Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (24 page)

When the Duke escorted Antonia through to
the vast dining room she found Madame and Lord Vallentine already
standing behind their respective chairs. The long mahogany table
had had two leaves removed to make the meal a more intimate affair.
It was set with the best Dresden china and gold plate. Both crystal
chandeliers were polished to dazzling brilliance and blazed with
light. On the polished table crystal bowls brimming with freshly
cut flowers mingled with dome-covered silver dishes of various
shapes and sizes. Duvalier and four liveried footmen stood by the
sideboard in attendance and awaited the Duke’s pleasure.

Antonia hesitated. “Why is Madame not at her
usual place at the foot of the table?” she asked.

“Tonight you are to sit there,” answered
Estée with a bright smile.

Antonia looked to the Duke for confirmation
and when he nodded she went to her place, a footman quick to draw
out her chair. “You’ve put the best service out tonight and there
are—
Eh bien
!” She saw the wrapped packages tied up with
ribbons and her eyes widened. “I thought you had—I didn’t expect
you would know—” She glanced up at the others who had sat down and
gave an embarrassed laugh. “You knew it was my birthday all
along!”

“Well, sit down and open your gifts,”
demanded his lordship. “Mine’s the one with the big red bow.”

Antonia obediently spread out her petticoats
and sat down, her embarrassment disappearing at the prospect of
opening her gifts. She held up a long flat box tied up with red
ribbon and shook it. “There is nothing in this one.”

“Hey!” demanded Vallentine. “Have a
care!”

She laughed and put the parcel back on the
table. “Mayhap I will unwrap that one last.” When Vallentine
frowned she untied the red bow with a tug. “No, I will unwrap
M’sieur le Duc’s gifts last and yours first, Vallentine.” Inside
the parcel was a delicate fan of painted chicken-skin, the sticks
of silver, and with a pearl and silver-thread tassel. “It is very
beautiful, Vallentine, thank you. I have never had a fan of
such—quality and—taste.” She opened it with an expert flick of the
wrist and fluttered it playfully as she had seen many a lady do at
court. “This is how I shall use my lord’s fan when I go to Operas
and balls. I hold it just like a great lady, do I not,
Monseigneur?”

“Just so,
mignonne
.”

Vallentine laughed. “A great lady, eh?
You’ll be that and much more one day, chit! Open Estée’s gift. I’m
anxious.”

Antonia put aside the fan and picked up a
rather large soft package and felt its contents cautiously. “What
can this be? Do you wish to hazard a guess, Vallentine?”

“Not necessary. I know what’s in that one.
Open it.”

“You are extremely anxious, is he not,
M’sieur le Duc? Mayhap I will open the rest of my gifts after we
dine.”

“If you wish.”

“Don’t encourage her, Roxton,” snapped
Vallentine. “You’re goading me, minx! I want you to hurry with
Estée’s gift so we can see what Roxton has for you. He’s been
damned secretive, I can tell you. Haven’t been able to prize it out
of him.”

“Thank you so much, Lucian,” sulked Estée,
feigning hurt feelings.

“Damme! I didn’t mean anything by it,”
apologized Vallentine. “It’s just—well aren’t you curious to know
what your brother got the chit?”

The ladies laughed at him and he grumbled
something about a female conspiracy and fell silent.

Madame de Montbrail had given Antonia a pair
of lavender kid gloves and a ball mask of peacock feathers. She
tried on her new gloves and held the mask up by its painted handle
and cooed with delight.

“This is a proper mask. Thank you, Madame.
Do you think Grandmother Strathsay might hold a masked ball in my
honor, M’sieur le Duc?”

“Undoubtedly, once she has seen your mask.
How could she refuse you?”

“I have never had such a delightful birthday
as this!”

“There are two more parcels to unwrap,”
Vallentine reminded her as casually as he could manage.

Antonia dutifully put away the mask and new
gloves and gave her full attention to the remaining gifts. Each was
wrapped in silver tissue and tied up with black ribbons. She chose
the larger of the two. “It is a book.”

“How d’you know that?” asked Vallentine. “It
ain’t unwrapped yet.”

It was a book, a slim volume of poetry, and
she opened the cover and found the Duke had inscribed it for her.
Before Madame could ask to see it she covered it in tissue paper
and set it aside.

