Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (18 page)

“I would. It was the year I sang in public for the first time. I knew I would never be good enough to sing on stage, nor would it have been proper, but I found an audience among society in Italy and I was as happy as I had been since—” She stopped and didn’t finish the sentence.

“Since …,” he encouraged.

She looked down so he could not see her face and shook her head. “I had not been that happy in a very long time.”

He kissed her cheek and spoke softly. “‘A complete fool’ is the only way to describe someone who would hurt you like that.”

She smiled and touched the spot with her hand.

The thought came to him that between one sentence and the next they had moved beyond flirting to the kind of conversation they’d had the first night they met.

“Pride. It was pride that caused it. If that is the theme of these short pieces then my story could be staged as easily as the others.” The first bell sounded and they automatically turned around. “That horrible man in the second play was as prideful as the woman,” Elena insisted. “Why did he not suffer?”

“In our world men are rarely made to pay for their pride. I do not need to know your experience to know that pride is more often seen as a man’s right, and not as arrogance.”

The answer might have been honest but it did not please Elena.

“I have heard that some of these stories are ongoing,” he went on. “That Georges will do another where the man will face the consequences of his actions.”

“I hope so. A man can ruin a woman’s life and there is no penalty for it. I wish Georges would allow a woman to write one of his plays.”

Meryon laughed. “He is the man of rank in this theater and I do not think his pride will allow it.”
Change the subject, Meryon
. “The first piece had a more just resolution and could have featured either a man or a woman.”

“Yes,” Elena agreed, somewhat mollified. “Lord William saw a version last week in which the servant was a man and the comte insisted he wear his clothes. The servant died despite his protestations of innocence.”

“You see that is another lesson we can draw from the first piece tonight. It makes me wonder what would happen if my son traded clothes with my groom.”

“Do not say that out loud, Your Grace.” Elena raised a
hand to his mouth to stop him from speaking. Her fingertips barely brushed his lips but his whole body envied the touch. Elena dropped her hand as fast as she had raised it. She let go of his arm, but stayed beside him.

“Mia did it once with her maid and I still have not forgiven her. She is as precocious as Lord William. In that I do not think they are well matched, if only because they are so much alike. I suppose they will work that out for themselves. Neither one of them will listen to me.”

He recognized the rush of words as a way of covering her embarrassment. Elena had felt the same shock that he had at her touch.

As the final gong sounded they made their way back to her box. He bowed over her hand and strolled back to the owner’s box with Garrett, only half listening to what his brother-in-law said. “I wish my sermons would generate half this discussion.”

“Hmmm. Yes, I’m sure,” Meryon muttered.

“If they did, I could tell them that the days of the dukedom are numbered and I should be their leader.”

“Yes.” Meryon stopped and tried to replay what Garrett had said. “That is total nonsense, Garrett.”

“I said that to prove that you can still hear in spite of those lovebirds singing.”

Meryon ignored the comment and moved his chair so he could see Elena as well as the stage.

The last piece was a comedy as Meryon expected it would be. But one with a lesson as powerful as that of the other two.

The mayor of a small town in France had a daughter who was her most beautiful when she played the piano.

The mayor was anxious to marry her off to a wealthy man and invited a candidate to dinner even though his daughter did not like him. In retaliation, the daughter deliberately played badly in the wrong key and the would-be suitor, who had very sensitive ears, left shortly thereafter without so much as hinting at interest in the daughter.

Her father was so angry that he moved the pianoforte to the city square and insisted that she play to earn her keep. She was too full of pride to ask for forgiveness and did as he commanded. As the curtain fell, it had begun to rain onstage and a gentleman stopped his carriage to offer her a ride. The girl’s father ran after the carriage, realizing that it was not only her pride that had led to her downfall, but his own as well. He was run over by the piano, which had suddenly developed feet and come after him.

As the story unfolded, Meryon saw Elena grow more and more stricken.

She did not laugh at the machinations between the father and daughter, who were too much alike and thus doomed to dissension.

She did not laugh as the daughter played the wrong notes and winced at her own poor performance. He stopped watching the action onstage and kept his eyes on Elena, willing her to look at him, to ignore whatever caused her pain.

When the short play ended with the girl’s obvious fall from grace, Elena stood up and left the box precipitously. Lord William and Miss Castellano followed in some confusion.

On impulse, Meryon made to follow her. At that moment, with the last of the applause fading, Georges himself
came into their box, and whatever Meryon had hoped to do for Elena was squelched by the requirement of good manners.

Garrett and Georges greeted each other as old friends, which answered one question. Even if his story to William and Miss Castellano of his friendship with Georges had been preposterous, the two knew each other. From the war years; Meryon had no doubt of it.

Georges accepted Meryon’s praise with modesty, insisting that storytelling had always appealed to him, and “Is it not fortunate that I have so many stories to tell.”

They talked about how he would accommodate the crowds once the Season started, and about the unlikelihood of a visit from the Regent, since too many of the stories would seem to be critical of him. Finally, Georges declined to join them for supper as he had “a lady awaiting my attention.”

Garrett was unusually quiet all the way back to Penn House. Meryon welcomed the chance to think through Elena’s reaction to the last story. And his as well. He would have done anything to ease her hurt. That she had not once looked at him or sought him out told him that the trust he longed for was still not complete.

T
INA!
L
EAVE ME SOMETHING
to wear to the Straemores’ this evening,” Elena begged. “They did not promise the gowns for today. They were only hopeful.”

