Lady Pamela (17 page)

No, thought Benjamin, he had not. He had believed, in fact, that Virginia society was entirely too conservative in this matter, and that people who looked down upon such a woman had never faced a moment’s true loneliness themselves. He had reassured Kathleen several times on that subject, the duke now recalled.

So, when it was your own gratification at stake, you found nothing exceptionable in the activity, a niggling voice pointed out. But when Lord Quentin suggested something similar to Helène, you knocked him down.

Charles Quentin had offered
carte blanche
to Helène Phillips, the duke’s young cousin, before calling himself an idiot and asking for her hand in marriage. As he should have done in the beginning.

But that was different
, protested Benjamin. Helène was a maiden, and under his protection. An offer of
carte blanche
was an insult to the entire family, and to him as well, as its head.

This line of reasoning seemed unsatisfactory.
Is that all it was?
wondered Benjamin. Had he cared nothing for Helène’s happiness, but only for his own pride?

Events of that first day at Luton had occurred so quickly, and in such confusion, that the duke had not had the time to work this out before Charles and Helène were engaged, and all talk of mistresses and
carte blanche
dropped. Benjamin told himself that his reaction had only been natural, that he no doubt felt guilty for Helène’s sufferings, and that the situation with the young widow had been nothing the same.      

Kathleen had married, after all. Married the doctor, who had known from the beginning of her affair with Benjamin, and had not held it against her. Benjamin remembered the awkwardness of his first encounter with the man, and how the doctor had merely shrugged.

“I love her,” he had said, as if that explained it all.

What, then, of Lady Pamela? Benjamin had loved her from the moment he first saw her, as well, a goddess of the
haut ton
. He had felt a rustic in comparison, an accidental duke returned from a decade in the Americas to a society he only partly understood. He was unworthy of such a lady, and then to discover that she was not the perfect female he had imagined . . .

“It cannot be the same,” Benjamin muttered to himself. “I am a duke.”

But at this argument, at hearing the words spoken aloud, he balked, and saw himself for a hypocrite. Benjamin had never believed in the divine rights of kings, let alone dukes. A dukeship was a matter of tradition, and conferred responsibilities beyond those faced by most men. Responsibilities to the land, and to the people who lived on that land, the people who worked in the homes and served the family. These responsibilities, and the stability an ancient family line provided its county of residence, were–in Benjamin’s opinion–the sole argument for the aristocracy.

Benjamin’s thoughts turned, suddenly, to the mosaic of the front portico. It had been cleaned weeks ago and was, as he had first thought, a depiction of the goddess Hera, and her seduction by the deceitful Zeus.

Only if you marry me
, Hera had told him.

The chaste and faithful Hera. Woman deified, the ideal wife. Benjamin wondered which of the dukes had commissioned the mosaic and what it was intended to represent.

Surely the Duke of Grentham was not required to marry a goddess.

* * * *

Lady Millicent collapsed onto the shot-silk duvet of her four-posted bed and sighed. The most recent interview with her father had been no worse than any other, but it was all becoming most tedious and vexing.

Would he never learn that her favor was not to be bought? thought Millicent, with a virtuous sniff. She would wait–wait years, if need be!–for the proper
young
man to win her affections, steal her heart, carry her away to his beautiful castle on a hill....

Someone like Lord Clarence Peabody. Lady Millicent was well aware that this young man could boast of nothing much in the way of property. But Clarence–Lord Peabody–
should
have a castle. Her father could buy him one, Milly decided. The cost of a castle must be nothing to someone of the Earl of Banbridge’s standing.

Millicent’s eyes took on a dreamy cast as she imagined her future as the pampered wife of a noble gentleman. The gowns one could wear as a married woman! The colours so much brighter, and the necklines cut to make the most of one’s figure. She could see herself dancing in the arms of her husband, whirling effortlessly around the floor at Almack’s as everyone watched and applauded.

Lord Peabody might not be a duke, thought Milly, but she was no longer a child, and had no more need for childish fantasies. My husband will be handsome and kind, even if he is only a viscount, and we will have beautiful children and live nearly the whole of the year in town.

Her father would simply have to quit this nonsense about Lord Castlereaugh. As if mere money could sway her affections!