“I hope it is a fit and proper book for the
girl,” Madame said primly.

“Would I give her any other kind, Estée?”
answered her brother and sipped at the claret in his crystal
glass.

With the last gift Antonia was very
deliberate. When she had finally removed the outer wrappings she
held in her hand a long slim case covered in black velvet. She did
not immediately open it but set it before her and stared at it with
knitted brows.

“For pity’s sake, Antonia!” pleaded Lord
Vallentine, all self-control lost. “I can’t bear this
procrastination a minute longer. The damned thing can’t open
itself!”

She grabbed up the case and hastily prized
it open with a laugh. What she saw inside made her instantly snap
shut the lid and push it from her. She looked up at the Duke and
found it very difficult to speak.

“M’sieur le Duc, are—are you sure this is
for me?”

Roxton’s dark eyes held hers and he smiled
thinly. “To match your eyes,
mignonne
.”

“I’ve had enough of this!” declared
Vallentine and leapt out of his chair to snatch up the case.

“No!” commanded Antonia and ran with the
case down the length of the table. She held it out to the Duke with
a shy smile. “You will put it on me please?”

He put down his glass and beckoned her
closer. “Turn about and stand still,” he ordered softly. “And be
good enough to hold that unruly mop of curls off your neck.”

From the velvet case the Duke produced the
most exquisite emerald and diamond choker Estée had ever set eyes
on; each emerald the size of her brother’s smallest fingernail and
divided one from the other by a sparkling diamond. She stared
open-mouthed as he slipped the heavy string about Antonia’s throat
and deftly twisted the diamond clasp into place. The precious
stones were indeed the color of the girl’s eyes.

Antonia felt for the jeweled collar and
fingered it gently. “I cannot see it. I must—find a looking glass,”
she murmured and fled the room.

Lord Vallentine was as struck dumb as Estée
and they stared at one another across the table with wide eyes and
parted lips.

The Duke signaled for Duvalier to start
serving dinner, saying over his shoulder, “No claret for
Mademoiselle Moran. Barbados will suffice.”

“I should have guessed!” his sister said
with a brittle laugh, finally overcoming her amazement. “When I
suggested you give the girl a collar I didn’t mean for you to take
me literally.”

“But how perceptive your jest, my dear,”
answered Roxton. He held up his quizzing-glass to the dish of
prepared oysters being offered him and waved them aside. “I can
only guess by the swing of your jaw, Vallentine, that you wish to
say something to me?”

“I want to know what you’ve got planned for
Antonia,” he said. “It’s been worrying me for weeks.”

“Planned? I never make plans.”

“Don’t be damned difficult! This is serious.
Salvan’s got a letter from Lady Strathsay saying she don’t care a
whit if the girl is married off to that demented boy or not!”

“I know, my dear,” said the Duke. “Calm
yourself. I suggest we not mention this—er—distasteful topic this
evening. Allow Antonia a pleasant birthday party at least.”

“I’ll not argue with that,” agreed
Vallentine. “What I’m worried about is her birthdays to come.”

“Roxton,” said Estée putting down silver
knife and fork, “you must know she has put great store in your
ability to protect her from the Salvans and their intentions. If
you break her heart I’ll never forgive you!”

The Duke regarded his sister with a bland
expression. “Then let me alleviate some of your fears by telling
you that our dear cousin will be unexpectedly recalled to Court
tonight by
Sa Majesté
and unavoidably detained there for the
next seven days.”

“You did that?” asked Vallentine and grinned
when his friend inclined his head. “I don’t know how you managed
it, but I’m just damned glad you did!”

The Duke sipped from his glass with a small
smile of satisfaction. “As master of the bedchamber my dear friend
Richelieu is very close to his royal master. I merely called in a
favor.”

“I am very pleased to hear it,” his sister
said with a smile of relief, yet she was not satisfied. “But seven
days or seven weeks, Salvan he will return for the little one as
soon as may be. There must have been something more you could have
contrived to ensure our cousin cannot come back at all!”

“Now, listen, love, your brother has managed
this much,” lectured his lordship when the Duke merely rolled his
eyes to the ceiling but said nothing. “Have a little more faith,
for I’m sure he’s got more up his sleeve that he ain’t tellin’ us
just yet.”

