Lady Adventuress 02 - The Education of Lord Hartley (5 page)

“Ah, I am most fond of reflection, my dearest. Reflection on matters of the heart, in particular. And now, perhaps, that kiss to seal our engagement?”

He made to grab Maggie and plant a kiss on her lips, but she was much too fast for him, upending her tea over his absurd trousers and shooting to her feet.

“How dare you take such liberties, Mr Stanhope!” she gasped. “What kind of woman do you take me for? I am not some society flirt. I hope you understand that I will not tolerate such immoral behavior, either now or after we are wed. A man’s wife is his bastion of goodness.”

“Well! A willful wife, are you now? And this after you have ruined my finest trousers!”

“You would do well, I think, to read up on the many moral dangers of wearing silk, sir. Good day to you.”

With that, Maggie swept imperiously out of the room, up the stairs and into her bedroom, where Cecile awaited her. Firmly shutting the door, Maggie burst into a fit of giggles.

“Well, I have done just as Papa wished: Mr Stanhope met a very paragon of womanhood.”

“His lordship will be furious,” Cecile said in an awed whisper.

“As well he might: he wished for an obedient daughter, and I gave him a flower of English piety. I can only wonder what it is Stanhope wants of me that he tried so hard to play along with my little farce? He professed his adoration. Devil take him, he seemed determined to persist.”

Not five minutes later, Maggie was summoned back downstairs to face her furious parent. Lord Chenefelt rose from his seat to pace and rant while Maggie stood in front of his desk, looking entirely unapologetic.

“What were you playing at, you imbecile child? Mr Stanhope’s trousers have been ruined and he is under the impression that my daughter is the most prudish creature alive, fit only to be companion to Lady Dunwell! Piety? I have yet to see a shred of piety in
you
!”

“But Papa, you said you wished me to be virtuous and modest.”

“And I suppose you think you have played a clever game, do you? Well, it won’t do. You will marry Kingsley Stanhope. Whether it be in muslin or grey wool, I care not. ”

Maggie said nothing to that.

“It is your brother I blame for planting all of these wild notions. Your display was entirely unbecoming in my daughter. Of all the damned possible inconveniences, now I must to London, to see if I cannot make amends once Stanhope’s temper has cooled off. I warn you, my girl, you will be dearly sorry yet for your little game.”

“You will chase after him? Papa, don’t you care that I do not want to marry that oaf?” Maggie demanded.

She could not believe his indifference, though it was being enacted before her very eyes.

Lord Chenefelt waved his hand in dismissal. “Certainly not. Young girls never know what they want. Your mother didn’t want to marry me at first, but she was perfectly content with her husband and family once she did. Your aunt will tell you as much. The same will happen for you.”

Not if I can help it,
Maggie thought to herself.

“Now I must somehow dispel the embarrassment you have brought on this family. You are to remain in this house, do you, hear? And reflect upon your most unbecoming conduct.”

*

Lord Chenefelt departed his country seat under his own personal stormcloud, having instructed Maggie to prepare herself for her upcoming nuptials and to expect her aunt’s return in three days’ time.

Maggie knew that she daren’t wait for Aunt Verity. What if her aunt had no good news to impart?

This was no time to be missish or uncertain. She had either to make a choice and forge the rest of her life, or sit back and let herself be swept up into an unhappy union with Kingsley Stanhope.

“You still mean to run away? To go to France?” Cecile asked when Lord Chenefelt’s carriage was out of sight. She looked deeply uneasy.

“Certainly. But it is not running away. I am taking a short tour – or a long one, perhaps. I am escaping a hopeless grey world before it should swallow me whole. I stand by my offer – you need not accompany me if you do not wish it. I will leave some sort of proof that you were ignorant of my plans, and you will keep your place at Chenefelt, or go to Aunt Verity’s household, if you prefer.”

Cecile considered. “Thank you, but I shall go with you. Goodness knows you’ll want a friendly face with you, in a strange country all alone. And the crossing is frightful.”

Maggie was deeply touched by the brave sacrifice Cecile was making. Her eyes prickled with tears as she took her friend’s hand in her own.

“Thank you, Cecile. I am aware of what this decision means for you. I promise that you will not suffer for it. I shall use some of my mother’s money and help you set up your shop. Perhaps, it will be a solution for us both!”

“You would do that?” There was an unmistakable longing in her voice.

