the Prince's confidence to some extent, his lack of gentle birth had precluded his entry to the more select affairs in mixed company. In short, as he'd told Maddie, though he found a warm reception at the Prince's levees where only gentlemen were present, he did not aspire so high as the drawing rooms where their wives and daughters mingled with the
crème de la crème
of Polite Society.

"And d' you know why all doors are now open to me?" he'd asked.

"No," she'd answered cautiously.

"Because of Raeburn. The duke may not have a feather to fly with but he's accepted everywhere. And he'll soon be part of the family. That's why."

She'd been on the point of disputing her grandfather's assumptions, and then had thought better of it. It was an argument she was quite sure she could not win and might lead her into all sorts of difficulties. Some part of her brain—the craven part, she'd admitted guiltily—had decided it was better for the moment to let sleeping dogs lie. The thought of confiding to her grandfather the intelligence that she was with child to a man who might or might not be her husband was enough to give her hysterics.

She tried to put the conversation from her mind as they approached the black and gold doors which gave entrance to the Circular Room where the Prince Regent was receiving. She'd been told that the party that night was to be very informal. Even so, butterflies began to stir and flutter in her stomach. She hoped that when she was presented, she would not disgrace herself or forget everything she had been taught by her tutor.

The blaze of crimson and gold suddenly gave way to the more muted and restful tones of blue and silver. A forest of dark crimson Ionic columns seemed to hold up the ceiling which was painted to resemble the blue vault of the heavens. The brilliant glare from the several elaborate crystal chandeliers was reflected from an equal number of long pier glasses which adorned the walls. Though the motif of the vast chamber was predominantly Greek, Maddie felt that the emperor Nero could not have found a more suitable setting.

She regretted that uncharitable thought a moment later. The Prince, she decided, was no Nero. He exuded charm and affability and was everything that was gracious. As for herself, she could never afterwards remember whether she had curtsied or uttered a single word to any of his pleasantries. Her grandfather showed more presence of mind. He made some complimentary remarks about the latest renovations to the house and His Highness could not have been more gratified.

Their time with the Prince was very brief, and soon they were free to wander at will. Scarlet and gold liveried footmen, like a regiment of well-trained dragoons, dispensed a selection of beverages from silver salvers. And for those who wished to sample the culinary delights for which Carlton House was justly famous, tables loaded with every kind of delicacy were laid out in two of the ante-rooms.

Maddie had just accepted one of the beverages, ratafia to her great disappointment, when the Duke of Raeburn approached. She gave him a civil though cautious welcome. Her aunt was more effusive. He engaged to show the ladies the treasures of the house, particularly the paintings, since Samuel Spencer had been waylaid by Lord Yarmouth. It was to Miss Spencer that he offered his arm. Maddie tagged along behind, as if she had been a chaperone.

It was inevitable that they became separated, for the crush of people exerted an irresistible pull. Maddie scarcely noticed. Her eyes travelled the assembly with avid interest. She had the pleasure of meeting many acquaintances, though there was one whose society she later wished she had avoided.

She had wandered up to the gallery which overlooked the Octagon. Lady Elizabeth Heatherington was at the rail waiting, so she informed Maddie with an arch smile, for Lord Deveryn to procure her a glass of champagne. Maddie resisted her first impulse to disappear into the crush. She'd made up her mind to speak to him. And though the setting was too public to allow of any prolonged conversation of a personal nature, it would take only a moment to arrange a more suitable time and place for a private interview.