Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (47 page)

“Only that you will not be with me,” he said
with a smile as he picked up his black leather riding gloves and
put out a hand to her. “Walk with me to the stables. If the weather
holds we could have nuncheon on the island.”

“I should like that. We have not been there
since you rowed me across on our wedding day. But promise me you
will not take them into the temple. That is our place.”

“If you wish it so. But how I am to keep
Vallentine on a leash is another matter. Mayhap if I tell him why…”
He stopped to allow her to step out before him into a sunny
courtyard that led to the stables. “Perhaps he will guess?”

“You are teasing me!” she said and caught
the laughter in his eyes. “Not even Vallentine could guess our
wickedness.”

He laughed softly and caught her to him.
“But I have always claimed him to be omniscient,
mignonne
.
But yes, it will always be our special place. Now kiss me and I
will leave you to your walk.”

Lord and Lady Vallentine were already in the
saddle and awaiting the Duke’s pleasure. A groom held the reins to
his master’s mare and when his lordship spotted the couple across
the cobbled square he sent the servant across to him.

“Told you, Estée,” said Vallentine with a
jerk of his head. “Gone soft. It’s the broad light of day and look
at ’em.”

Estée shook her head in disbelief and
cantered off to join her brother. “Antonia does not ride with us?”
she asked, gaze on the Duchess who had stopped to give directions
to a lackey.

“Er—no,” answered Roxton pensively. “She
prefers to take a walk to the lake.”

“That is unlike her. In Paris I was forever
forbidding her the saddle because her shoulder had not mended. And
it did not please her at all. She—she is unwell?”

The Duke looked frankly at his sister. “She
tells me she is well.”

“If the girl don’t want to ride, she don’t,”
interrupted his lordship, catching the last of this conversation.
“Come on, Roxton! Race you to wherever! Just point the way and I’m
with you! Estée, don’t try and catch us up. Just follow and we’ll
meet you down by the lake, and be careful ’cause—Hey! Damme! You
devil, Rox!”

The Duke had put his knees hard into the
mare’s flanks and was gone. Lord Vallentine was left far behind,
calling out such a string of good-natured abuse that his wife was
glad her English comprehension had not progressed to the extent
that this outburst could turn her ears very red. Those grooms
lingering about grinned appreciably but were quick to disperse when
Estée glared at them significantly. She turned her bay mare to the
open field and cantered off.

She caught them up down by the lake and
spent the next two hours in a leisurely tour of part of the estate.
When the gentlemen turned the discussion to farming techniques and
the agricultural pursuits of the Duke’s tenants, Estée lost
interest. She was content to drop back and admire the woods and try
and catch sight of the herd of deer her brother kept in the park.
And by and by she was left at the edge of the lake under an old oak
while her husband raced her brother to the furthest fence on the
horizon. Here she hoped to meet up with Antonia. But there was no
sign of her so she returned to the house.

She was anxious to have a private word with
the Duchess. If Antonia proved disinclined to confidences she would
try and take aside her maid to see if her suspicions could be
confirmed. But when she arrived back at the stables and asked
direction to the Duchess not one of the servants could oblige her.
She threw up her hands in disgust at their lack of understanding of
her language, and when a servant was finally found who knew enough
French to answer her questions he directed her to her own
apartments and not to those occupied by his mistress.

Estée gave up the attempt and put herself in
the hands of her dresser. She sent a footman to find Duvalier. She
had changed into a day gown of flowered silk, her hair was patted
into place, cosmetics re-applied, and a fresh mouche affixed to the
corner of her mouth, and still the butler did not show himself.
Thus she was forced to leave her rooms and go in search of him
herself, but without the faintest idea of the layout of the many
rooms; whether she was travelling down a corridor which took her
east or west.

After a few wrong turns, locked doors, rooms
draped in covers and dark corridors she stumbled into the Saloon.
Here was a newly lit fire, refreshment set out on the polished
sideboard, and chandeliers casting a warm glow over the crystal
decanters and glasses arranged on a silver tray. A footman stood at
the sideboard arranging the silver cutlery. He said he had no idea
of the whereabouts of the butler, and no, the Duke had not come
within doors. He then returned quietly to his task.

With that Estée flounced out of the room
mouthing an oath about barbarians and ready to do battle with the
next unfortunate who crossed her path. This happened to be
Duvalier, in the antechamber off the Saloon. He was deep in
conversation with one who belonged in the field and ought not to be
standing in a room of fine Italian marble in shabby pants of faded
leather and heavy boots which had never seen polish.

Estée’s nose went up and she grimaced at the
rustic who pulled his cap and deferentially stepped aside when she
approached.

“Where is Madame la Duchesse?” she demanded
without preamble. When the butler hesitated she flicked shut her
fan and pointed the sticks at him in a threatening manner. “You
think perhaps because M’sieur le Duc is newly married he is not
aware that behind his back his servants play idle
good-for-nothings? It is not so! And now I am here all will be as
it was in Paris. You understand me? Good. So. Tell me. Where is
Madame la Duchesse?”

“I have not seen Madame la Duchesse for
sometime, Madame,” answered Duvalier truthfully, acutely conscious
of the shepherd’s scrutiny, and thankful the peasant knew no
French.

“Has she returned from her walk?”

“I could not say, Madame,” he said
lamely.

“Tell that stinking peasant to go away!” she
ordered and turned her back until the butler had shuffled the
shepherd out. “What was he doing in here? Never mind! I do not care
in the least! So, you have no idea where your mistress could be?”
When the butler could not look up from his hands and seemed to
breathe heavily, Estée’s anger turned to fear. “What is it? She has
taken ill? Something happened on her walk? She sprained her
ankle—what?”