Lady Millicent cast a mutinous glance toward the wardrobe, where a new outfit was hanging for her inspection, a fine day gown of mignonette-green cambric, marked with the newest fashion of ham sleeves. Suitable for riding out of an afternoon...Milly grimaced. She was to ride the very next day with Lord Castlereaugh, and she could hardly stand the thought.

She wouldn’t do it. She would refuse.

The earl’s current insistence that she wed within months was mystifying. Millicent was not naive. She knew that her choice of husband would be constrained by societal edicts, and that her parents would have a say in whom she chose. Still, she had never expected to be given a
deadline
. Nor to find her father so insistent on pushing forward gentlemen in whom she could find no redeeming qualities, and could have no possible interest. First that spotty baron, Lord Babbage, and now Lord Castlereaugh.

Father cannot truly intend that I marry before the new year.

If her father could only see Lord Peabody as she saw him, if he could only be bothered to
know
him, to understand his sensitive nature.

Her father had seemed very tired this morning. Perhaps, thought Millicent worriedly, he is ill. Perhaps he only wishes to put his mind at ease about his daughter’s future, to see her settled.

But
not
with Lord Castlereaugh.

Millicent was a cheerful person by nature; unsuspicious, and not inclined to question the authority of the earl. The
ton
society she knew was full of strange conceits, and odd byways, but her parents’ guidance had always served her well, and it was inconceivable to Milly that her mother and father would fail to have her best interests in mind.

Inconceivable that she might really be expected to marry a gentleman who, however rich, she could barely stand to touch.

* * * *

One fine afternoon Lady Pamela found herself too tired for her usual walk, and was happy to accept Amanda’s suggestion that Maximilian Detweiler drive them to Hyde Park. If nothing else, she could count on an hour or more of amusing gossip, as Max was Lady Detweiler’s equal in that respect.

“Mind the cloak,” was Max’s first request, as they climbed into the landau. “I have purchased it only this morning, twelve capes in all, if you please, and each of them sewn separately–”

“Shouldn’t they be on twelve separate gentlemen?” retorted Lady Detweiler.

“Lud,” said Maximilian. “You’ve no sense of the current fashion whatsoever.”

“I’ve sense enough not to wear a cloak so enormous to require a vehicle all its own.”

“I can assure you that
this cloak
–”

“The park,” said Lady Pamela to the coachman, hoping that the two cousins would soon find another topic of discussion.

Hyde Park was in the full swing of autumn, with drifts of leaves upon the ground. Lady Pamela sensed the chill of the coming winter in the breeze, but the day was sunny, and the Row was crowded with riders and carriages.

Lady Detweiler and Maximilian were in fine form.

“Look,” said Max. “There’s Lord Middlesex and his wife.”

“Good heavens,” said Amanda, “have they brought the baby? Why, the boy cannot be three months old!”

The proud parents had, indeed, brought their first child into the coach, and were showing him to a group of admiring ladies.

“Babies!” scoffed Lady Detweiler. “Such a lot of nonsense.”

“And yet so rare to find an adult who has not been one,” retorted Max.

“Yes, well it’s a perfectly ridiculous system, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’ve no doubt–”

Lady Pamela’s attention drifted from the squabbling cousins back to Audley Square. The selection of colours and styles for the breakfast
salon
and library, and several of the smaller ground floor rooms of Marchers, had occupied her attention for some weeks. The memory of the... incident, of the touch of the duke’s lips against hers, had finally faded, and Pam was again relaxed in his company. She and the duke now rubbed along together so well, in fact, that she had sometimes to remind herself that she should not get too close. She should not smile and laugh too much, or find him too appealing.

Especially as Lord Torrance had clearly forgotten the entire incident. Did the duke still find her appealing as well, something more than a friend? Lady Pamela sometimes thought he did, sometimes turned to see him staring at her with an odd intensity. But he said nothing, and she said nothing, and the days flew past.

Eventually, the redecoration of Marchers House would be complete. And what then, of the duke and Lady Pamela?             

She felt Amanda, sitting next to her, stiffen suddenly.

“Max,” said Lady Detweiler. “Max, who is that... gentleman?”

Maximilian turned at her question; Lady Pam saw his grimace of distaste.

“That, my dear,” answered Maxmilian, “is Enoch Castlereaugh.”