“Yes, you have my word. Mama’s money will serve us in good stead, at least for a while. Will you pack a few necessities? Not many. Paris will require new gowns, I believe. I’ve heard it said that there was once wild blood in the Dacre line – knights, conquerors, and the like. I think perhaps it’s time I found out whether there is even a drop of it in me.
Vivez san regrets
– that is our motto, and I shall do just that.”

She would take her sketchbooks with her, she thought. They might just be the key to a whole new life. Such dresses she would make!

Of course, they would need new identities, Maggie thought, to match new gowns and new lives.

Her mother’s money would be of great help, if she could get at it. “I must raise the wind,” she mused aloud once Cecile had gone to bed. She considered selling her horses instead… but it would only be a matter of time before someone in the stables noticed and told her father.

The trouble was that Maggie had no way to access her portion without her father’s man of business getting involved…

Unless she should write to him in His Lordship’s hand, a skill taught her long ago by Frederick when he came home from Eton for the vacation. She could insist that His Lordship was quite intolerably busy and could not think of attending the bank himself, but that Maggie was to be given access to part of her portion in addition to her pin money. Given a suitably demanding tone, such a letter would not be out of character for her father.

Well, she decided, I may as well leap with both feet in.

Maggie got out of bed, and lit a candle, taking it to her little writing table.

She produced the note her father had sent to summon her to his study, and turned a fresh sheet of paper up-side down just as Frederick had shown her, before beginning her brief missive. Thankfully, her father’s letters were always abrupt, so she was spared any tricky explanations.

Pleased with herself, Maggie sealed up the letter, and crept downstairs, to add it to the pile which would go out in the morning.

After a few hours of restless sleep, Maggie spent the day packing, repacking and doing her best not to worry about what future lay in wait for them. On the day of their departure, Maggie rose early under pretence of taking herself to London to look at wedding silks. She made a huge production of compiling a list of dressmakers over breakfast before calling for her little brougham.

With Cecile as her chaperone, and a few bags for each of them, cleverly hidden in the carriage, they made for Dover.

The road to Dover proved long and tiresome. Maggie and Cecile passed the hours by attempting to formulate a likely story and new identities. Maggie felt somewhat giddy at this new freedom – she had never attempted anything this daring in her whole life.

“I’ve done with all of it: Stanhope, the dreadful solitude of Chenefelt and most of all
The Ballroom Etiquette for Young Ladies
,” Maggie said as they flew down the country road as fast as they could. She thought of the world around them, the myriad new possibilities that lay beyond the next twist of road. She could do so much.

Already it felt as if the dull life she had led at Chenefelt belonged to someone else. Someone quite different.

“To think, the boot is quite on the other leg now, and it is our turn to be free, Cecile. We must become women of independent means – it is intolerable to spend one’s entire life obliged to hang on someone’s sleeve. But how shall we do it? We must have the shop, and some way to make our gowns noticed. Oh, I know! It is so obvious, now that one thinks about it. I shall be a fashionable widow just out of mourning, and a great covert to the art of our secret seamstress. I think the widow must be French. I shall go by Marguerite, Madame la Baronne de Gramont. I read about a Baronne de Gramont who lived a long time ago, and she had had a very splendid life. Perhaps I can be like her and then no one will tell me how I ought to live my life. Who would you like to be, Cecile? Perhaps you will be my cousin? We look enough alike.”

“Yes, I like that,” Cecile said with a gentle smile. “Though I think I should rather work on my shop than attend society. I find it so wearisome in the country that I dread to think how it must be in Paris.”

“I know. But we are starting anew, and you don’t have to go to any parties if you dislike the notion. You can be my bookish, quiet cousin, which will explain your absence when you choose to be occupied with the shop.”

Cecile laughed. “I think I shall enjoy being an eccentric bluestocking!”

*

When Maggie and Cecile arrived in Dover late that night, exhausted after a number of stops at various inns along the way, they drew more than their fair share of startled glances.

Ladies did not usually drive their own broughams into Dover, after all, and then proceed to lay up at the nearest inn as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Maggie and Cecile were observed carefully and speculation over their identities quickly travelled across the little town.

There was something unmistakably striking about the defiance with which Maggie held her chin, and the elegant way Cecile descended the vehicle even after hours of travel. The watchers were convinced the ladies had to be personages of some wealth.

