Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (36 page)

Theo Fitzstuart stiffened, but the Duke
laughed softly. “A spark of intelligence, my dear Augusta. There is
no need to freeze-over, my boy. Your claim will be signed and this
week, so I am told. You will be Earl of Strathsay by deed as well
as birth before the week is out. And as such, Antonia’s legal
guardian. It is then for you to decide her fate.”

“Tell me, Theo,” said the Countess
caustically, “what will be her fate? Is there to be an exchange of
suitors? Who is the more suitable think you?”

“Please, Mamma, I have not thought—that
is—this role is new and—”

“A young Frenchman of noble birth—we only
have Roxton’s word for it he is of unbalanced mind—or perhaps you
would prefer to see her wedded to this aging bull—”

“—I want is what’s best for Antonia,” Theo
Fitzstuart concluded firmly. “Antonia’s wants and needs are of
paramount importance. And so I shall ask her—”

“Oh, spare me! Ask a eighteen-year-old girl
what she wants?” The Countess’s laugh was brittle. “Now that is
insane!”

“Eight—
eighteen
?” It was Roxton and
he had spoken in a whisper.

The Countess raised her perfectly arched
brows at the Duke. “Yes,
eight
-teen,” she enunciated with a
purr, watching the nobleman’s throat constrict as he put a hand to
his mouth. “She had the temerity to add two years to her short
life, foolishly thinking twenty would be taken more seriously than
eighteen. Whoever heard of a female
adding
years to her
age?” She shrugged a bare shoulder, a sly glance of satisfaction at
the Duke who, for want of something to mask his discomfort, was
concentrating on untying the ribbon on the bundle of letters.
“Eighteen or twenty, two years is rather inconsequential to a man
hurtling towards forty, is it, Duke? Though… it must make the
prospect of tasting the cherry that much the sweeter—”

“
Mamma
.”

“Really, Theo,” she said with a sigh of
annoyance at her son’s embarrassment showing in a brick red face
and rose to her slippered feet. “I don’t know how you can deplore
the conduct and intentions of the one without condemning equally
the other. It seems to me Roxton’s designs on Antonia are no less
sordid than the Comte de Salvan’s. What would you, Theo?”

“Bravo, Augusta. Bra-vo!” sneered the Duke.
“Your hatred and envy of your only grandchild knows no bounds.”

The Countess tossed her long red mane over a
shoulder as she flounced to the door of her bedchamber. “Take your
letters and go away, Roxton. Though why you would want to read them
now, but then, I don’t care one way or t’other. Just leave John and
me in peace for the rest of the week—both of you. Oh, there is one
particular I forgot to mention,” she said standing in the doorway
and smiling sweetly. “As you are now the girl’s guardian, Theo, it
is your problem. I dare say the Duke will offer his advice seeing
he has such a deep interest in our little Antonia. I wonder how you
will go about untangling this mess if you decide against the
Vicomte’s suit? You can at least tell the boy to his face—”

“Pardon, Mamma?”

“Did I not mention it earlier? How
shatterbrained of me! Yesterday afternoon, when Charlotte startled
me with the news of Roxton’s return, I was so surprised and shocked
by it that I immediately wrote off to advise the Comte de
Salvan—”

“How like you!” Roxton hissed, rising
up.

“Itching to use your blade, Cousin?” she
teased, though the venom in his voice made her inwardly quake. “At
least I had the decency to inform you of it.”

“How could you do such a thing?” demanded
Theo in exasperation. “What purpose can it serve? Even if Salvan,
his son, or both of them, come hot-foot from Versailles, it changes
nothing.”

“We shall see won’t we. After all, I am not
convinced the boy is as bad as Roxton makes out. He has written
Antonia many charming letters. And she has never said a bad word
about him.”

“That’s just Antonia. She sees the good in
everyone,” said Theo with a tired sigh, a hand to his forehead.
“God, now what am I to do?” He glanced at the Duke who had gone to
stand by the window to look out at the traffic of sedan chairs,
carriages, and wagons loaded up for market. “Your Grace, I’m
sorry—I…”

Roxton bowed politely to Lady Strathsay and
it caused her an instant of uneasiness. “I wish you both a good
day. Enjoy a pleasant week, Augusta. The one after won’t be.”