“Not Lord Nasty-Breeches?”

“ ’Tis one and the same.”

“Who is this?” asked Pam, following Amanda’s gesture with her eyes; she saw a middle-aged gentleman, garishly dressed, at the reins of a two-horsed phaeton. He was shouting at his team, with which he was evidently having some trouble. Lady Pamela cocked her head, thinking he looked familiar. A young woman with long, light brown hair sat next to him. She was dressed fashionably in a fine day gown and fur-trimmed pelisse, and as she turned her head away from the man, Pam caught the expression which fled across her face, a brief glimpse of despair.

Of course. The couple at the Marthwaites’ ball.

Lord Nasty-Breeches?

“Lord Castlereaugh,” said Max, “is the richest landowner in the Berkshires. He is also, as they say, quite taken with young girls.”

Lady Detweiler made a rude sound; Lady Pamela stared. Maximilian’s meaning suggested more than the general interest many gentlemen showed to ladies less advanced in years than themselves.

“Such as the one sitting next to him?” she asked Max. The girl might have been eighteen, Pam thought. Old enough to marry, but–

“Or even younger,” he replied. “In this case, you need not fear. That young lady is soon to become his wife.”

“Isn’t that Banbridge’s daughter?” asked Lady Detweiler. She was frowning.

“Indeed.”

“I thought...” Amanda paused. “Lady Millicent Chambers? I was sure I saw her dancing moony-eyed with Clarence Peabody not a fortnight past.”

“Peabody!” laughed Max. “No, little Lord Clarence won’t do for the earl’s chit.”

“Peabody’s a viscount, is he not? A bit soft in the instep, perhaps, but–”

“The title isn’t the problem,” Max interrupted. “It’s the fortune.”

“Ah. Right. Banbridge is rolled up and pockets to let, isn’t he?”

“Completely.”      

Lady Pamela listened while Lady Detweiler and Maximilian dissected the pecuniary woes of the Earl of Banbridge. Lord Chambers was deeply in debt, an apparent participant in the sorry
ton
tradition of losing one’s money to wagers and drink. Signs pointing toward the collapse of the earl’s fortune had been gathering since before his daughter Millicent’s birth; that such a collapse was only now imminent was due to the patience of his creditors,

“The creditors have been waiting, expecting that Lady Millicent will marry a wealthy man,” said Max, “and that the husband-to-be will make the necessary settlements on her family. The earl is said to be incapable of practicing household economies on his own.”

“So the girl must wed,” said Pam, again joining the conversation. Poor Lady Millicent, she thought.

“And very quickly. The earl’s current agreements will last only the rest of the year.”

“How dreadful,” said Amanda. “Does the girl know?”

“That she’s being sold off to the highest bidder?” Max shook his head. “That, I could not say.”

“But–Castlereaugh!”

“Yes. Appalling, is it not? One wonders that her father can bear to look at himself in the mirror of a morning.”

“I’ve met the earl,” said Lady Detweiler. “I don’t believe the feelings of another human being concern him one whit.”

Lady Pamela caught a final glimpse of Lady Millicent as they drove on. She did not look happy.

* * * *

Lady Annabelle Fitzroy sat in front of the fire in Lady Millicent’s bedroom and listened to Milly’s recounting of her afternoon in Hyde Park with Lord Castlereaugh. Lady Annabelle, Millicent’s best friend since childhood, was a plump, cheerful girl given to the giggles, with blond ringlets that bounced as she spoke. But she was frowning now, worried in earnest about her friend’s fate at the hands of that ever-so-odious lord.

“He tried to kiss me!” Millicent told her. Both girls shuddered. “Oh, Belle, Father can’t make me marry Lord Castlereaugh, he just can’t! I don’t understand.
Why
is he being so unreasonable?”

Annabelle flushed guiltily and bit her lip. Milly still doesn’t know, she was thinking. She still doesn’t know why the earl is insisting she marry someone of wealth. Great wealth.

Someone like the repulsive Lord Castlereaugh.
Ugh
, thought Belle.

But she knew. For Lady Annabelle Fitzroy had one decided advantage over Millicent Chambers when it came to gossip concerning the gentlemen of the
ton
: an affectionate older brother, as amiable and well-liked in society as Annabelle herself.