Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (35 page)

In two strides Roxton reached her chair, his
face white with speechless fury and an arm raised across his chest.
The Countess shrunk back, a hand to her face, expecting him to
strike, hoping her son would intervene. Theo Fitzstuart did not
move. He did not know what to do. He was saved from decision. The
Duke turned away, disgusted with himself and stood at the window
with his back to mother and son. He took a moment to collect
himself then spoke without turning, his eyes on a sedan chair that
turned into the square in the face of an oncoming carriage and
six.

“It is time to end this charade, madam,” the
Duke said in a level voice. “You know as well as I the marriage
contract signed by Strathsay and the Comte de Salvan is invalid.
And you have known this from the very beginning.”

When he received no reply he looked over his
shoulder in time to see the Countess shrug a shoulder at her son,
as if in bewilderment. “It is pointless to pretend, even to your
son. He now knows the truth.”

“That’s why I went to Treat,” explained
Theo. “To discuss with his Grace the validity of the Comte de
Salvan’s claims on Antonia.”

“Did Roxton tell you that by setting foot on
English soil he has broken his word to his cousin?” responded Lady
Strathsay haughtily. “What think you of a man who gives his word
then breaks it?”

“Mamma, it is useless to defame the Duke. He
gave his word in good faith, but it was extracted under false
pretenses. Salvan deceived him—”

“Bosh! Roxton promised not to come near
Antonia until she was wed to the Vicomte d’Ambert. How was he
deceived? It was not an unfair request, given the girl’s head has
been completely turned by him. Good God, she even excuses his
rake-hell behavior; would tolerate it were she to wed him. Thank
good fortune she is not about to be wasted on a man such as this.
And thank your father’s good sense she is to marry another.”

“A little late to play devoted wife, my
dear,” sneered the Duke. “It must be the only circumstance on which
you and he agreed. But I excuse Strathsay his part in this because
he truly believed he was doing the best for his grandchild. Whereas
you, you only promoted such a match because it would keep Antonia
out of England and save you the bother of looking after her.

“You never troubled yourself with her
mother’s well-being, nor did you trouble yourself with the girl’s
future when both her parents died. And once you saw she was
infinitely more beautiful in form and demeanor than you ever were,
you certainly didn’t want her under your roof. How convenient she
was shunted off to Twickenham before John could clap eyes on her
exquisite, youthful beauty.”

“You make me out to be a heartless
creature,” said Lady Strathsay with a trembling lip. “But I am not!
I, too, only want what is best for her—”

“—granted it does not interfere with what is
best for you!”

“I think it preferable she be married to a
boy with no past than be infatuated into the bed of a rake-hell
with one toe in the grave!”

The Duke smiled unpleasantly. “Infinitely
preferable. If that was her wish. Which it is not. And if the
Vicomte d’Ambert was of balanced mind, which he is not. And not
addicted to opiates, which he is.”

“W-What!?” uttered the Countess. “I don’t
believe you! Theo, you can’t believe this nonsense. How convenient
for you, Roxton, that the boy be mad! It allows you to step in and
take his place without argument. Come, Theo, you can’t seriously
believe this piece of scurrilous rubbish.”

“I do now. At first I thought it fantastic,
but when Roxton explained matters—certain particulars…”

“I’m sure you were convincing,” she threw at
the Duke. “Now you will tell me Strathsay and the Comte de Salvan
were well aware of this when they contracted the girl to
d’Ambert!”

“No,” said the Duke taking snuff. He shook
out his lace ruffles and sat crossed-legged on the window seat.
“Strathsay had not the least notion. As for my dear cousin, he is
not so innocent. Poor Salvan is rather wafer-headed, though he
thinks himself a master manipulator. He is aware of his son’s
addiction to opiates. He has tried to control him upon occasion
by—er—regulating the boy’s intake, but without success. He next
waved a
lettre de cachet
under his nose. This also did not
work. It may have, had opiates been the boy’s only—er—malady.”

“A pretty story,” Lady Strathsay said
dismissively.

