Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (21 page)

“How dare you take such a liberty,” hissed
the Duke, a sudden constriction in his throat forcing him to
swallow hard. He turned his furious gaze upon Antonia, but when she
could not bring herself to look up from the riband in her hand he
flung his frockcoat over the back of a chair and strode to the
writing desk to sort through several cards and invitations awaiting
his attention. “Get out, d’Ambert,” he ordered, and with one quick
snap of his fingers the two whippets came to heel. “Get out before
I whip some manners into you!” And turned away, a gilt-edged
invitation crushed in his fist.

The Vicomte took a step forward then thought
better of it, an eye on the dogs growling softly at their master’s
feet. A bow to Lord Vallentine and a glance at Antonia and he was
gone. She looked at his lordship not knowing what to say by way of
explanation. The Duke had his back to her. It was straight and
stiff and very unapproachable. She glanced at the ball of paper he
had thrown on his desk and swallowed.

“I did not ask him to kiss me. I made him
angry and he just grabbed me,” she explained to his lordship who
smiled encouragingly. “When he gets angry he does strange things
and I think he only kissed me because he knew I did not want him to
in the least. I should not have made him angry, I know, but he said
some horrid things I did not like at all. So I could not let him
say them and get away with it could I? You believe me, do you not?”
she asked Vallentine in a whisper and added naïvely, “I am glad you
interrupted when you did.”

“Never would doubt you, little one,” he said
kindly and brushed her cheek. “’bout time, Duvalier. Where did you
trot off to for that bottle—Bordeaux? I’m parched, and you, Roxton?
On the table there, and another glass for mademoiselle.”

The butler sniffed and bowed, then startled
his lordship by smiling at Antonia in a grandfatherly way. “It will
take but one moment to fetch mademoiselle a glass.”

“If that don’t beat all!” announced
Vallentine, the butler not quite out of earshot. “The old devil
just smiled at Antonia, Roxton. Fair smiled at her and you missed
it! Wait ’til I tell Estée. Never seen the old sober-sides smile,
ever.”

“Do shut up, Vallentine!” The Duke tossed to
one side a card he’d been inspecting through his quizzing-glass and
propped himself on a corner of the desk. “In half an hour we leave
for our drive,” he stated to Antonia, finally meeting her gaze. “I
suggest you see to your—your hair. Tie it up.”

“Yes, M’sieur le Duc,” she murmured and
hurriedly threaded the crumpled velvet ribbon through her curls.
She could not understand why he was angry with her when it was the
Vicomte who had taken unwanted liberties. It should have been
evident that she was not a willing participant, besides which it
had been a very clumsy kiss. “Monseigneur, you cannot think I
wanted Étienne to kiss me?”

“We will talk about this later.”

Antonia blinked at him. The heightened color
in his cheeks and the hard set of his jaw confused her, as did his
continued anger. “No, M’sieur le Duc, we will talk about it now
because it is obvious you are angry with me and I do not know why
when I explained to you that I—”

“Later,” the Duke enunciated through
clenched teeth, a quick glance at Lord Vallentine who had
discreetly retreated to inspect a row of leather-bound books on one
of the library shelves.

But Antonia stood her ground, clear green
eyes never wavering from his tight face. “You think because I am a
female who barely reaches your shoulder that I am incapable of
defending myself? Had you not interrupted when you did I would have
slapped his face for his impertinence, or put my knee into his
tender male parts as Maria Casparti showed me is the way to fend
off unwanted attentions. How else did M’sieur le Duc think I
managed to defend my virtue in a place like Versailles?”

Roxton stared at her for what seemed like
minutes. “I did not think about it, Antonia. And for that I am
truly sorry,” he answered softly. “Now please fetch your cloak and
muff, there is a cool breeze today.”

“Yes, Monseigneur,” she smiled and dropped a
quick curtsey before she fled to the door. A glance at Lord
Vallentine and she wondered why that gentleman’s jaw was
swinging.

