Pretty Polly (11 page)

He put his hand under her elbow, and despite her bad temper, Charlotte was quick to use the opportunity to lean against him.

The duke was touched by Charlotte’s evident distress, which he put down to worry over Miss Bascombe.

When they were all seated in the Yellow Saloon, the duke said, “As you can see from my dirt, I am not a fit escort for you, Mrs. Manners.”

Charlotte rallied bravely. “Stay and take wine with me, Your Grace. We may have our drive on another day.”

The greyhound walked past. Charlotte remembered she was supposed to dote on her pets. She held out her hand. The little greyhound shrank away, then ran to Verity and lay down at her feet.

The duke accepted a glass of wine from Pomfret. He could not help noticing that as the butler went to offer Verity a glass, Charlotte caught his eye and gave an infinitesimal shake of her head.

“Miss Bascombe was extremely brave,” said the duke, deliberately tactless. “I can think of no other lady in London who would have attempted to climb that tree.”

Charlotte shook an admonitory finger at Verity and said in silvery tones, “You are a sad romp. Only look at the ruin of your gown. Pray go immediately and lie down, Miss Bascombe.”

Verity stood, and the duke rose as well. She curtsied and said in a low voice, “I am deeply indebted to you, Your Grace.”

“It was an honor to be of service to you, Miss Bascombe.”

Verity left the room. The duke noticed that the parrot, dog, and cat went with her.

“Your pets seem much attached to Miss Bascombe,” he said when the door had closed behind Verity.

“Yes,” said Charlotte. “Poor Miss Bascombe is so awkward and ill at ease with humans that it is as well she has a talent for engaging the affection of dumb animals.”

The duke thought quickly. What a spiteful remark! If he sprang to Verity’s defense, then Charlotte would send her packing. He wanted to see Miss Bascombe again. So he smiled at Charlotte and said, “Miss Bascombe is an engaging and clever lady. Her affection for you needs no explanation. Lord James was saying to me only the other night that Mrs. Manners must be an exceptional lady to have such a clever and devoted companion. It is always easy to command the loyalty of the stupid.”

“Dear Verity.” Charlotte sighed. “I do not know what she would do without me.”

Now my correspondent would never have said anything so vain, thought the duke. But aloud he said, “The weather has changed for the better. Perhaps I may be allowed to make up for today by driving you to Richmond Park on the morrow?”

Charlotte’s eyes glittered with triumph. A long drive on a sunny day alone with the Duke of Denbigh! Great things could come of it.

“I had another engagement,” she said cautiously, “but I could easily cancel it.”

“I would not dream of upsetting your arrangements,” he cried.

“It is nothing,” said Charlotte quickly. “At what time may I expect you?”

“At ten in the morning.”

Charlotte blinked. Ten in the morning seemed like the crack of dawn to her.

“Very well, Your Grace,” she said with a smile. “Let us hope the weather remains fine.”

Upstairs in her room, Verity looked gloomily at the pets. “If you knew what was good for you,” she told them sadly, “you would not stay in here. The storm is about to break.”

For Verity was sure the minute the duke left, an enraged Charlotte would come rushing in.

But although she heard the duke leave and waited a long time after that, there was no sign of Charlotte. At last, Charlotte’s maid entered with a message from her mistress that Miss Bascombe was to get ready to go out to the opera at eight o’clock.

Feeling puzzled but relieved, Verity sat down at the dressing table and began to brush her hair. But the next feeling was one of sharp hope. Would the duke be there?

But the duke was not at the opera that evening. As Charlotte and Verity were entering the theater, the duke was sitting opposite his friend, Lord James, in Watier’s. “Let me see if I have heard you aright,” Lord James was saying. “You want me to go to Richmond with you tomorrow. I am to pretend to be enamored of Miss Bascombe, but once we are on the outing, I must appear to switch my affections to Mrs. Manners.”

“A small thing to ask,” said the duke equably. “Have some more of this excellent port.”

“May one ask why?”

“One may. The reason I returned to London was that Mrs. Manners sent me delightful and interesting letters. As you know, I once proposed marriage to her and was turned down. I had since come to think of her as greedy and empty-headed and congratulated myself on my escape. But the letters led
me to believe I had been mistaken in her. She is, you must admit, very beautiful.”