The Duke smiled at her contemptuously. “As
pretty as this next one. About nine months ago Strathsay wrote
you—”

“I have no memory of—”

“Then allow me to refresh it for you!” the
Duke snarled. “Strathsay’s principal concern in his old age was the
care of his granddaughter once he departed this world. He wanted to
see her settled in life; married yes, and well. The Comte de Salvan
approached him. My cousin knew his son to be given to
uncontrollable rages, and so did the rest of court. No mother
wanted her daughter married to one such as he. If the Salvans had
possessed wealth, as well as title, a daughter of the nobility may
have been sacrificed. Whatever. Strathsay had no knowledge of the
Vicomte’s disposition. He agreed to a marriage contract, but only
upon a condition. He wanted Salvan to wait a year. He wanted to
send her to you because he was dying, and—”

“Strathsay write to me? And what was my
reply?” said Lady Strathsay insolently.

“There was none.”

“You see!” she said looking at her son. “Why
would your father bother to seek my advice? We’ve not corresponded
these thirty years or more! I wouldn’t know his handwriting if it
stared me in the face. And even if I did, what of that? The notion
he would write me is ridiculous!”

Theo looked to the Duke, but he was
regarding the Countess with an ugly smile.

“Thirty years?” he drawled. “Mayhap. But you
soon fell into bed with him whenever you visited Paris. You never
could resist a good tupping. The product of one such cavort stands
before you. Don’t blush, my boy, you know your mother better than
that.”

“How—How dare you,” breathed the
Countess.

“Do your sums and shut up, Augusta,” said
Roxton. “To continue with my—er—pretty story. No. You did not write
Strathsay, but Salvan. You gave the Comte your whole-hearted
support for the marriage. Salvan was delighted. He would marry his
son to a girl whose only concerned relative was breathing his last.
She had no mother, no father, no siblings; she was of concern to no
one. Hopefully the marriage would see the Vicomte’s rages pacified
for a time. If Salvan was very lucky, soon after the marriage,
there would be an heir to carry on the name; this before his son’s
malady became too much of an embarrassment, and he must be locked
away for all time. And the girl?

“What becomes of the young bride? Salvan has
himself a daughter-in-law who is not only beautiful and
sweet-natured but young. My dear cousin has a penchant for young
girls—the younger the better. He is quite disgustingly Persian in
his tastes. Oh, do I see surprise register in your eyes, Augusta?
Sordid, isn’t it? Even more sordid is the fact he has been pursuing
your granddaughter for almost a year. He wants her himself. To have
her married to his son makes it all the more convenient.”

“You-you didn’t tell me this,” said Theo
Fitzstuart with a nervous half-hearted laugh. “It’s absurd to think
he would—he could—that he—”

“Yes,” said the Duke.

“All too cosy,” stated the Countess. “Why
would Salvan go to so much trouble on his son’s behalf when he
could very easily re-marry and save himself the bother of arranging
a suitable alliance for his son? Why not clap the boy up and forget
all about him? He can have another son.”

“He could do that,” Roxton conceded.
“However, producing more off-spring does not help matters. Étienne
remains his first-born and thus his heir. Is it not more expedient
for the boy to produce an heir, than await the title to be passed
on to a half-brother? To—er—clap the boy up is the least attractive
solution to Salvan.”

Lady Strathsay reached out for the silver
hand-bell. “Neatly argued away. Next you will tell us that Salvan
meant to dispense with his son’s interference in the process all
together and intended to impregnate Antonia himself.”

“Mamma, really!”

“Don’t be a prude, Theo. Surely that
inference was obvious, even to you! Hawthorne,” she said when the
butler trod quietly into the room, “we require more refreshment.
Has Lord Ely...?”

“Gone to White’s, my lady,” answered the
butler. “I was informed he would return in time to dine.”

Lady Strathsay waved him away and called for
her fan which her son instantly fetched from the escritoire. “If
Salvan was so clever he cannot have overlooked the existence of my
son.”

“He did not overlook Theophilus, he merely
dismissed his existence as unimportant.”

“Well! Indeed!” said Theo Fitzstuart with a
huff and folded his arms. “I find I like your cousin less and less,
your Grace.”