His lordship was staring open-mouthed at his
friend because he had never heard him be contrite. He had to
concede that there were depths to the Duke that he had not known
existed, depths that were being brought to the surface by a plain
spoken girl who was barely out of the schoolroom.

At the door, Antonia chanced to look back
into the room and caught the Duke regarding her steadily. Their
eyes met. His were the first to look away. For once she was unable
to interpret the emotion in his face and that bothered her, as did
the Vicomte’s declarations concerning Salvan having a signed
marriage contract from her grandfather and her grandmother’s
unconcern for her welfare. But she forced herself to push these
fears to the back of her mind. She wanted this day to be special.
After all, it was her birthday and she wouldn’t allow the Salvans
to spoil this of all days.

The Comte de Salvan bowed low over his
cousin Estée’s plump white hand, brushing it with his wet lips. As
he straightened he smiled into her fair face and cursed himself for
the hundredth time for not taking his mother’s advice. He should
have offered for her as soon as she was out of mourning. In the
years since the death of her husband he had hinted that it would
not be such a bad thing for both families if they were to marry.
She had laughed him away and he had joined in her amusement, but
was uncertain if she laughed with him or at him. He wondered if he
should still make her an offer and if Roxton would be favorable to
such a union. He thought not and was not about to try his luck.

Estée rang a small silver hand-bell and to
the maid who came at her bidding she ordered the afternoon coffee
tray to be brought to her salon. The Comte perched on a dainty
chair of gilt and striped silk and flicked out his skirts of stiff
gold thread careful not to crush them. He set his walking cane with
its polished gold top between his high heeled leather shoes with
their enormous tongues and leaned on it in an affected manner.

“It has been an age since last I visited
you, Estée,” he said with a quick pleasing glance about the
decidedly feminine room. “I must try and visit more often, but you
know how it is at court. Again I tell you to come to court where
your beauty can be appreciated. And I am selfish. I want someone to
gossip with. Someone who understands Salvan. Who better than you,
Cousin? We would enjoy ourselves. I would enjoy myself if you would
only come to court once in a little while.” He shrugged his
shoulders and sighed dramatically.

“Not even
mon cousin
visits
Versailles these days. His sexual escapades have always amused. I
ask myself: what keeps him in Paris? Thérèse, she tells me on her
honor—which in itself is amusing, yes?—that he neglects her! Can
you believe it? I would not have believed it possible had I not
seen with my own eyes that he does not show himself at her soirée.
All Paris wonders at his absence. Poor Thérèse, she was most
offended, was she not.” He sniggered and intended to go on but a
footman came in with the coffee things and a large plate of the
Comte’s favorite gateaux. A compulsive sweet-eater this was enough
to divert him from his run of conversation.

“You overwhelm me, Salvan,” said Madame with
a smile. “I am flattered you think me needed at court, but I have
been away so many years now that my interest wanes more and more.
There was a time when I, too, could not go a day without knowing
the latest on-dits. And so many sleepless nights did I have
worrying about what was being said of me behind my back and by
whom. Now, I do not care in the least. It is not important to me. I
am happier in Paris.”

“I wish it was so with Salvan,” said the
Comte and licked the cream from his lips. “It is a constant worry
to me that you do not remarry. You need a man to take care of you.
Not as Roxton does; that is a brother’s way. That can hardly
satisfy a woman of your beauty. No, a man who can appreciate you.
This cake, it is delicious. I must have its recipe. Will you part
with it?”

“I will have Jacques write it out for you,”
she promised. “Though I warn you he does not like giving away his
little secrets. Another slice, Salvan?”

Salvan put out his plate. “What is it about
you, Estée, that intrigues me today. Last time that sparkle was not
in your so lovely eyes. Ah, you blush! Tell, Salvan. You have a new
lover?”

