The Sins of Lady Dacey (10 page)

“You shouldn't try to cross me. Your usefulness is over. Pack and get ready to leave in the morning. I shall go and tell Honoria so.”

Honoria looked up as her aunt entered the room. “I have just told Pamela to take her leave in the morning.”

“Why?” Honoria put down the hairbrush she had been holding.

“Because she dared to cross me. She is behaving scandalously with Delaney. I think Herne is a good catch for you. Pamela protested. So I told her I would tell that husband of hers about Delaney. So she gets uppity and says she will not see Delaney again.”

Honoria sat very still. She wondered briefly why her aunt's behavior was not surprising.

Then she said with an affected calm, “That indeed is very sad, for in that case I must return as well. Oh, I will be beaten for it and forced to marry a local man whom I detest and Papa will have to pay you for all my clothes. But I will not see my friend sent away in this humiliating way.” She turned back to the mirror and picked up the brush again. “One last favor, Clarissa. I will write a letter to the Duke of Ware. He will be monstrous sad that we are leaving, as will his friend. Of course, as he has been all that is kind, I will explain my reasons for leaving.”

“Minx! I shall not deliver such a letter!”

“Then Pamela and I will call at the duke's townhouse and deliver it in person. And now, Clarissa, all that remains is for me to thank you for your hospitality. I will also tell Papa and Mama that we had to rely on the duke and Mr. Delaney for our social entrée, as you were in Paris.”

“Now, now, turn around again and pay attention to me,” said Lady Dacey, sitting down heavily on the bed and staring at her niece. “Let me think.”

She sat, scowling horribly, while Honoria watched her with outward calm and inner turmoil. Surely her aunt would not do anything to disaffect the Duke of Ware.

“I cannot believe such a sermon-reading widgeon as yourself,” said Lady Dacey at last, “could be capable of such guile. But it looks to me as if you are telling me that without you and the vicar's wife, Ware won't call. Well, let me tell you, Miss Milksop, that Ware could hardly bear to be away from my side this evening.”

Lady Dacey gave her a calculating look but Honoria said, her lips curling with amusement, “Oh,
I
thought he was being courteous to you because of
me.
”

“Why should he bother about a tepid young miss like you?”

“Dear me,
I
don't know, I am sure, but while you were away, he called almost every day. Of course, the minute he learns you mean to hand me over to Herne—and that is what you plan, is it not?—I am sure he will stay clear and believe me,
Aunt
, he certainly will not call if Pamela and I are not in residence.”

Lady Dacey stood up, and as she did so, she saw her own tired face reflected in the mirror and then looked at Honoria's beautiful one. Then there had been that lecture that Ware had given her before he left the ballroom. He had told her to do her best for Honoria and that “best” should not include trying to affiance her to a lecher like Herne. But rich as Lady Dacey was, she adored jewels, and Herne had promised her the Light of India, a huge diamond on display at the famous jewelers, Rundell and Bridge's, if she let him have Honoria.

She looked up, for Honoria had begun to speak again. Honoria had suddenly wondered if she could begin the reformation of her aunt by guile rather than by sermonizing. “It has been my observation, Clarissa,” she said, “that ladies who dress like women of easy virtue are treated as such.”

“Are you referring to me, you impertinent baggage!”

“I am only saying that the immodesty of your dress belies the fact that you are a great lady with a good heart who wishes to marry again and yet must advertise to the world at large that perhaps favors can be got outside marriage.”

“And how do you know all this, Miss Innocent?”

“By observation. As you were not present, Pamela and I put our time to good use by listening to
on-dits,
by studying the lords and ladies, to put it crudely, by studying the
market.
A good woman weds: a bad woman does not.”

Instead of being furious—which she really felt she ought to be—Lady Dacey was struck by this novel idea. What was the point of having men lust after you instead of falling in love with you? And that Pamela Perryworth had an exquisite dress sense.

She was sure if she could spend some more time in Ware's company, she could secure him. Honoria's prattle, that of a young girl, would soon bore him.

Everyone at the ball had been commenting on Honoria's beauty. Young men flocked round her. Instead of sending their servants to present their compliments the next day, Lady Dacey was sure that the gentlemen who had danced with Honoria would call in person. There was nothing, she felt, more delightful, more exhilarating than to be in a room full of men. Yes, she had to accept the wisdom of Honoria's remarks. She liked to shock; she enjoyed scandalizing the more sober matrons of society with her outrageous gowns. But outrageous gowns were not going to get her to the altar again. Ware was looking for a
duchess,
not a trollop.