Theo Fitzstuart arrived at Mr. Harcourt’s
Twickenham retreat to find his niece’s baggage and her maid
awaiting the carriage in the paneled hall. He was informed Miss
Moran was in the library with Mr. and Miss Harcourt. The butler
showed him into a long, cluttered room lined with books. Mr.
Harcourt was at the very top of a pair of steps searching a shelf.
Antonia stood nearby, her head bent over the pages of a thick
volume that rested on a rung. Miss Harcourt sat by a warming fire,
the needlework in her lap forgotten as she listened to her brother
and Antonia arguing over some point of scholarship that left her
mystified.

Theo asked not to be announced, thus was
able to surprise Miss Harcourt without making his presence
immediately known to the others.

“No, don’t disturb them,” he whispered and
sat beside her on the sofa. “I wish to have a word with you a
moment.” He took her hand and kissed it. “Has Twickenham been an
effort without my company to sustain you, Miss Harcourt?”

She smiled. “I hardly know how to answer you
without making you frown, Mr. Fitzstuart. If I said I haven’t had a
moment’s peace this past sennight to be anything but entertained,
yet, would have preferred to spend such time quietly, you at my
side, would you be satisfied?”

“I hope my niece has not been a sad
trial.”

“Oh no! She is delightful! You mustn’t think
she has put me to any trouble or caused a moment’s worry,”
Charlotte assured him. “The first two days she was not quite
herself, but once Percy got her interested in his library he
managed to coax her out of any tendency to brood on—on certain
particulars. There are times, quiet moments, when I see she is not
far from her thoughts, but Percy has been such a Trojan. He is
rather taken with Antonia.”

Theo frowned.

“You needn’t concern yourself there is
anything more to Percy’s affection than boyish worship,” said
Charlotte tidying her needlework into its basket. “All his great
loves are atop pedestals. I don’t think one has come out of the
clouds yet. And now he has put Antonia up there too. Although she
is different from the rest. She tells him what she thinks, and none
too kindly for poor Percy’s sensitive nerves.”

“I’m afraid my niece is given to speaking
her mind,” apologized Theo. “A circumstance her father encouraged.
I trust she has not shocked you in any way?”

“No. Not in the least. At first, that is, on
our first meeting, I was inclined to think her of your mother’s
temperament. There is a striking resemblance in form, you must
agree. But as to her conduct and her nature she is as far removed
from the Lady Strathsay as any stranger. Forgive me if that offends
you.”

“No. We have always spoken frankly about my
mother,” he said with a smile. “That is as it should be.” He
glanced at Antonia who had a satin slipper on the bottom rung of
the library steps and was passing a book into Mr. Harcourt’s
outstretched hand. “Has she been keeping well?”

“In customary good health, Mr. Fitzstuart.
Although, her appetite is wanting. I don’t believe I have seen her
eat more than a morsel or two each meal. That concerns me, as does
the fact she is too pale. And she suffers a slight ache in the
joint of her damaged shoulder on very cold days. But she is not one
to complain,” said Miss Harcourt conversationally. When Theo looked
at her in a penetrating way she lost the smile in her brown eyes.
“Mr. Fitzstuart, that girl is suffering. She and I do not know each
other well enough for her to confide in me her innermost thoughts.
But upon one or two occasions we have spoken about her life at
Versailles, and of her stay in Paris. It seems she has a great deal
to be thankful for in the Duke of Roxton’s protection. That French
Comte sounds positively odious.”

“And, Miss Harcourt?” asked Theo. “Please, I
hope you will be just as frank about my niece’s welfare.”

“She has not told me this herself, and I
have no wish to alarm you,” she explained with a glance at him from
under her lashes, “but Antonia is very much in love with the Duke.
At first I was incredulous. I thought it nothing more than a
girlish infatuation. Yet, that cannot account for it. She knows
what sort of man he is and yet… Am I making myself clear to
you?”