Was Cecile a great artist’s muse? Was Maggie the latest
artiste
come from London? Or the treasured paramour of some grand gentleman, on her way to order hats in Paris? When she failed to behave in a manner that was in any way theatrical or artistic, however, it was assumed that she was nothing more than an officer’s wife on her way to join him in occupied Paris.

As Maggie ordered for the bags to be brought into the inn, she was amazed to discover how easily the role of Marguerite came to her. She found that she could command respect with just a flutter of her fan.

Trying out this new power, she levelled a cool look at the stout Mrs Smith, the innkeeper of the
The Dock and Galleon,
who met the lady’s imperious gaze nervously as she informed her that, as of that morning, there were no rooms free.

“No rooms!” Maggie exclaimed, because such a possibility had not occurred to her and she wasn’t certain what to do next. Maggie and Cecile had been travelling for a good nine hours and Maggie was exhausted enough to fall asleep where she stood.

She had never had to drive such a distance before, and both women felt stiff and sore from the long journey.

“I’m afraid not, madam. I can offer you a warm meal, however?” She hesitated before continuing, “There is
The Weighted Anchor
down near the docks, and they might have lodgings available, but I would not advise it as a place suitable for ladies of quality.”

“Certainly not,” said a gentleman’s voice from the parlour door.

Maggie and Cecile turned in surprise to find a tall and handsome man frowning at the innkeeper. He looked somewhat familiar.

“Your Grace?” asked Mrs Smith.

Maggie’s blood ran cold as she recognized the Duke of Strathavon, whose wife was the same Lady Strathavon her aunt had gone to see in London. Had he recognized her too?

“Let the young ladies have our lodgings. My wife and I have no need of them as we shall press on home after supper.”

If Mrs Smith was surprised by this, she gave no sign. She curtseyed. “Very well, Your Grace.”

“That is too kind, sir. We couldn’t!” Maggie said. It was a most unexpected generosity.

She tried to spot any sign of recognition in his demeanour, but his face remained unreadable.

The duke bowed. “Not at all. I have a house in these parts, and we will simply arrive a day early.”

“Then the room is yours, madam,” said the innkeeper. “Shall I also have supper warmed for you?”

She indicated the parlour behind the duke.

“Yes, thank you,” Maggie said. She turned to their rescuer. “Your Grace, we really cannot thank you enough.”

“It is nothing, I assure you. Will you join my wife and me for supper?”

Maggie hesitated. It would be unconscionably rude to refuse, but the duchess would surely know her on sight as the renegade daughter of the Earl of Chenefelt, even if the duke did not.

Yet she did not wish to offend him after he had done them such a kindness.

“We would be delighted,” she said at last.

Maggie hoped they wouldn’t catch her out and cry rope on her to her father. Then again, perhaps she was just being silly – the duchess was well above telling tales.

When her ladyship appeared in the parlour, and was introduced to the Maggie and Cecile, she gave them her warmest smile before insisting that they sit down to partake of the delightful meal before them.

She gave no sign of having ever set eyes on them before.

“Mrs Smith has a surprisingly apt cook,” she laughed, as though they were just strangers met by chance upon the road.

Her Grace was a fashionable lady in her early thirties, with a very handsome disposition, and charming eyes. Her ready smiles and earnest manner quickly won Maggie over despite her wariness.

She had only met the lady a handful of times several years ago, when she had been too nervous to appreciate the duchess’s quick wit. The duke, a decade older than his wife, was very distinguished, with a tall bearing that commanded much respect in society. He was known as an expert on matters of estate management and had made a remarkable success of all his holdings upon inheriting them most unexpectedly.

After supper, when Cecile had retired to bed, and the Duke had gone out to stretch his legs before setting off on the final leg of their journey, Maggie found herself alone with the duchess. Lady Strathavon looked at her somewhat intently a moment, before adjusting her shawl.

“You know, Madame, I envy you your stay in Paris. It is a most marvellous place right now – the fashions are truly remarkable. His Grace has a house there, newly purchased now that the war is over, and it is a great shame that it stands as empty as it does.
In fact
, I think that it might be just the thing if a tenant were to be found for it, however temporarily.”

Maggie looked at her in astonishment, but the duchess wen to speaking unconcernedly, her expression thoughtful.

“Perhaps you might be persuaded to take up temporary residence there?”

“Lady Strathavon, I am sure I could not.”

