PoetsandPromises (17 page)

“No, you did not overstep the bounds. I fear it is Miss
Ashwood who did that,” Sherbourne said tiredly. “She appears to have a
fascination with the poet. It would seem that your advice that day in January
was correct, Earlywine. Emotions are not always governable, much as one might
wish they were.

“I fear I made an error, a great error,” Sherbourne
continued. “I find that a betrothal between Miss Ashwood and myself is not
possible.”

“Why is that?” Earlywine asked bluntly. “You cannot be that
unforgiving of a small indiscretion. I was present at the Park and I assure you
that all Miss Ashwood did was stroll about with Mrs. Shelley. She did not even
speak to Shelley himself beyond a courteous greeting and leave-taking.”

“If it were only the walk I could forgive it,” Sherbourne
admitted. “But I cannot help observing that Miss Ashwood is more inclined to
gentlemen—if I may use the term loosely—of an artistic persuasion. I do not
believe she would be happy wed to a viscount whose interests must lie with
running his estate.”

“Bosh,” Earlywine contradicted his friend. “Miss Ashwood has
lived in the country all of her years and undoubtedly understands the duties
attendant on such a life. All women must swoon over the poets. It means
nothing—think of the hubbub over Byron. Every woman adored him.”

“Every woman may have adored him but every woman did not
allow Byron to kiss them.”

Earlywine started. “Miss Ashwood allowed Shelley to kiss
her? How do you know this?”

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Sherbourne said bitterly. “On
the sailboat.”

“The sailboat?” Earlywine repeated in confusion. “But I was
on the sailboat as well and I saw nothing.”

“It was when you were at the helm and Miss Ashwood and
Shelley were at the bow. I saw them kiss as I came up from below.”

“Then it could only have been the briefest of kisses,”
Earlywine protested. “I was constantly scanning the horizon and I would have
seen any lasting embrace. Perhaps Shelley caught Miss Ashwood unaware. You know
how he is with women. I think you have given the incident more importance than
it had.”

Unwilling to admit there might be any truth to his friend’s
arguments, Lord Sherbourne did not reply but sat silently nursing his glass of
claret.

“I say,” Earlywine ventured after a few moments of silence
had passed, “you have not formed an attachment elsewhere, have you? Is that why
you wish to be free of Miss Ashwood?”

Sherbourne looked up in surprise. “An attachment elsewhere?
Whatever do you mean by that?”

“With Miss Thibeau?” Earlywine suggested. “You cannot have
helped but notice how flirtatious her manner with us was at that first sitting,
and one must admit she is of surpassing beauty.”

“One cannot deny Miss Thibeau’s attractions,” Sherbourne
admitted, “but I doubt most strongly that the artist would be any happier than
Miss Ashwood being the wife of a viscount who intends to reside at his estate
eleven out of twelve months of the year.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” Earlywine said cryptically.

The friends lapsed into silence, each lost in his respective
thoughts as night stole into the drawing room on Curzon Street. The bottle of
claret was emptied and Sherbourne’s ever-vigilant butler replaced it with a new
one.

Elisabeth wallowed in unabated misery for several days after
learning she had been observed in the park with Mary Shelley, feeling that she
had lost everything, even the affection and respect of Lady Parker. How had it
all happened? She had never intended to do wrong or distress anyone—quite the
contrary, for she had originally agreed to the betrothal to save her brother’s
patrimony and please her parents. Yet look at the consequence. The worst part
was that she could see nothing she might do to mend matters.

Elisabeth attended two balls during the rest of the week,
closely chaperoned by Lord Sherbourne and his sister, but she had no pleasure
in either. She did not dare venture far from Lady Parker and danced only with
those gentlemen Lady Parker approved. At least she had partners, which
Elisabeth had feared she would not. Apparently word had not yet spread through
the
ton
about her indiscreet behavior.

Elisabeth began to long to return to Thornhill, where she
might at least have some hope of forgetting the pain of the past months in the
environs of her family home. Thornhill, at least, would be secure, for she knew
Lord Sherbourne would keep his word regarding her family.