“Content yourself you will never meet him,”
said the Duke sympathetically. “But your mother has hit upon the
one flaw in Salvan’s charming plans. He never doubted for a moment
when Strathsay damned you as a—er—bastard off-spring of one of your
mother’s numerous affairs. Forgive me, my boy, but I do not
intentionally offend you. Salvan has never seen you, thus the
resemblance to your dear Pater is of no significance. And Strathsay
went on denying you until his last breath. All for spite. It was
his one revenge upon his darling wife for—er—bolting on him when he
most needed her.”

“Rot!” interrupted the Countess. But she
flushed in spite of herself. “He chose to support the Stuart claim,
not I. It served him to rights for leading an expeditionary force
against the Crown. Fool of a man! How anyone could expect me to
follow him into exile after such treason—”

“They did, and you didn’t. Such
devotion
.”

“You’re the last person who has a right to
sneer, Roxton! And at my morals! When your own are the most
atrocious—the most obnoxious—the most horridly insatiable…”

The Duke bowed to her, a gleam in his eye.
“My dear Augusta, if I had known then that to refuse your bed would
still smart after all these years, I’d have obliged you. But even
as a callow youth of fifteen years I possessed enough discernment
to resist every trick in your sexual repertoire to seduce me. But I
will say no more. Theophilus is looking particularly offended by
our—er—behavior. You may slap my face later, Augusta, if it will
satisfy an urge. Ah, here is your tea.”

Hawthorne set the silver tray on a
side-table and when the Duke had settled himself with a dish of
coffee, this time in a chair by the fire, he continued.

“It is not Strathsay’s will which need
concern us. Theo is named son and heir in that document, which was
drawn up many years before the Earl’s death. You did not know, my
boy? Yes, it is so. But Salvan never knew, and possibly still does
not. You see why as a—er—bastard you were never a threat to
Salvan’s plans?”

“Theo’s legitimacy doesn’t change the fact
there is a marriage contract between Salvan and Strathsay,” argued
the Countess. “Strathsay signed the document before he died. What
can Theo possibly do to change it, legitimacy or no?”

“It is Frederick Moran’s will which is all
important.”

Lady Strathsay frowned. “Now I am doubly
confused. That eccentric quack died over a year ago. I don’t see
what he has to do with it at all!”

“My dear, you blush. A heavy conscience,
perchance?” taunted the Duke and glanced at Theo who was staring
angrily at his mother. “You know my sister recently married Lucian
Vallentine and that they honeymooned in Venice and Tuscany?”

“Of course,” said Lady Strathsay, growing
uncomfortable under her son’s watchful gaze. “Why they decided to
go through Italy I’ll never understand.”

“I sent them,” said Roxton. “Vallentine was
happy to oblige. I had him go to the house of a particular
lawyer—Moran’s lawyer. It just so happens the
signore
had a
copy of Sir Frederick’s will. Wasn’t that a stroke of good luck?
When one considers the original was somehow mislaid on his death.
But Sir Frederick wrote you of his intentions, Augusta.”

“If he did, I can’t remember it
particularly. It must have been a long time ago.”

“Five years ago to be precise. He thought it
prudent to advise you, as Antonia’s grandmother, of his plans for
his daughter should he die suddenly. I have the letter—a copy left
with his lawyer. It confirms what I thought months back. But I was
unable to act upon it.” Roxton drank the last of his coffee and
continued. “You know as well as I that Strathsay was never named in
Sir Frederick’s will as Antonia’s guardian. Certainly the name
Strathsay is written, but the name is Theophilus James Fitzstuart,
second Earl of Strathsay. Moran assumed the old Earl would be long
dead before himself, and Theophilus to have inherited the
title.”

“He meant for me to be Antonia’s guardian,
Mamma, not Strathsay,” stated Theo. “Moran told you this in his
letter. He also informed you that he was making the Duke the
executor of his will.”

Lady Strathsay shrugged a shoulder and
yawned. “If he did I cannot remember any letter.”

“Rest assured, my boy, you are Antonia’s
guardian.”

“What of it?” retorted the Countess. “It
does not change the fact Antonia is contracted to marry the Vicomte
d’Ambert.”

“It changes everything, Mamma,” argued her
son. “Strathsay had no right to contract a marriage for Antonia. He
was never her guardian, thus the contract is invalid. She is not
bound to marry the Vicomte.”

“So you think, my son?” said his mother
airily. “Until your claim is signed by our monarch you are not the
second Earl of Strathsay, are you?”