Sattler, Veronica (69 page)

Soon
invitations to tea, dinner parties and balls began to arrive for both Mary and
Ashleigh—for Mary let it be known that she would socialize with no one who did
not accept the present duchess as well, no matter what the state of the duke's
situation. At first Ashleigh was disinclined to accept any of these, but at
Mary's urging—that she must, to present a bold and confident picture of support
for her husband—she began to venture out.

Before
long the young duchess and her mother-in-law began to be seen about the city.
Most of these forays into society took place during the day, for Ashleigh had
no wish to attend, unescorted, balls and soirees where the majority of those
attending were couples; but luncheons and afternoon teas often saw the two
women in attendance. And the rains of March gave way to a warm and surprisingly
sunny April, allowing them to join the throngs of riders and carriages in Hyde
Park.

On
one particularly balmy, blue-skied day, they were joined by Megan and
Marileigh—with Miss Simms, her nurse—as they rode in their open carriage along
the thoroughfare.

"It's
really amazing, Maria—uh, Mary," said Ashleigh as she saw the older woman
smile and nod to greeters in a passing carriage, "how many people have
come to accept you since our return. Why, wasn't that the haughty Lady
Castlereagh herself who waved to you a moment ago?"

"It
was." Mary smiled. "I ran into her at Lady Bessborough's luncheon the
other day—the one you were too tired to attend because Marileigh had been
fussing with the colic all night." She peered at the blanketed bundle
currently being held by Megan. "By the way, how is our little viscountess
doing, Megan?"

"The
picture o' contentment, Mary. Wide-awake she is, with her da's turquoise eyes
lookin' back at me."

Mary
smiled as she peered at her granddaughter's delicate face.
Raven-haired and
with her father's eyes!
she thought.
Already showing every promise of
becoming a great beauty!

"I
just thank God the colic's gone!" said Ashleigh. She turned back to Mary.
"But you were saying... about Castlereagh, I mean?"

"Oh,
yes, that one! Well, it seems she remembers me from when I was a girl. Her
mother knew my mother—that sort of thing. And it seems the late Caroline
Westmont, Edward's second wife, once snubbed her at a garden party. She now
greets me as if we've been bosom friends all our lives, if you can fancy that.
She even let it be known that I would have no trouble finding entree at
Almack's!"

"Really!"
Ashleigh exclaimed. "But I thought, that is, with all the trouble over
Brett and—"

"Oh,
you are quite right on that account," said Mary, smiling. "She hinted
that while
I
might gain entrance at Almack's,
you,
my darling
duchess, might have to wait until, ah, 'the winds blow more favorably,' I
believe was the expression she used."

"I
see," said Ashleigh.

"Humph!"
said Megan.

Mary
grinned. "Think not a jot more about it! I immediately informed that
august patroness, you see, that such an arrangement was out of the question!
That, where I go, my son's little duchess goes, or I do not go at all."

"You
did not!" Ashleigh exclaimed.

"Of
course I did. And do you know what she said? She said we really ought to appear
at the establishment in question on Wednesday night, next; that scandalous
dance, the waltz, was making curious headway there, and she would value our
opinions on it—our being lately so well traveled on the Continent and
all!"

Ashleigh
chuckled. "Mary, I fear you've already taken London by storm!"

"Hmm,
perhaps—perhaps not. But give me some time, my dear, and I think I shall. I'll
do whatever is necessary to help Brett and Patrick, you see."

"Oh-oh,"
said Megan, "speakin' o' seem', here comes that old gossip, Lady Bunbury,
and she sees us well enough. She's headin' straight toward us!"

Lady
Bunbury's carriage drew up alongside theirs, and Ashleigh signaled their driver
to halt.

"Good
day, Your Grace," the plump matron called. "Countess, Lady St.
Clare." She nodded amiably in their direction. "It's so good to find
such pleasant weather in April, is it not? I see it even prompted you to take
your little one out."