The next Monday morning as Elisabeth waited for callers in
the drawing room, Lady Parker sorted through invitations with a slight frown
marring her face. “I do not know what invitations to risk accepting,” she
confessed to Elisabeth. “More balls would not be a good choice, for if word has
now spread regarding your indiscretion you might not be asked to stand up with
any gentlemen. Perhaps a rout,” she continued, looking through the pile once
again. “I believe I saw an invitation to a rout at the Earlywine’s—that would
be ideal, for there is no dancing nor anything much but walking around in
crowded rooms.”

Although she did not particularly enjoy routs, Elisabeth
offered no objections and two evenings hence found Lady Parker, the viscount
and Elisabeth on their way to the Earlywines’ rout.

“I have hopes that we may yet escape serious damage to Miss
Ashwood’s reputation,” Lady Parker confided to her brother as the carriage
rattled down the street. “I have observed some strange looks when among company
but no one has yet given us the cut direct.”

“Perhaps we may, although it is early days yet,” Sherbourne
cautioned his sister.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the Earlywines’
townhome, ending their conversation. They descended from the carriage and moved
slowly along with the crowd as it filtered into the Earlywines’ townhome and through
the open rooms, greeting acquaintances as they moved slowly along.

“
Bonne soirée,
Lady Parker, Lord Sherbourne,
Mademoiselle Ashwood,” Evonne Thibeau greeted them, her voluptuous form
suddenly materializing out of the throng. “How charming you appear in white,
Miss Ashwood,” she continued, smiling at Elisabeth.

“Thank you, Miss Thibeau,” Elisabeth acknowledged,
immediately feeling she was dressed in far too young a fashion for her age.
“You look exceedingly well yourself,” she added honestly, for Miss Thibeau, as
always, had dressed with an unerring sense of what flattered her looks. This
evening the Frenchwoman had chosen a lavender silk with darker fabric roses and
a net overskirt. The neckline of the bodice was filled in with the same pale
lavender net but the covering had the effect of drawing attention to Miss
Thibeau’s generous bosom rather than hiding it.

“Lady Parker, it is you I have come to speak with,” Evonne
explained. “Lord Sherbourne, he has told you of his arrangements for the
portrait of the Revati
chat
, yes?”

“Yes, Miss Thibeau, my brother did explain to me that he has
arranged for you to do a portrait of my cat as a gift for my birthday. You are
welcome to come to my town house at any time you might find the light
adequate.”

“Thank you, Lady Parker. I shall come soon then, yes?
Bonne
nuit
, Mademoiselle Ashwood, I shall hope to see you as well.”

With that, Miss Thibeau left in a rustle of lavender silk,
leaving Elisabeth feeling that she was fated to see the charming artist wherever
she went and to always be outshone by her. She was relieved when they finished
circulating through the rooms and were able to return home.

Early Tuesday morning Earlywine made his way to the home of
the Comtesse de Fleurille, remembering that although the time was not
acceptable for formal calls, Miss Thibeau preferred early hours for portrait
sittings.

“Monsieur Earlywine, please to enter,” Miss Thibeau welcomed
him as he entered the hall. “I thought you had forgotten the portrait, it is so
long since I have seen you. You see me last night at your mama’s rout and
remember, yes?”

“I did not need to see you to remember you,” Earlywine
returned, looking appreciatively at the picture Miss Thibeau presented. She was
dressed gypsy-like in a full-skirted gown of bright blue, yellow and
red-flowered stripes. The skirts suddenly billowed forward and Earlywine was
surprised to see a twitching nose poke out from under the hem, followed by a
pair of long ears.

The artist looked down, following Earlywine’s gaze. “It is
only Monsieur Lapin,” she laughed. “He likes to have his little walk with me
before I must put him in the cage for the day.” With a graceful movement the
artist bent down, captured the rabbit and settled him on her bosom, where he
snuggled down, looking quite content.