“Very clear. And…?”

Charlotte looked down at her hands in her
lap, to gather her thoughts. “I am ashamed at repeating what
Antonia has told me in confidence but I do so because I am worried
for her and I know you, as her uncle, do have her best interests at
heart. Your niece has made plans to leave for Venice within the
month. She would rather flee to the Continent than be forced into
marriage with the Vicomte d’Ambert. She has written to your
father’s mistress, Maria Casparti, asking her for sanctuary! To
think Antonia would prefer to live with your father’s whore than
remain with her grandmother not only says a great deal about the
Countess’s lack of feeling, but that Maria Casparti, for all her
immorality, must have a kind heart. I even offered for Antonia to
remain here at Twickenham, with Percy and me, but she is adamant
she would prefer to live in the relative obscurity of Venice than
bring shame on her family and friends…. and the Duke.” Charlotte
raised her gaze to Theo Fitzstuart’s thin-lipped countenance. “I
cannot imagine what shame an innocent girl could possibly bring to
a nobleman of the Duke’s notorious reputation, do you, Mr.
Fitzstuart? But it breaks my heart to think she feels she must
ostracize herself on his account.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Theo stated, glad he
would finally have the opportunity to speak privately with his
niece on the journey to Treat, and abruptly changed the subject by
withdrawing a parchment from his frockcoat and handing it to her.
“An invitation to Treat for you and Percy. It is for tomorrow.
Although it is short notice I hope you will attend the Duke’s
weekend party, if only to see my mother in a hundred agonies.” He
smiled. “Can you imagine it, Charlotte? The Countess to spend four
days in the country under Roxton’s roof, away from London and her
suitors, surrounded by animals of the barn and green fields! She
will wilt, I know it!”

“I’m sure she cannot conceive of a worse
fate. It is a wonder she accepted the invitation.”

“She was not so much invited as commanded.
She dare not incur any more of Cousin Roxton’s wrath. She has
stretched his benevolence to the breaking point as it is. It is he
who manages her finances, lets her his Hanover address for a
peppercorn rent, and maintains her fine carriage and six. It is
useless for her to appeal to Lord Ely. He won’t support her as long
as she remains in London. He wants her with him at Ely. Then his
purse would be hers. Yet, she refuses to give up London!”

“Poor Lady Strathsay,” said Charlotte
without sympathy. “Percy and I must attend if only to see how she
copes with the country life. Mr. Fitzstuart—”

“Theo. I demand you call me by my name.
Especially now that we are betrothed. Or you may, if you wish to be
formal with me until such time as the notice appears in the
Gazette, address me as my title warrants—”

“Theo!” Charlotte gasped, and so loudly
Antonia and Mr. Harcourt looked over at her at the same moment.

Lord Strathsay jumped up and pulled her into
an embrace. “Dear Charlotte, you see before you the second Earl of
Strathsay!”

Antonia ran up to them and tugged on the
great upturned cuff of her uncle’s travelling frock, forcing him to
release Miss Harcourt and look at her.

“I do not mind at all that you kiss
Charlotte, but I object to wasting time helping Harcourt. You did
not announce yourself!”

“Well! I say!” said Mr. Harcourt with a
wounded look. He did not bother to greet Lord Strathsay nor did he
notice how red was his sister’s face. “If you did not want me to
help you find this wretched book you shouldn’t have asked for it in
the first place!”

Antonia tilted her little nose at him. “I
only wanted it because Theo was late and I had nothing better to do
with my time—”

“Well! Well! Thank you for being so
forthright.”

“Besides, your French tongue, it is very
bad,” admonished Antonia, but with a dimple at her uncle.

“That is unkind of you, Antonia,” lectured
her uncle with mock seriousness.

When Antonia hesitated to reply Mr. Harcourt
stuck out his lower lip, and this made her laugh. “Do not look so
hurt, Harcourt. I was only teasing. Your French tongue, it is not
so bad as your Italian, which is better than…” She paused to
think.