"Indeed,"
said Mary, "our little viscountess seems to thrive in this air."
Privately, she was detesting the appearance of this woman. Unbeknownst to
Ashleigh, whom she had no intention of worrying with it, she had recently
learned that Bunbury was the carrier of a scurrilous piece of gossip about
Brett's wife. Where she'd gotten the idea, Mary had no inkling, but this fat
gossip had begun putting it about last summer, after Ashleigh left London, that
the duke's young wife had been wildly promiscuous prior to their marriage and
that, indeed, the duke was divorcing her because she even carried another man's
child!

Fortunately,
the couple's arrival in London
together,
as well as the obviously
satisfactory status of their marriage, had helped Mary in her efforts to put
the lie to that rumor since she'd caught wind of it. But now, as she peered
distastefully at the corpulent Bunbury, she got an idea that she felt might
deal the whole gossipy business a final deathblow.

"You
really ought to see this healthy child," she said to Lady Bunbury.
"Here, Megan, dear, hold our sweet Marileigh up so dear Lady Bunbury can
see her."

Megan
gave her a look that indicated she thought she'd gone daft, but carried out her
wishes. Propping the gurgling infant up, she held her aloft so the old matron
could clearly see her face.

Ashleigh,
too, appeared puzzled as she looked on. Had Mary had too much sun? What was so
particular about Bunbury that she should be treated to this private viewing of
the baby?

"I
think you will agree," Mary was saying, "that the viscountess will be
a beauty of the first water, Lady Bunbury. She favors her beautiful mother, of
course, but look at those eyes! Are they not the very replica of her father's?
His Grace, of course, has not seen them since they changed color from their
former baby blue, but we have informed him of their present hue, and, I must
say, he is ever so proud!"

Lady
Bunbury, faced head-on with evidence that her choicest piece of gossip in years
simply wasn't true, had the good grace to blush. And one look at the
grandmother's face assured her that her little speech and demonstration just
now had been done with a calculated purpose. Moreover, this countess was
quickly becoming the darling of the
ton,
and if she, Amelia Bunbury,
weren't careful, she'd find herself on the outside looking in!

Looking
about distractedly for a way to change the topic of conversation, her eyes fell
on Megan. "Ah, Lady St. Clare, how nice to see you again. It isn't often
we see you about, or at least not as frequently as Her Grace and the countess.
Tell me—" she peered curiously at the redhead "—how is your
mother?"

"Me—
me
mother!"
questioned Megan, perplexed. What did this old gossip know of
Pegeen O'Brien, now comfortably warm and well-fed in Ireland, thanks to the
generosity of Patrick?

"Ahem—ah,
yes... her
health,
that is. I... was wondering if she was still, ah,
enjoying her food these days."

"Oh,
more than ever!" Megan assured her. "She sends word that she and all
my brothers and sisters have grown plump as eels!"

Eels!
thought
Lady Bunbury with a horrified expression. Quickly she forced herself to make
her farewells and, after signaling her driver, took off in her carriage at a
brisk pace.
Eels!
she thought again as she cast one last,
over-the-shoulder glance at Lady St. Clare. But, instead of eels, there was
another kind of animal that loomed in her thoughts as she sped away in her
carriage, looking quite aghast.

* * * * *

Ashleigh
sat across from Mary in Brett's brougham as it traveled along Pall Mall. They
were on their way to her first cotillion at Almack's, and yet she felt no
thrill over it. It was now over a month since they'd arrived in London, and
there was still no word as to when—or
if
—Brett and Patrick might be
released.

Somehow,
it simply didn't seem right that she should be attending a fancy-dress ball
while her husband and brother languished in prison. Of course, she quickly
corrected herself, perhaps "languished" wasn't exactly the right
word. Brett's letters assured her that their well-furbished rooms at the
Admiralty were actually quite comfortable and, except for their inability to
leave, they were enjoying all the comforts they were accustomed to, and were in
no way ill-treated.