“Very.”

“And so I returned to London. At first I thought Mrs. Manners was suffering from nerves and that was why she only spoke trivia. But when I spoke to Miss Bascombe, it dawned on me that it was more than likely Mrs. Manners had invited her old school friend to London in order to use her as a correspondent.”

“But why?”

“Because Mrs. Manners now wants my title and fortune. It is no little thing to be a duchess.”

Lord James frowned. “If, as you say, Miss Bascombe wrote those letters, then it does not say very much for Miss Bascombe’s character to be party to such a plot, such a deception.”

“I had not thought of that.”

“Well, I would think of it now. Miss Bascombe obviously considers your title and fortune fair game to be secured for her friend by any methods possible.”

“Put that way, it sounds quite dreadful.”

“I can understand your interest in Mrs. Manners. She is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen. But the clever and plotting Miss Bascombe! That is another thing. Perhaps it was she who suggested the whole thing to Mrs. Manners in order to come to London for the Season. One could hardly call her good
ton
. Someone told me she is nothing but a country lawyer’s daughter.”

“She has warmth and spirit. I rescued her today from the top of a tree in Hyde Park.”

“What was she doing up a tree?”

“Attempting to rescue Mrs. Manners’s cat. She climbed so high she lost her nerve. Old Lady Wythe waylaid me in Park Lane and told me of Miss Bascombe’s
predicament, so I climbed up and brought the cat down, which gave Miss Bascombe enough courage to follow me.”

“Most unbecoming in her,” drawled Lord James. “And very hoydenish. Perhaps it was staged so as to force you to rescue her.”

“Now you are being ridiculous.”

“Lady Wythe knows everyone in London. How odd she should come out onto Park Lane for help at the precise moment you happened to be passing.”

“She didn’t, actually. I saw her standing at the edge of the road from quite a distance away.”

“And who was before you in the carriages?”

“There was—let me see—Byng, Brown, Petersham, and Downie.”

“And is there one of these gentlemen the old dowager does
not
know?”

“Well… no.”

“Then there you are! I agree that Miss Bascombe, since she seems to have become your interest, has a certain attraction. It is all very well for a man to be clever, but it is a disaster in a woman. You would not want a wife with an independent mind!”

“I think it might be very interesting, and life would hardly ever be dull.”

“Aha, but a plotting and scheming wife?”

“I still would like to go on this outing tomorrow and find an opportunity to tax Miss Bascombe with the fact that I believe her to have written the letters and listen to her explanation. Of course, if you have other plans…?”

“No, I am intrigued by the plot. And if Miss Bascombe is as cunning as I am beginning to think she is, then you will need my protection.”

“Good.” The duke signaled to a waiter and ordered
paper and pen. “I will let Mrs. Manners know of the new arrangements.”

“You have been very quiet all evening, Charlotte,” said Verity, as they returned home from the opera. “Yes this, no that. But a definite frost in the air. I did say I was sorry that I spoiled your drive, but just think: If I had not done so, then Denbigh might not have offered to drive you to Richmond, a much more satisfactory arrangement.”

“You keep making me look like a fool,” Charlotte burst out. “Those pets! You deliberately set out to steal their affection away from me.”

“Fustian. You know very well that when I arrived, they were mangy and likely to die. In fact, you ordered them killed!”

“I never said such a thing. You are a liar. There! It is high time someone told you how lying and devious you are, Verity.”

“Do not accuse me of your own character defects. You are cruel and selfish and ungracious, and I shall leave tomorrow,” said Verity, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Good riddance,” said Charlotte. “What is it, Pomfret?”

“This note from the Duke of Denbigh was delivered by hand, ma’am.”

“Then why didn’t you say so, you lummox, instead of creeping about furtively?”

“What does it say?” asked Verity.

“Mind your own business, miss.”

“I hope he is writing to say he has changed his mind,” said Verity.

Charlotte’s eyebrows almost vanished up under her turban as she read.

“Goodness gracious. He is bringing Lord James
Castleton with him, for Lord James wishes to further his acquaintance with you.
You
of all people!”

“Then,” said Verity in a choked voice, “you may tell His Grace I was so tired of your bad manners that I left.”

Charlotte looked at her in amazement. “Don’t you want to go to Richmond with a handsome lord?”