“Lucky rabbit,” Earlywine commented in an undertone.

“Do you wish to stroke Monsieur Lapin, Monsieur Earlywine?”
Evonne asked with a guileless look. “His fur, it is ver’ soft.”

James stepped forward and reached out to stroke the rabbit’s
head. The rabbit accepted the caress as though accustomed to being touched and
Earlywine allowed his hand to pass over the rabbit’s back as well, one of his
fingers brushing the soft skin of Miss Thibeau’s décolletage as he finished the
stroke and pulled his hand away.

“Naughty, Monsieur Earlywine,” Miss Thibeau commented with a
smile. “Let us go to my studio and I will commence your portrait.”

James followed the artist into the studio where Miss Thibeau
put the rabbit back into his cage, latched it securely and began mixing paints.

“Take the chair as before, Monsieur Earlywine,” she ordered
as she finished her preparations and began to paint with the swift, sure
strokes that characterized her work. “The friend, Lord Sherbourne, he does not
come with you today?” she asked.

“No, he does not,” James answered briefly. “It will not do,
Miss Thibeau,” he added conversationally as he lounged gracefully back in the
sitter’s chair by the east window.

“What will not do, Monsieur Earlywine?” Miss Thibeau asked
as she dabbed at her palette with her brush.

“Your seeking to attach Lord Sherbourne. He is honor-bound
to marry Miss Ashwood,” Earlywine explained, ignoring what Sherbourne had
previously informed him about wishing to end his betrothal.

“Is that so?” Evonne asked, lowering her palette and
appraising James closely.
“Yes, it is so, Miss Thibeau,” Earlywine confirmed.

“You are in his confidence?”

“Yes, we have been friends since attending Eton together.”

Evonne gazed at Earlywine, long black lashes partially
veiling her expressive eyes.

“You are the good friend, Monsieur Earlywine,” she said
after a moment, beginning to paint again. “I feel I must do as you ask. One
cannot fault me for the try, no? A pity though,” she added reflectively.

“The life of the émigrés, it is difficult, you understand,
Monsieur Earlywine,” she continued, explaining. “We lose much in the war. I owe
it to my
tante
, the comtesse, for her goodness to me to make the good
match, yes?”

“There are other titled gentlemen you might marry, Miss
Thibeau,” Earlywine suggested.

“Oh?”

“Such as myself. Although I am only simple Mr. Earlywine
m’father’s a baron as you know and I his only son. On the formal marriage
documents I would be the ‘honorable’ James Earlywine.”

“I am most flattered, Monsieur Earlywine. But me, I desire
the man with passions. You are the friend, the good boy, the good brother,”
Evonne explained as she continued to apply paint to canvas.

“I believe you do not fully understand my character, Miss
Thibeau,” James said softly but meaningfully. Evonne looked up and their gazes
locked as a slight smile curved the artist’s red lips. “Or is it you have
thrown down the glove?” Earlywine added.

Evonne’s blue eyes flashed and her mouth parted in a
seductive smile. “Will you take the glove up, Monsieur Earlywine?”

James rose slowly from his chair and advanced on the artist
purposefully. Taking the brush and palette from her unresisting hands, he set
them on the desk beside her and slowly drew his fingers down her cheek and neck
to her décolletage.

“There is nothing I like more than a challenge,” Earlywine
said softly as he pulled Miss Thibeau into a close embrace.

Across town on Half Moon Street, Lady Parker was preparing
to receive morning calls when she heard a carriage roll to a stop in front of
her town house. She glanced at the ormolu clock. It was barely one—the earliest
possible time for an acceptable morning call. Wondering who could be calling so
early, Lady Parker arranged herself on the sofa in the drawing room and waited
for the butler to announce the unknown guest.

“Lady Sefton,” the butler intoned.

“Lady Sefton, good afternoon,” Lady Parker said, rising to
give a curtsey to the higher-ranking lady. “Please sit down, your ladyship,”
she invited, indicating the best chair.