Honoria watched her, her heart beating hard, praying inwardly to God to forgive her for scheming in such a way as to stay in London.

To her immense surprise, Lady Dacey sighed and said, “What think you of the wig?”

Honoria looked at the red wig.

She said cautiously, “Red hair is not fashionable. I have never seen your own hair.”

Lady Dacey whipped off the wig, and revealed a cropped head of black curls.

“Why, your own hair is vastly pretty, Aunt. It makes your eyes look monstrous large.” Privately Honoria thought that her aunt was one of those rare women whose eyes could do with being reduced in size. “Perhaps, Aun—I mean Clarissa—I could tell Pamela we are staying, after all?”

“Yes, yes. You must forgive my tetchiness, my dear. I am overset after the journey.”

Honoria smiled sweetly. “I shall go now and see Pamela and then I shall read to you.”

Lady Dacey groaned but Honoria was already leaving the room.

Pamela was packing her clothes, only the clothes she had brought with her, tears dropping on the fabric.

“Dry your eyes,” said Honoria. “You are not going.”

“Why? What happened?”

Honoria related her conversation with her aunt. Pamela looked at her in amazement. “I would never have believed you could be so ... so devious, Honoria.”

“Needs must,” said Honoria with a little shrug. “I could not contemplate staying in London without you. But to return
now!
Papa and Mama would be furious and we do not want Aunt writing anything about Mr. Delaney to Mr. Perryworth.”

“Not that there is anything to write about,” said Pamela defiantly, although a glow of sheer relief and happiness was spreading inside her. If Lady Dacey were to pursue Ware, that meant seeing more of Ware's friend instead of the agony of avoiding him altogether.

“Put those clothes of yours back in the press, dear,” said Honoria, “or burn them, for you will now be able to take your new clothes home to dazzle the county of Yorkshire.” She looked at Pamela and a crusading light lit up her eyes. “And now I am going to read to Aunt.”

“I am glad I threw that book of sermons out of the window,” commented Pamela, “for she would certainly not enjoy hearing those.”

“I have my Book of Common Prayer,” said Honoria.

“An evening psalm is always necessary,” said Honoria and began to read Psalm 137.

“'By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept: when we remembered thee, O Sion.

“'As for our harps, we hanged them up: upon the trees that are therein.

“'For they that led us away captive required of us then a song, and melody, in our heaviness: Sing us one of the songs of Sion.

“'How shall we sing the Lord's song: in a strange land?

“'If I forget thee, O Jerusalem: let my right hand forget her cunning.

“'If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth: yea, if I prefer not Jerusalem in my mirth.

“'Remember the days of Edom, O Lord, in the day of Jerusalem: how they said, Down with it, down with it, even to the ground.'”

A faint snore came from the bed. Lady Dacey was fast asleep. Honoria looked down at her sleeping aunt with something approaching love. There was always hope for reform.

It was only when she reached her own bedroom that she realized that London had changed her, had made her much braver than she had ever been before. Lord Herne? Pooh! There was nothing he could do. She could not be constrained to marry him, or anyone, not anymore. Freedom from home should not lie in the hands of some future husband. She stood frowning. She had had a good education. Despite what she had heard, she was sure she could find employ as a governess, although being so young she would find it difficult to obtain such a position. But if she and Pamela joined forces to start a school! If they could find a little money to do that! But that would be taking Pamela away from her husband, and that would be a wicked thing to do.

The day was fine, and daffodils were blowing in the tussocky grass of the churchyard and a forsythia bush spilled its golden glory over a mossy table tombstone. A marble angel held one pale finger up to the pale blue sky. The vicar was reluctant to return to the empty vicarage and walked back out onto the road and so out of the village toward the moors, unconsciously following the path taken by his wife when she wished to escape from the constraints of her marriage.

He rounded a bend in the road and stopped short. Mrs. Watkins was in the act of mounting a stile, her skirts hitched up, showing a well-turned ankle. The blustery wind was molding her clothes against her body. He experienced an odd feeling near to panic and was about to turn about when she called, “Mr. Perryworth! Can you help me, please?”

He went forward to join her. Her eyes glinted down at him. “Could you help me, please, sir?”

“Gladly.”

“My skirt appears to have caught on a splinter and I do not want to pull at it.”

Annoyed to find himself blushing, he found that the silk skirt of her dress had become caught on a splinter sticking out of a post on the stile. He gently detached it and stood back.

“Thank you,” she said demurely, making to step down from the stile, and then she swayed toward him. He automatically put out his arms and caught her. He was suddenly, violently aware of her body pressed against his own, of the musky animal smell emanating from her, of the way she was smiling up at him, and of how thick and
juicy
her lips looked, like ripe berries.