“Not with you,” said Verity, her hands clenched into fists.

“Oh, my dear Verity, you must not pay attention to my rubbish. I am jealous of you. There! I see I have amazed you. Odd, is it not? Like Beauty being jealous of the Beast. No! No! I was only funning. Come into the drawing room, I have something most important to tell you.”

Pride was telling Verity that she should go up to her room and pack. But pride would not help her to see the duke again.

She followed Charlotte into the drawing room. Charlotte drew Verity down onto a backless sofa and held both her hands and gazed into her eyes. “Listen, my friend,” she said. “I am head over heels in love with Denbigh.
That
is why I behaved so irrationally! Can you understand?”

Oh, yes, Verity thought sadly.
That
she could very well understand. “I will need your help on the morrow,” said Charlotte urgently.

Verity looked at her miserably. She had not thought Charlotte capable of love, but how could any woman help loving the Duke of Denbigh? She did not know that Charlotte was only in love with the duke’s title. Charlotte thought only very common people fell in love and so had claimed to be in love with the duke to give Verity’s inferior middle-class mind something she could comprehend.

Then Verity realized that if she stayed in London,
she would have a front-row seat at the courtship of the duke and Charlotte. Unbearable.

“No, Charlotte,” she said. “I wish you well. But I must leave.”

“Oh, my wicked tongue. My darling Verity. You know I do not have much time for my own sex. But I am very fond of you. We have had such fun, have we not? Do not be too rash. Stay at least for tomorrow. You know you admired my pink silk parasol. It is yours. There! See how I dote on you? Oh, Verity, do not be so cruel.”

Charlotte raised a wisp of cambric to her eyes and began to sob.

Verity herself cried with great pain and difficulty. She did not know that Charlotte could cry at will. Her heart was softened. Charlotte should have the duke. Jealousy has made me as bad as Charlotte, thought Verity penitently. “Please do not cry, Charlotte. I will stay. Only do stop crying.”

So Charlotte stopped. Her tears switched off as if she had turned off a tap in her head.

“We shall celebrate the renewal of our friendship.”

Pomfret came in at that moment, followed by two footmen carrying the tea tray. But Charlotte waved them away and ordered champagne and two tankards.

“I shall be quite drunk,” said Verity, raising a brimming silver tankard.

Charlotte giggled. “I adore champagne. Let us see who can drain the tankard dry first.”

Verity laughed and spluttered as the bubbles went up her nose. Charlotte refilled their tankards. “To us!” she said.

Verity giggled, already feeling tipsy and lightheaded. “To us,” she echoed.

“And you must give me your solemn pledge that
you will do everything in your power to help me ensnare the duke.”

“You are really in love with him?”

Charlotte crossed her heart.

“Then I shall!” cried Verity, feeling noble.

Charlotte rang for more champagne. They were both very drunk by the time they reeled upstairs, giggling and laughing and still swearing eternal friendship.

In the privacy of her bedroom, Charlotte lay in bed and laughed and laughed. “The silly ninny,” she said, meaning Verity. “I did very well. That should put paid to any ambitious ideas that creature might be harboring in her common mind! I really do believe silly Verity had some idea of getting Denbigh for herself!”

It was a perfect morning when two very fragile ladies emerged into the bright sunlight of Berkeley Square. Verity felt wretched. The light hurt her eyes and her mouth was dry.

Charlotte had a pounding headache. Both ladies hung on to the side of the carriage as it moved off. The duke’s coachman was driving the open carriage. Both men were sitting with their backs to the horses and Verity and Charlotte facing them.

Despite her headache, Charlotte looked very beautiful. She was wearing her favorite sky-blue color: sky-blue gown, sky-blue gloves and shoes, and sky-blue parasol. Verity was dressed in a pink muslin gown and pelisse. The color did not flatter her, and her eyes were almost as pink as her dress.

The duke found her dull and quite unattractive. Charlotte sparkled in comparison. The attention of two handsome men was just the tonic she needed. As Verity began to feel sick with the motion of the
carriage, Charlotte was quite restored to her usual good health.

At last the duke noticed that Miss Bascombe had turned a greenish color. He suggested they stop at an inn for some refreshments. Verity nodded gratefully.