“There is no secret,” she said. “I am
betrothed to the Vicomte Vallentine. You are the first in Paris to
know. Are you pleased for me? Shall you congratulate your
cousin?”

It was only for a matter of a moment that
the Comte’s total surprise showed itself in a heavy frown but
almost instantly he set aside his dish and threw up his hands. “So
sudden,” he said with forced gaiety. “It is a most interesting
piece of news. All Paris must be told. It must be shouted from all
points.
Bon Dieu
, but I cannot believe it! And here was
Salvan always ready to offer his name and rank to no other, and
you, you take another in his place!” He kissed his fingertips.
“Just so! I am devastated. But I will rejoice for you. This M’sieur
Vallentine is a good sort of man I think. Very handsome and tall
and of the English complexion. A most exceptional swordsman. I envy
him. I congratulate him too. Tell me your plans. When do you marry?
Will you invite Salvan to the festivities?”

“It will be soon. That is all I can tell
you. Lucian only spoke to my brother last evening so there is much
that still needs to be finalized. We have not discussed where we
will live permanently. We will of course have a house here in Paris
but mayhap we will spend a good deal of our time in London.”

“London!
Parbleu
, but that is another
world away. You cannot be serious. London? It is not Paris. I must
persuade this Vallentine to keep you in Paris. Let him return to
London by all means but, Estée, you will wilt in London.”

“It will not be as bad as you think,” she
said defensively. “London is Lucian’s home. That is where his
family is.”

The Comte was not to be convinced. “Where
will you shop? What will you eat? Where will you get a decent chef?
It is a horror you cannot imagine, Estée. Love has blinded you. You
cannot even speak the Englishman’s barbaric tongue.”

“La! Salvan! You think me going into exile.
You forget I am half English. My Papa, he was an Englishman. Lucian
assures me all well-bred Englishmen speak our tongue. So, these
problems they solve themselves.” Madame poured out more coffee into
the Comte’s dish. “And I need not concern myself with these trifles
immediately. Lucian is taking me into the Italian States for our
honeymoon. He has a cousin with a villa in some quaint little town
I cannot remember the name of, but it will be wonderful.”

Salvan shrugged one shoulder in a gesture of
finality. He smiled. “I wish you joy. My mother, she will be
delighted. For years she has lamented your continued widowhood. And
now! What a surprise for her.”

“Thank you, Cousin. I could not face Tante
Victoire with the news so soon. She-she does not know Lucian and
she loathes all things English with a passion I find
incomprehensible.”

“I understand. Salvan, he will arrange it
all.” He shifted to sit next to her on the damask covered sofa, his
smile no less broad. “It is as well I visited today,” he said in a
low voice, “so that arrangements can be made post-haste for the
little
demoiselle’s
future. I will applaud your sensibility
in this matter. It is for the best. I know you cannot but agree
with me. Everything arranges itself. The last thing you need is to
watch over a girl when you have so many preparations of your own to
consider. She will only be under your feet.”

“We-we have grown very fond of her,” said
Madame quietly. “She is not the least burden to us. In fact I will
miss her very much when she leaves to go to her grandmother in
England.”

The Comte let fall his gay façade. “She is
not going to England,” he stated bluntly. He produced a letter from
a flowered waistcoat pocket. “Read this. It is of enormous
interest. It is from the girl’s grandmother.” He smiled to himself
when Estée snatched the papers from his hand and he sat back and
watched her scan the lines of scrawl, enjoying her look of growing
outrage and discomfort with an expression of sympathetic
superiority.

“As you see, the Comtesse is happy indeed to
have the child placed in the care of my mother until my son’s
wedding,” he said. “A double nuptial for the Salvans! Madame
Strathsay, she wants what is best for the child. And what is best
for the child is to be married to my son without delay. Are you not
pleased for us? And the little
demoiselle
, she is done a
great honor to be chosen to be my son’s bride. Her grandmother
recognizes this fact and wishes the union joy.”