“Lady Parker,” Lady Sefton said as she regally took the
chair, a severe expression on her face. “I have come early, for I wished to
speak to you at a time we would be unlikely to be interrupted. I fear I have
not come upon a pleasant errand, Lady Parker. It is my duty to inform you that
your vouchers and those of the viscount and Miss Ashwood have been rescinded.”

Lady Parker sat in frozen silence, unable to make a
response, understanding that what she had feared all along had finally
happened.

“Several days past,” Lady Sefton went on inexorably, “Lady
Walburton was taking the air in Upper St. James with her daughters when she
heard raised voices. Turning to see the source of the disturbance, Lady
Walburton was shocked to see Miss Ashwood in conversation with Mrs. Shelley,
the wife of the godless poet. Under the circumstances Lady Walburton did not
make herself known to Miss Ashwood but she rightly took it upon herself to
inform me, a patroness of Almack’s, knowing that Miss Ashwood held vouchers to
the assembly rooms. The other patronesses and I discussed the matter during our
weekly Monday meeting last night.”

Lady Sefton ceased talking and turned the full power of her
imposing hawk-like gaze on Lady Parker. “Although I feel Lady Walburton’s
information must be correct, given her rectitude, it is my duty to ask. Lady
Parker, was it Miss Ashwood that Lady Walburton observed in Upper St. James
speaking to Mary Shelley?”

“I did not know of any appointment Miss Ashwood had in St.
James Park that day and would not have allowed it if I had,” Lady Parker
answered honestly. “But yes, Miss Ashwood did make the acquaintance of Mrs.
Shelley through Mr. Hunt and she did go out that day to meet Mr. and Mrs.
Shelley without my permission. Although I have learned she did go in the company
of an acceptable escort,” Lady Parker added, careful not to give Mr.
Earlywine’s name.

Lady Sefton pursed her lips as her brows drew together in a
frown. “I am not without sympathy for you, Lady Parker,” she said after a short
moment of silence, the harsh lineaments of her face softening. “I understand
you have been out of England for over a score of years and also that the
society to which you became accustomed in that far land was no doubt less
strict than it is here. But we as patronesses must guard our doors for the sake
of the many impressionable young women who enter our premises. We have no
choice. Shelley is an atheist, a danger to society. No doubt you were not fully
aware of this fact, Lady Parker, since Mr. Shelley would have been little more
than a child when you left our shores.”

Lady Sefton rose majestically. “I will not deceive you, Lady
Parker. To lose your vouchers will have a most disastrous effect upon your
social life and that of Miss Ashwood. Many will no longer invite you to their
functions.

“This must be doubly upsetting to you,” Lady Sefton added
with compassion, “given that harm has come to a young woman you were sponsoring
for the Season. However, I assure you I shall do my best to spread the
information that there were mitigating circumstances, given your long absence
from our shores, and with time I have no doubt Miss Ashwood will be able to
make an acceptable match, particularly if those friends you have in high places
stand by you as well,” she ended, delicately alluding to Lady Parker’s
friendship with the Duke of Norland.

“Good day, Lady Sefton,” Lady Parker managed to reply, the
very emptiness of her carefully controlled expression revealing the
perturbation beneath. “Thank you for your courtesy in coming to inform me of
this yourself.”

Lady Sefton inclined her head slightly in approval of Lady
Parker’s stoic acceptance of the calamitous news and sailed out of the drawing
room as majestically as she had entered it.

Lady Parker sat for several minutes after Lady Sefton’s
carriage left, considering the full ramifications of the news the patroness had
brought. She then rang for the butler and sent a note to Lord Sherbourne, after
which she sent the footman to request that Miss Ashwood come down to the
drawing room at once, then settled onto the sofa to wait.

“What is it, Lady Parker?” Elisabeth asked, coming down in
response to the urgently worded summons, fearing the worst. She had retired
with a headache and Lady Parker was normally considerate of such minor ills.