Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (31 page)

Lady Strathsay sat up and directed the page
to deposit the heavy silver tray at Lady Paget’s elbow, and to pour
her out a glass of burgundy. She glanced at her slyly. “Jealous,
Kate?”

“Of an
ingénue
,” said Lady Paget with
a snort. “Do I have reason to be?”

“She writes him every week.”

“Still? What a singular devotion,” Lady
Paget replied caustically. “If you are still vetting such
correspondence then I see no reason to care. I am only amazed the
girl is not made suspicious as to why he has not had the decency to
reply.”

“She did ask upon one occasion but I made
light of it and pointed out Roxton’s carnal habits. She never asked
a second time.” Lady Strathsay preened herself in the hand-mirror.
“It is no easy thing I do, Kate. I must be growing old to worry
after that girl. So much so that I am sending her away for the
week, to visit with the Harcourt’s while John is in town.”

“Plain Charlotte’s idea?”

“Yes.”

“She will make an excellent daughter-in-law,
my dear. Your son is very lucky, as are you.”

Lady Strathsay chuckled. “Yes. It was
fortunate for me he fell in love with plain Charlotte. I will enjoy
having her as a daughter. That is, when the boy finally asks for
her hand.”

“He still procrastinates?”

“Theophilus is a bore. He is the antithesis
of his divine mamma. He will only ask for her hand once he comes
into the title. And after he has spoken to Roxton. He seems to
think it correct form to seek the permission of the depraved Head
of the Family! Isn’t he absurdly boring?”

Both ladies fell into a fit of the
giggles.

“My poor Augusta!” said Lady Paget on a
gasp. She wiped her watery eyes. “A bore for a son and a nymph for
a granddaughter! You don’t deserve such ill-luck. I wonder at
John’s reaction when he sets eyes on the beautiful Antonia.”

As casual as this remark was intended it had
its desired effect for the smile was wiped from Lady Strathsay’s
face and she grimaced. “You must be kept wondering, dearest Kate.
As will I.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot! He isn’t going to have
that opportunity. She’s going to Twickenham, you say?”

“You mustn’t think I vet Antonia’s
correspondence for your benefit,” was Lady Strathsay’s pettish
retaliation. “I did think your affair with Roxton over long before
he went to Paris last summer.”

“It was,” said Lady Paget. “But what female
likes to see her place taken by a younger and much prettier object
of desire? I have a right to my pride, Augusta. As you do to yours.
My only wish is the child not be hurt by him. But she will be, if
she hasn’t been already. No doubt he was flattered by her
adoration. But his head won’t be turned by it. His vanity fed, most
certainly. His kind always crave that. But his heart will remain
his own.”

“Dear Kate. My poor
dear
Kate,” said
her friend with hand outstretched. “I did warn you not to fall
victim to the Duke’s charms. And he did break your heart, didn’t
he?”

“Chipped it, Gussie. Just chipped it. But I
am glad I didn’t heed your warning. My one regret is that he never
did fancy you. It would have been so much fun to compare
experiences.” She smiled with a raise of her eyebrows. “As it
stands, you must take my word for it he is as good a lover as is
reported in many a lady’s boudoir.”

The cover of lead cosmetics and rouge
disguised a natural and very deep color which flooded Lady
Strathsay’s cheeks, a stinging retort only held in check by the
unexpected entrance of her granddaughter.

“Theo has come home!” Antonia announced in
her thickly accented English. “I heard the carriage come into the
stable yard. Charlotte went to the window because Gabrielle was
putting up my hair. She said it must be Theo, because of all the
portmanteaux up on the box. But she wouldn’t let me look. I am just
pleased he is home in time to go to the theatre tonight. Though
Charlotte said—”

“I am very pleased to hear it, and before
the snow too,” said her grandmother, a glance at Lady Paget.
“Still, all this news does not give you leave to burst into my
rooms unannounced. I have warned you of it a hundred times,
Antonia!”

“There—there was no footman at the door,
Grandmère
, so I thought…” Antonia faltered.

“And that gown is not the one I selected for
you to wear.”

“But this is the one I wish to wear,” said
Antonia stubbornly.