The duchess raised an eyebrow. “I beg to differ: I am very sure that you can. I feel as if I might know your aunt, you know, and I think that it would be very remiss of me not to help her niece. Oh, don’t be distressed. I mean you no ill – but you are the niece of Lady Compton and the daughter of the previous Strathavon’s admiral, are you not? You bear a striking resemblance to your father. It is unmistakable. Now, I do not know what your own adventure may be, but perhaps I understand the need for one better than might you think. And I would feel much easier knowing that you are safe. Just remember to keep your wits about you, and I am certain you will come about. And I pray you write to me if you find yourself in some great pickle. I will speak to your aunt, of course. Now, what
is
your adventure, pray? I beg that you indulge me. Why the masquerade?”

Maggie hesitated, but the lady’s expression was open and friendly – and she had heard enough about the duchess’s escapades to hope that the lady really might understand. It would be good to find some comfort and advice in the woman – despite her bravado and determination to conquer Paris, she had very little notion of how to begin.

Lady Strathavon waited patiently while Maggie decided on her response.

At last, she took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I mean to go to Paris to find a life of my own. My father would have me marry my odious cousin Stanhope, and won’t hear of me having a Season to meet someone more suitable. The only life that awaits me there is an intolerable marriage, or spinsterhood and dreary country rain. I think I would rather die than live like that. You needn’t worry – I am not a fool. I shall make a respectable life for myself as the baroness: and widows have a lot more freedom than debutantes ever will. I have enough money to see me through for quite a while. Only, I must have the freedom to choose my own fate – that is what I want, and it is what I must get.”

Lady Strathavon nodded. “A daring plan, if ever I heard one.”

She said nothing more for a long time, brow furrowing thoughtfully. Maggie wondered if she had made a mistake – was the woman utterly scandalised? Would she tell her husband and force Maggie to return home? Would word of this spread to the
ton
, rendering the Dacre name instantly infamous?

When the duchess spoke at last, Maggie felt as though she would faint from sheer nerves. “Yes, I do understand, though it is a great risk you are taking – but then, risks can and do pay off. Sometimes breaking rules is the price of freedom. Well, if you are to proceed with your escape, I think there can be no other option – you must stay at our Paris house.”

Maggie didn’t know what to say a moment, though it would certainly be a great relief to have some place to find her feet. “It would be so kind of you. Most kind! But His Grace…”

Lady Strathavon laughed. “Oh, Strathavon won’t mind in the least. At least, not once I have explained it all to him. But that probably won’t be until we are on the road – else we’ll be here all night. I shall send a message to Paris right now, so that the house be made ready for you. Here, I shall give you directions on how you may find it. And I must also write my dear friend the Comtesse de St Mercy. I think you will find her friendship rather useful.”

“You won’t –”

“No, I won’t tell her your real name. Barring disaster, that secret is yours to reveal.”

*

Before the sun had fully risen, Maggie made her way downstairs to enquire of Mrs Smith about the ships or packet boats which were scheduled to cross the Channel within the next day.

Cecile, who had been as surprised as Maggie by the duchess’s kind gesture, looked a little uneasy at the thought of the crossing, and the innkeeper shot her a pitying look.

“If you wish to sail as soon as possible, madam, there is one ship that would serve best of all. There is a little schooner captained by a seasoned gentleman named Captain Tom Souville. It will leave at first light tomorrow, once the night’s storm has passed.”

“And none will set out any sooner?”

Mrs Smith shook her head firmly. “None with the sky as it is. I am not a sailor, but I have lived my whole life by the sea. It would not be a risk worth taking. Captain Tom’s a bit of a pirate, madam, but he’ll get you to Calais safely and quickly. He is known to make the crossing in four hours,” the woman said, with a note of fondness in her voice.

Maggie considered this a moment before nodding and asking Mrs Smith to send a boy to book their passage, feeling a little disappointed at the delay.

On the whole, however, her spirits remained buoyant, especially now that they had somewhere to stay the moment they set foot in Paris.

Maggie did not question the wisdom of her flight – she had made a choice and the future stretched before her, a little scary but full of undiscovered potential.

She couldn’t wait to see Paris.

Who would she become in so splendid a city? It was almost overwhelming to think that she could be anyone she pleased.

They spent the day sewing in their room: the storm made it very unpleasant out of doors and it was far too wet to venture out to have a look at the shops. Maggie felt a calm comfort settle over her the moment she took out her much-used gilded
broderie
set. The gilt had faded long ago, rubbed off with years of use, but that made it even more special.

“We must find a shop and fabrics as soon as we are settled,” Maggie told her companion.