“I am sorry, Madame, but I cannot answer
you. The last I saw of Madame la Duchesse it was before her walk,
and she was on the terrace talking with the valet Ellicott.”

“But that was many hours ago! She has not
been seen since?”

“No, Madame.”

“Did you send the lackeys to look for
her?”

“Yes, Madame. It is a mystery.”

The butler’s tone caused Estée to become
furious. “A mystery is it! Have you searched Madame la Duchesse’s
private rooms? Questioned her maids? Searched the rest of this
monstrosity? What? Tell me what you have done to find your
mistress!” She stopped pacing and fluttered her fan on her heated
bosom. “
Mon Dieu
,” she muttered to herself. “I hope the
little one is not hurt—Where is my brother? She must be found…”

Duvalier saw his chance to escape and bowed.
“If you will excuse me, Madame.”

“No! You are not excused! Stand where you
are. You know of something,” said Estée shrewdly. “I do not believe
at all that you have told me the truth!”

The butler bowed respectfully. He stood his
ground and was stubbornly silent. Estée knew she could not force
him to speak, whether she stamped her foot in rage or shouted at
him. It was useless to detain him, so she waved him away, privately
cursing her brother for having such close-mouthed servants. What to
do?

She sank down on the nearest chair up
against one wall, trembling and close to tears. There was that
uneasiness of mind which had followed her from Paris; since last
she had spoken to her cousin the Comte. She had wanted to tell her
brother of that interview immediately upon arrival, but Vallentine
had cautioned restraint. Now she was not so sure he had made the
right decision. Her brother should have been warned from the first
of the gossip and slander circulating Paris. Now she was inclined
to think there was some truth in the rumor.

The best thing to do now was to search out
Antonia’s maid, but Estée had not the slightest idea of how to
reach her. In fact there was no need. The girl found her. She
scuttled into the antechamber with a tear-stained face and
red-rimmed eyes, twisting a bunch of her petticoats in her hands.
When she saw Estée she fell on her and burst into fresh tears.

“Where is Madame la Duchesse?” Estée
demanded, holding the girl off and giving her a shake.

“There are four men in the library with
swords and pistols, and I do not know them in the least!” Gabrielle
blurted out. “And there is one with them I have seen at the hôtel,
often. But I do not know his name. They demand Madame la Duchesse!
What do they want with her? The valet he is also missing—”

“Him I do not care about in the least!”
snapped Estée. “When did these men come? You think then that they
are French? Where is your mistress? Speak girl! Tell me!”

“I-I do not know when they arrived, Madame.
They are French, yes. The one I have seen before ordered Duvalier
not to speak to anyone of the household because he wants only to
speak to M’sieur le Duc. He-he threatened things and waved his
sword about like a madman!”

“
Mon Dieu
. And where is your
mistress?”

“I do not know where she is—”

“Do not know where she is?” repeated
Estée.

“M’sieur le Duc’s valet, he is with her, I
think. I saw them together on the terrace with Monseigneur’s dogs.
Oh, many hours ago now, but he too is missing. That is strange is
it not? But what can these men want?”

“How should I know, girl? Do not ask me
stupid questions! What—what am I to do?” she said distractedly,
looking over the girl’s head to the far wall. “I must find my
brother and Lucian and—” She stood abruptly and dragged the maid to
her feet, bringing her face close to hers. “There is a question I
want answered. And do not try and be insolent with me or you will
feel the sting of my hand! Has your mistress confided in you of a
certain matter since—since her marriage?”

Gabrielle lowered her eyes.

“Well?” demanded Estée. “There is no need
for you to be coy with me. Answer!”

“No, Madame, she would never—that is we—we
have never spoken of that,” said the maid quietly. “But M’sieur le
Duc he has made her very happy. Oh, very happy! And from the first.
But no, she would never mention—I hardly see her—They are rarely
out of each other’s arms—”

“Not that you idiot!” said Estée with an
embarrassed sigh. “The Duchesse’s health. How is her
health
?”

“Health? I do not understand, Madame,”
Gabrielle stammered. But when Estée Vallentine opened wide her eyes
the maid understood at once. “Oh! No, Madame, the Duchesse has not
said a word to me—But I know. I have five older sisters and know
the signs. She—the Duchesse—she has had no one to tell her about
such things. She is so very young. But there is no doubt about her
condition.”

“No doubt?” whispered Estée. Her blue eyes
narrowed. “But surely it is too soon?”

“I—I could not say… I-I—It is best you speak
with Madame la Duchesse, Madame,” Gabrielle replied and curtsied,
waiting to be dismissed, her telltale blush indication enough that
she knew more than she was letting on.

The Duke’s sister seemed to have forgotten
her existence; such was the far away look in her eyes. Possibly the
woman would have made her stand there for some time if not woken
from her trance by voices in the Saloon. She was finally waved
away, and Estée ran into the adjoining room calling her brother’s
name. The door slammed in the maid’s face just as she caught a
glimpse of M’sieur le Duc de Roxton carrying a decanter and glasses
to the table.

The last jump saw Lord Vallentine fall from
the saddle, much to the delight of his friend. It was this wound to
his pride which prompted him to challenge his Grace to a bout of
fencing before they joined their wives for nuncheon. Roxton was not
the least bit perturbed. In fact he welcomed the opportunity to
loosen up his wrist, not having had any fencing practice since
coming down from London.

“Took a round with a
Signor
—? Now
what was the confounded fellow’s name? Damme, if I can remember one
Italian from the next!” confessed his lordship. “They all look the
same to me!” They were sitting on a low wall regaining breath and
life in their tired limbs. “The man’s credited as having the best
maneuvers in Rome. Pretty foot work, but I soon showed him that his
wrist ain’t up to it. Wiped the smile from his swarthy face,
too!”