“And very pretty it is too,” said Lady Paget
and kissed both Antonia’s cheeks.

Lady Paget’s spirits had fallen the moment
Antonia had entered the drawing room. Her careful toilette and
expensive gown paled beside Antonia’s preparations. She could do
little to stop herself staring at the girl. The gown of
emerald-green velvet with its petticoats of silver tissue, the
bodice pulled into a tiny waist, and with a low square décolletage
that showcased a magnificent pair of creamy white breasts, was
enough to make her wish she hadn’t offered to be her chaperone. The
girl’s honey hair beautifully arranged in a cluster of curls,
adorned with a bunch of silk ribbons and a diamond clasp was merely
icing on a beautiful cake. But it was at Antonia’s throat she fixed
her gaze. One simple and magnificent string or emeralds and
diamonds encircled the slender white throat.

Lady Paget was brought out of her trance by
a spiteful remark her friend threw at the girl out of sheer
jealousy.

“Yes, I suppose it is a pretty enough
creation,” mused Lady Strathsay. “This Maurice has talent. Yet he
might have shown greater tact in the design and cut of the bodice.
He certainly shows off your breasts to perfection but he failed to
cover your shoulder where that grotesque disfigurement—”

“Gussie! Really!” said Lady Paget with an
embarrassed laugh. She smiled at Antonia who stood rigid, green
eyes ablaze with anger. “My love, take a look out of the window.
Harcourt’s carriage is in the square.”

“It is?” said Antonia and scrambled up on
the window seat without a thought for her petticoats. “
Mon
Dieu
, it is pink! It is unbelievable, is it not, my lady? Oh,
and the horses, they have pink plumes. It is a fairy tale
carriage!” She looked back into the room and saw Charlotte’s
powdered head appear around the door. “I cannot wait to see Theo’s
face. He will not be happy at all to be going to the theatre in a
carriage painted pink.” When Charlotte whispered in the Countess’s
ear making that lady get to her feet with a quick glance at Lady
Paget, she frowned. “What is it you say so I cannot hear?” she
demanded.

“Antonia, go to Gabrielle and have her fix
your curls. And collect your reticule,” ordered her grandmother.
“Mr. Harcourt is waiting downstairs—”

“But Theo—”

“—is dressing and will join you soon,” said
Lady Strathsay and herded her to the door. “Now do as you are
bid.”

Miss Harcourt smiled at her coaxingly. “I
would hate for us to be late for Mr. Garrick’s play.”

Antonia looked at the three ladies with a
suspicious frown. “I will go. Only because your brother, he is good
enough to drive his pink carriage tonight.”

“Why did you get rid of the girl?” asked
Lady Paget.

Lady Strathsay and Charlotte Harcourt
exchanged a glance.

“Mr. Fitzstuart had a passenger with him, my
lady,” Charlotte explained primly. “I thought it prudent to inform
Lady Strathsay before anything is said to Antonia. It is not of
immediate consequence for the passenger merely set Mr. Fitzstuart
down and went on his way.”

Lady Strathsay sighed when Lady Paget stared
at her blankly. “Don’t be a peagoose, Kate! Must his name be
spelled out to you? Or have I misinterpreted that stunned
expression. Perhaps you are simply speechless with joy? It’s
Roxton!”

“Roxton?” exclaimed Lady Paget.

“Yes! And I would be pleased, my dear Kate,
if you did not mention the return of your prime bull to Antonia,”
announced Lady Strathsay. “What he is doing back in England when he
was forced to give his word to the Comte—though that is of no
moment to you…” She gave a sigh of annoyance and tossed the
hand-mirror on the chaise longue. “How damned annoying! I can only
think it the worst piece of news since I was forced to go into
mourning!”

The instant Mr. Harcourt’s pink carriage
swung into Drury Lane and drew up outside the Theatre Royal it
became the center of attention amongst a jam of fine and elegant
equipages, and the small crowd of theatre-goers still lingering on
the pavement. To one side of the double doors a small group of
liveried servants kicked their heels. Mr. Harcourt’s odd conveyance
caused enough distraction for there to be a moment’s quiet amongst
this group. Then the din started up again, the servants ran to all
four corners of the establishment to give the news, and the
occupants of the pink carriage found themselves greeted by a noisy
reception.