Nevertheless,
she thought, here she was, dressed in a gown that was all the crack—or
"all ze crek," as Suzanne had so charmingly put it—and on her way to
Almack's! Oh, if Brett hadn't written to add his urgings to his mother's, she'd
never have considered it!

"Nervous,
cara!"
asked Mary. The countess was sitting across from her,
dressed in a cream-colored satin gown trimmed sparingly—elegantly—with bits of
gold embroidery and clusters of seed pearls on its empire bodice and again on
its slightly flared hemline. She wore a matching floor-length evening cape, and
at her throat was a magnificent triple-strand choker of perfectly matched
pearls.

"Not
really," said Ashleigh. "My head is too full of the unfairness of
Brett and Patrick's situation for me to worry about this frivolous cotillion,
I'm afraid."

Mary
nodded. "We are both of the same mind, I fear." She smiled and leaned
forward to smooth the skirt of Ashleigh's gown, which showed between the parted
folds of her cloth-of-silver evening cape. The gown itself was constructed of
layers of sheer, midnight-blue silk shot with silver threads, and wearing it,
Mary thought, together with the diamond necklace, earrings and tiara she had
lent her, Ashleigh looked every inch a duchess.

"But
it is just as well that you haven't the inclination to be nervous, darling.
That way, you'll walk into Almack's looking as if this is very much an everyday
affair, and that can only add to your status among the
ton.
They very
much admire a coolness of aspect, you know."

"Oh,
I know," said Ashleigh wearily, "but if you think I care a fig about
those snobbish—"

"Now,
now,
carissima,
contain yourself, please. You and I both know that what
those people think is not ultimately crucial to us. But we must think of
Brett... and your brother. Winning a favorable opinion among the
ton
can
only help them. And think of the future while you're at it, my dear."

"The
future?"

"A
debutante ball may not mean very much to you now, but how will you feel when
Marileigh is of an age to be presented? Will their acceptance mean as little to
you then?"

Ashleigh
smiled and shook her head, thoughts of her sweet little daughter filling her
head. She was growing by leaps and bounds. Already she recognized the faces of
most of those she saw every day, including all the children. And just the other
day she had smiled her first truly genuine smile—not one of her mechanical
little newborn smiles—and her entire face had lit up when Ashleigh bent over
her cradle to see if she was awake.

Oh,
how she wished Brett could be here to see her grow, to play with her and watch
her smile!
It wasn't fair.
It just wasn't! Something had to give, and
soon, or she wasn't sure what she was going to do. This waiting was beginning
to drive her mad!

The
carriage came to a halt outside of Almack's, and one of Brett's grooms sprang
down to open the door for them. As they stepped down, another carriage pulled
up behind theirs and Mary exclaimed, "Good Heavens, it's Agatha! I'd know
her family crest anywhere. Why, I haven't seen her since..."

But
as Mary stepped toward the other coach to greet her old friend, Ashleigh's eyes
were drawn to another scene taking place on the street in front of the
building.

"Take
your bloody paws off me!" snarled a filthy, garishly dressed blonde who
had all the earmarks of a woman of the streets. She was protesting violently
against being urged, physically, away from the area in front of Almack's by two
footmen whose livery matched that of the one standing near the entrance.

"Here,
now, Miss Doxy," said one who had her by the arm, "we can't have the
likes of you plyin' your trade near this fine establishment. There's a good
girl... on your way, now."

"I
tell you, I must see Baron Mumford!" screeched the whore. "He doesn't
know about how his wife and daughters threw me out, and I
must
tell him—
I
must!"

Suddenly
Ashleigh froze.
That voice!
She'd know that voice
anywhere.
It
was
Monica,
dressed in that embarrassingly low-cut, dirty red satin
dress! Monica, who'd made Ashleigh's life miserable at Hampton House!

Then,
all at once, Ashleigh saw Monica break loose from the two footmen and run
toward where she was standing. She pulled up short, however, when she saw
Ashleigh in her path. The footmen were right behind her, but as they went to
grab her, Ashleigh held out her hand to indicate they should desist.