He set her away from him and then babbled, “You must excuse me, ma'am. I have an urgent letter to write to my wife.”

She stood in the road, her hands on her hips, and watched him go. He did not know it, but she had seen him coming along the road from a vantage point up on the moor and had hurried down to that stile and stabbed her good silk gown onto that splinter just as he rounded the bend. She smiled slowly and then began to walk along the road in the direction he had taken.

“Where?” asked the duke. “The club?”

“You are singularly obtuse today, my friend. To call on our ladies, to be sure.”

“
Your
ladies, perhaps. I have been very kind—for me—to Miss Goodham. I shall send my servant with my card and compliments.”

“But I cannot go on my own!”

“Without me for cover? Go and talk to Mrs. Perryworth yourself.”

“Considering that you danced with Honoria as well as Lady Dacey last night, I thought you might wish to call in person.”

“Honoria? You are grown familiar.”

“She is like a child to me. Oh, say you will come. Herne will be there, no doubt.”

“I have already warned Lady Dacey about encouraging Herne.”

“And you think she will listen to you? That one? Come, think of Honoria clasped in Herne's arms.”

The duke turned back to the arrangement of his cravat. He said in a neutral voice, “What Miss Goodham does with her future is no concern of mine. Oh, very well. If it pleases you, we will call, but only for a few moments.”

Herne finally took his leave. Honoria and Pamela had been chilly but correct. After Lord Herne had left the room, Lady Dacey faced her guests. “Now, look here...” she began.

The double doors behind her opened again. “His Grace, the Duke of Ware, and Mr. Delaney,” announced her butler.

She swung round and held out both hands to the duke, who kissed them. “Lady Dacey,” he said, standing back to look at the effect of real hair and modest gown, “I have never seen you look better.”

All Lady Dacey's anger at Honoria and Pamela faded away. “Come and be seated, gentlemen. Honoria, do play something to entertain us.”

She sat down on a sofa and patted the space next to her, but to her annoyance the duke crossed to the piano and said, “Let me turn the pages for you.”

Honoria glanced up at him. She was wearing a pretty morning gown with a high neck and long sleeves, and yet he thought she looked outrageously seductive. “Mrs. Perryworth is the better musician,” said Honoria. “I am but an indifferent performer.”

“Then let Mrs. Perryworth entertain us,” cried Lady Dacey. “No, I insist. Come and sit by me, Ware, and give me all the latest
on-dits.
”

Honoria surrendered the piano stool to Pamela. Mr. Delaney took the duke's place.

Pamela played a Mozart sonata. Lady Dacey listened with amusement to the duke who was regaling her with the story of a certain young Mr. Rigby's flighty opera dancer. And then, after the sonata was finished, Pamela and Mr. Delaney began to sing a love song. The duke fell silent. Lady Dacey tried to keep the conversation going, but he held up his hand for silence. Honoria sat with her head bowed, conscious of the underlying passion in the voices, sensing the duke's eyes on her, feeling breathless, ill at ease, and almost frightened, as if she had suddenly found herself standing on the brink of the unknown. As the voices twined and rose and fell, she raised her eyes and looked at the duke and he held her gaze for a long moment. Pamela struck the final chord. Lady Dacey applauded, but said quickly, “Enough of singing.”

Pamela remained motionless at the piano with Mr. Delaney, equally motionless, beside her. The duke was very still, his eyes now hooded, but turned in Honoria's direction, Honoria who sat like a beautiful statue with the quick rise and fall of her bosom the only movement about her.

“Honoria,” said Lady Dacey with a well-manufactured shudder, “fetch my shawl. The blue and crimson one. ‘Tis become cold. You will find it in the press in my bedchamber.”

Honoria obediently left the room. “Tish!” exclaimed Lady Dacey. “Do go after her, Pamela, and tell her to bring my bonnet and cloak.” When Pamela had gone out, Lady Dacey smiled at the duke. “I long to take the air. Perhaps I can persuade you to take me for a drive.”

He opened his mouth to make some polite excuse, but then some imp prompted him to say he would be delighted, all because he wanted to see the look in Honoria's eyes when she heard he was squiring her aunt to the park.

Honoria and Pamela returned together. Lady Dacey stood up and smiled slowly. “Help me on with my cloak, Honoria. Ware is taking me for a drive.”

Quickly, the duke looked at Honoria's face. She dropped her eyes to conceal her expression, but not before the piqued and angry duke had caught a look of pure relief.