One liveried servant remained at his post.
Unlike his fellows, all eager to inform their masters of the color
of Mr. Harcourt’s carriage—to settle a multitude of absurd
wagers—he was not interested in the carriage, but in its occupants.
When they had passed on into the foyer the servant disappeared. His
distinctive red and silver garments caught Antonia’s eye. Looking
at the man-servant’s face she could not place him or the title, so
let the thought slip that she had seen him before and gave her full
attention to Mr. Harcourt.

Antonia hardly heard a word of his discourse
on the people who crossed their path in the hot and airless foyer,
such was the noise and the laughter. She flicked open her fan and
was careful not to get herself and her petticoats crushed in the
sea of perfume and plumes. Mr. Harcourt held her close, and with
Mr. Fitzstuart’s tall frame leading the way, he making a path with
outstretched walking cane, they were able to pass through the foyer
to the stairs without much fuss.

The stairs were not so easy to negotiate.
Lady Paget separated from her party and was lost in the crowd. Mr.
Harcourt and Antonia were pounced on by the Duke of Cumberland,
whose fat fingers curled about Antonia’s hand and showed a
reluctance to let go, even after a polite introduction. Mr.
Fitzstuart and Miss Harcourt who stood the step below, watched in
wide-eyed horror when Antonia rapped His Highness on the knuckles
with her fan and continued on her way. The Prince looked after her
in amazement and before Mr. Fitzstuart could offer up profuse
apologies for his niece’s outrageous behavior the fat gentleman let
out a great guffaw and swept a bow to her departing form.

“Expertly done, Miss Moran,” complimented
Mr. Harcourt with a sniff. He held out a chair for her. “Cumberland
needs to be put in his place.”

“Only Antonia could carry-off such a
performance,” whispered Miss Harcourt to Theophilus Fitzstuart. “I
could not be so brave. Do you think me a coward, Mr.
Fitzstuart?”

Mr. Fitzstuart’s pale green eyes surveyed
her lovingly. “That and much more, my dear Miss Harcourt.” He
settled himself in a chair beside Antonia. “Are you enjoying
yourself, imp?”

“Very much,” she replied excitedly. “It is
as well you came home today or I would not being enjoying myself
half as much.
Tiens
! Theo, it is Lady Paget talking to that
fat person Cumberland! Who is the third in the box over there? I
cannot see him, only his shoes. He must not be as fat to remain in
shadow, yes?”

“Pray do not call His Highness fat, my
love,” said Miss Harcourt with a laugh.

Mr. Fitzstuart tried to divert Antonia’s
attention from Lady Paget by pointing out the orchestra and those
persons seated in the pit, and he was succeeding admirably until
Mr. Harcourt let out a cry.

“Oh God! Cumberland is waving his
handkerchief at us!” Mr. Harcourt moaned. “Miss Moran, do please
come away from the guard-rail or we will have the rest of the young
dogs waving at us! The impudence! What—are—you—doing?” he
shrieked.

“It is polite to wave in return. I cannot
ignore this fat man or he will be a nuisance and wave at us all
night!”

“Come and sit down,” coaxed her uncle and
put out his hand.

“I had hoped you would ignore him,” Mr.
Harcourt said with a pout.

“Hush, Percy. You are making yourself
ridiculous,” said his sister Charlotte, and dared to smile at him,
which only sent him into a depression. “Perhaps you could send your
man for refreshment?”

“Mayhap a cup to be poured over poor Percy
to cool his blood?” enquired Mr. Fitzstuart jovially.

“I wish Cumberland would go away!” grumbled
Mr. Harcourt folding his arms. “If he continues to stare…”

“Temper, dearest brother,” cautioned
Charlotte.

“Harcourt, that is ridiculous of you,”
Antonia scolded him. In a deliberate and public display she handed
the fop her handkerchief. “There. Now he will no longer stare at
your scarlet frock and the dead thing you wear about your
neck—”