“Si, signora.” Tina spoke with an absentminded air, intent on emptying the clothes press. There was an impressive stack of apparel of all kinds on the nearest chair.

“Wait, wait.” Elena walked back into the dressing room. The small space was a complete shambles. Despite the neat piles, it looked like the press had exploded, with bunches of fabric landing everywhere. She pointed to the stack that was almost as tall as Tina. “These are the dresses we are keeping, yes?”

Tina shook her head. “No, signora. They are sadly out-of-date and should be given away. Or perhaps some of the better material can be remade.”

“I cannot replace my entire wardrobe. It would cost a fortune and six more trips to the modiste.”

“Cara
signora, you have a fortune. Why not enjoy it?”

One of the more timid housemaids appeared in the door. Tina waved her into the room and ordered her to collect the gowns that were no longer useful.

“Do not take everything. I ordered nothing for a ride in the park.”

“What ride? With who?” Tina sounded more like a governess than a maid.

Elena cleared her throat. “On Wednesday, with the duke.”

“The duke is taking you up in his carriage!” Tina dropped the clothes and all but leapt for joy. “It will be the perfect way for you to meet more of society.”

“Tina! You speak as if that is all the Duke of Meryon is good for. I happen to like him.”

“What do you see in him, signora? Or is it that you are trying to prove to yourself that you will never find love so you will not make the effort? For it is clear to me that this duke is not at all worthy of you.” She made his title sound like the name of some mangy cur found in the mews.

Tina did not wait for her mistress to try to make sense of her theory.

“I know the perfect dress, signora. The deep violet, the one that has the matching velvet cloak with the fur trim. That wonderful bonnet you found in Paris will be perfect with it. How fortunate it is still cool enough for it. I thought that it would be much too out of style before you had an opportunity to wear it again. Let me find it and make sure it does not need pressing. There may even be time to add another row of ruffles; they are so in fashion now and with your height it would not look as stupid as it does on most women. Now you will need…”

Tina hurried back into the dressing room, her monologue continuing no matter that Elena could not hear her. She did not need to. Both of them knew that since her appearance at the Regent’s dinner party, Elena’s social life had increased significantly, and even with the new gowns she would be hard-pressed to have enough for the entire Season, especially once Mia made her bow and they were out every night.

Elena sat down and began going through the gloves that Tina had directed her to sort. Mia would look wonderful in white but even better in white washed with pink or a pale blue, perhaps with a pattern embroidered around the décolletage since the girl could not yet wear more than a string of pearls or a simple locket. It was easier to think about what colors would suit Mia than to think about her own upcoming ride in the park with the duke.

To be seen driving together was a gesture whose importance had not escaped her. This time no prince had
ordered them to dance, nor had they met by accident at the theater.

He had invited her and she had accepted. She knew what would come next. His kiss on her cheek had been such loving consolation. That, coupled with the bolt of desire that had swept through her when she brushed his lips with her fingers, told her that they would be together when the time was right.

The combination of nerves and excitement told her the time was not quite right. Not yet. But every time she saw him, the moment drew closer.

Elena concentrated on the gloves, wondering why she had ever thought yellow was an attractive color to wear on one’s hands.

T
HE
M
ARCHIONESS
of Straemore tucked her arm through Meryon’s as she escorted him and Garrett into the large salon on the ground floor. “We see you twice in one week, Your Grace. What a pleasure. I am sorry to say we will be much more formal than usual this evening, at least for a while.”

The marchioness took Garrett’s arm so that she walked between them and whispered, “The Duke of Bendas is here.”

“He is becoming a veritable socialite,” Meryon observed.

“The Gossips say that he is not well.” The marchioness looked at Meryon and then Garrett to see if they had heard the same rumor. “Perhaps he is trying to put the lie to the reports of his ill health.”

As they entered the salon Meryon saw Bendas sitting
in a corner with both his personal servant and the marquis’s brother dancing attendance on him. “That has the makings of another cartoon.” Meryon could visualize it. An old man being waited on as though he were a sickly old lady.

“Be polite, Duke,” the marchioness insisted, and turned to Garret. “Be sure he is, Mr. Garrett. You have always been the soul of discretion and I rely on you in this.”

Garrett bowed to her, and with a decisive nod of thanks she turned back to Meryon.

“I know how difficult old men can be, for my father-in-law was quite insane, but Bendas is so old that he will die soon and life will be easy again.”

Meryon chuckled at her irreverence and bowed as she left to greet another guest.

“The marchioness is French, you know.” Garrett handed the duke a glass of wine.

“As if that is an adequate explanation for her unconventional view of life.”

“It is for me. You forget I lived as a Frenchman.”

Meryon laughed again, as Garrett seemed to expect it.

“Come greet Bendas with me.” Meryon did not wait for Garrett, but crossed the room.

“Bendas! Twice in one week. You are becoming a gadfly.”

Bendas glared at Meryon.

“Or is it that you feel the need to reassure the ton that you are well. You do not present a very convincing picture. Sitting while everyone else stands, and leaning on your cane all the while.”

“What do you want, Meryon?”

He leaned closer and spoke more softly. “I want you to pay for your crimes.”

“What, man? Speak up.”

“I said that I want you to pay for your crimes.” He spoke in a stronger voice, stronger than necessary. Those closest stopped what they were doing to see what Bendas would say.

“It is called justice, Bendas. I doubt you even know the meaning of the word.” Meryon eyed the old man’s attendant. “Rogers, be sure he does not stay up too late.”