Madame opened her painted mouth, not at all
satisfied with this response, yet quickly shut it again when his
lordship hissed out a warning, a nod to the doorway.

Antonia had come back into the dining room
and went quietly to her place. She drank from her glass without
looking up. It was obvious to the three diners she had been crying
so they politely ignored her and carried on a conversation as if
nothing untoward had occurred. The Duke was prompted by his
lordship to recount an amusing incident that had happened while he
was on a hunt in the forests surrounding Fontainebleau. A boast by
Lord Vallentine as to his outstanding horsemanship made Antonia
look up from her plate with a mischievous grin.

“Don’t believe me, aye?” asked his lordship,
fork in mid-air.

“Lucian is a master in the saddle,” Madame
said with pride.

“Can jump fence for fence with Roxton here.
Never met a fence yet I can’t get horseflesh to jump over, one way
or t’other.” When Antonia still looked skeptical Vallentine added
indignantly: “Ain’t you going to ask the Duke if I’m telling the
truth? You’ll believe him, I know it.”

To spite him Antonia gave the Duke a
questioning look.

Roxton smiled at her imperious treatment of
his friend. “You must not treat Vallentine so poorly,
mignonne
. He deserves most of what you care to dish up at
him but not upon this occasion.”

“He is as good as you in the saddle?” she
asked incredulously.

Estée laughed and shook her black curls. “My
darling girl, you think M’sieur le Duc is the best at
everything?”

“Why, yes, Madame, I do,” she answered
simply. “Oh, except with a blade, because everyone knows Vallentine
is the greatest swordsman in France.”

“An honorable mention!” Vallentine cried
out. “Don’t flatter me. I’ll learn to like it!”

“But Monseigneur is the more elegant in form
and wrist,” Antonia added seriously, which caused his lordship to
roll his eyes and groan.

“Good God!” he said dramatically and clapped
a hand to his forehead. “In all your days have you ever heard the
like of her? She thinks Roxton here is a damned paragon of male
virtues.”

Antonia tilted her little nose at him. “You
are merely jealous.”

Estée and Vallentine laughed, his lordship
adding in a paternal voice at odds with the twinkle in his blue
eyes, “If it wasn’t your birthday, my girl, I’d argue it out with
you. But I’ll relent just for today.”

“One hopes that will allow m’sieur
sufficient time to reflect on the folly of his words,” said Antonia
with a practiced sigh. “Tomorrow you will see that I am right.”

“You cannot win, Lucian!” Madame
giggled.

Lord Vallentine blustered for a response but
finding none suitable leaned toward the Duke. “You listening to
this, Roxton? Mademoiselle Fire-eater tries to convince us you’re a
damned paragon of all the male virtues! Been a lot of things in
your time, my friend, but a shinin’ example you ain’t.”

The Duke was staring fixedly at the contents
of his glass, a heightened color to his lean cheeks. He gave no
response and went back to eating what remained on his plate. His
friend glanced at Estée to find her as puzzled as he. It was just
possible the Duke was embarrassed. A month back Vallentine would
not have thought the man capable of such self-effacement. He sat
back and picked his teeth with his gold toothpick, an observant eye
on the Duke, and with a mental grin as wide as the Seine.

It was Estée who suggested they have coffee
and brandy in the adjoining drawing room but Antonia wanted to go
to the library. It was a break with tradition but the Duke
permitted her to have her way. They sat down to a game of whist
until Antonia drew the Duke away to play at reversi and then at
backgammon. Lord Vallentine and his betrothed settled on a sofa
near the players, but far enough away so as not to be overheard. It
was not a very long time before their intimate conversation
returned to the couple seated across the room.

“Look at them, Lucian,” Estée said stirring
her black coffee in an absent manner, gaze on the emerald and
diamond choker. “I do not know what is to be done for her. I am
very worried. I think she has fallen in love with my brother but is
too young to know it. How can she at her age? And the Duke? He
spends too much time with her, playing at their silly board games,
encouraging her waywardness, and lavishing expensive trinkets on
her. Is it a wonder her head is turned? It is wrong of him to
encourage her. Where can it lead but to heartbreak. He is too old
for her.”