Mesalliance (3 page)

‘That’s what I
thought,’ responded Nell, cheerfully. ‘Cecily says he thinks
all
we Wynstantons are essentially frivolous. I told her
that, if he thinks that, he can’t have met Lucilla.’ She stopped
and sat rather still. ‘And, speaking of Lucilla … where are we
going?’

Withdrawing a
Sèvres snuff-box from his pocket, the Duke inspected it with gentle
admiration. ‘Where do you think?’

‘How should I
know? I didn’t think either Aunt Augusta or Lucilla would have me
again – but Lucilla is a great one for duty and you’re more than
capable of talking her round if you set your mind to it.’ She eyed
him forebodingly. ‘
Have
you set your mind to it?’

‘And if I
have?’

‘Then all I can
say is that it would do you a lot of good to be obliged to live
with her yourself for a week or two!’

‘I seem to
recall … er … living with her … for rather longer than that.’

‘Oh – when you
were young. That doesn’t count. And you avoid her like the plague
now – you know you do! Then, when you can’t, you smile that
obnoxious smile you keep for people who bore you and start
discussing snuff-boxes.’ The mulish look dissolved into a ripple of
laughter. ‘Yes, you abominable creature –
just
that smile.
Only I won’t be diverted, so you might as well confess. Where are
we going?’

His Grace
sighed. ‘London.’

Nell’s eyes
widened. ‘Rock! Do you mean it?’

‘With
reluctance, yes.’ He surveyed her with lurking amusement. ‘But
before you become carried away with the prospect of unbridled
gaiety, you had best accept the fact that I don’t intend you to
make your debut just yet.’

With a gesture
that set her dusky curls dancing, Nell shrugged this aside.

‘But I’ll be
able to get some clothes made – and you can have no idea how I long
for some pretty hats instead of these dreadful things.’ She gave
the inoffensive straw bonnet a savage poke. ‘I want you to take me
to the most exclusive milliners and modistes in London.’

‘And just
what,’ enquired her brother gently, ‘makes you suppose that I’m
likely to know which they are?’

‘Well, if half
what’s said of you is true, you must do.’

‘Indeed?’

‘Yes. Several
of the girls at school have older sisters and it seems you’re
generally held to be a charming but dangerous flirt,’ responded
Nell placidly and not without a note of satisfaction. ‘And Cecily
Garfield is convinced you’re a rake.’

‘Lewis says?’
asked the Duke, not noticeably perturbed.

‘Yes.’ She
examined him with an air of faintly nonplussed curiosity. ‘It seems
very odd to think of you having dozens of – of … well, you
know.’

‘It must do,’
he agreed, a vagrant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
‘But, much though it pains me to disillusion you, honesty compels
me to admit that the word ‘dozens’ is a slight exaggeration.’

Nell sat back,
plainly considering this.

‘Does that mean
you
don’t
know a good milliner?’

And, finally
admitting defeat, his Grace gave way to unwilling laughter. ‘No, it
doesn’t. Not at all.’

*

With an
equanimity that surprised him, Rockliffe not only escorted his
sister through the discreet portals of Madame Tissot’s expensive
hat-shop in Bond Street but also to the equally chic Maison Phanie,
London’s leading modiste. And when, with the exception of a scarlet
silk ball gown more suited to a courtesan, it became apparent that
Nell did not intend to weary him with demands for totally
unsuitable attire, he even found a certain pleasure in the
exercise.

It could not be
denied that she certainly paid for dressing and he was not
particularly surprised at the degree of attention she provoked when
he took her driving a few days later. The buttercup dimity carriage
dress showed off both her colouring and diminutive figure to
advantage and the natural straw with its cream roses and trailing
yellow ribbons sat saucily on her curly head. She looked, decided
the Duke resignedly, a pretty enough picture to turn any young
man’s head.

It was, of
course, too much to expect that Nell should be oblivious to the
admiration surrounding her but her reaction to it was less
predictable.

‘I suppose,’
she said thoughtfully, one evening as they were finishing dinner,
‘that, when you present me, it will be with the purpose of finding
me a husband.’

‘That is
certainly the usual result,’ agreed his Grace, warily. ‘Are you
against marriage?’

‘No. I just
wanted to warn you not to set your heart on a brilliant match for
me.’

Sudden laughter
lit his eyes.

‘My dear, I
wouldn’t presume! If you make one that is merely respectable, I
think that’s as much as we can reasonably hope for. Don’t you?’

‘No – I’m
serious, Rock. Lucilla is a Viscountess and Kitty’s husband is
related to all the best families and promises to be a Great Man
himself one day. And, since I can’t help knowing I’m not exactly
ugly, you could expect to do just as well for me.’

‘Possibly. But
let us not overlook the fact that Lucilla was … well-behaved … and
Kitty was generally held to be irresistible. However, we can rule
out Viscounts and the cream of the diplomatic service, if you
prefer.’ He rose languidly. ‘Is that all you wished to say on the
subject?’

‘No, it isn’t,’
said Nell flatly. ‘What I wished to say was that I won’t be
shuffled off into marriage just to suit everybody’s
convenience.’

‘Meaning
mine?’

‘Well – yes.’
She picked up her fork and began to draw patterns on the
table-cloth. ‘I realise that having to look after me disrupts your
life and makes things … difficult for you. But you can’t really
expect me to marry the first man who offers just to – to --’

‘But I don’t
expect it,’ said Rockliffe gently.

‘Oh. You
don’t?’ She looked up, searching his face. Apart from a trace of
unaccustomed grimness, it looked much as usual. ‘Really?’

He said, ‘No.
In fact, I would much prefer you
not
to do so. And neither
do I intend to steer you into the arms of some noble, wealthy or
influential gentleman for no better reason than that he is what the
world calls an eligible
parti
. In fact, unless you choose
someone completely unsuitable, you’ll probably find that I won’t
interfere with the matter at all.’

Nell’s mouth
quivered. ‘Oh,
Rock
!’

‘I know,’ he
smiled. ‘Quite the nicest of our horrid family.’

He was rewarded
with a husky laugh. Then she said slowly, ‘Actually you know – I
think
you
are the one who should be married. I don’t suppose
you’ve anyone in mind?’

‘No. Why? Did
you wish to make a suggestion?’

‘No-o. Not that
exactly. But I
do
think you ought to set about it fairly
soon. You must be nearly forty, after all.’

‘Thirty-six.
But I hope you won’t tell anyone.’

‘You’re being
flippant again. Don’t. Just admit that it’s high time you had a
wife. Someone pretty and charming and intelligent.’

‘You don’t
think,’ murmured Rockliffe, ‘that perhaps I’d better just settle
for one of those qualities? After all, when one is approaching
forty – with an habitually flippant manner and rakish propensities
– one shouldn’t expect too much.’

Nell grinned,
decided that it was entirely unnecessary to pander to his vanity
and said kindly, ‘Oh I don’t know. But it’s probably just as well
that you’re a Duke.’

*

At some time
between retiring to his bed that night and rising from it next
morning, his Grace lost at least an hour of sleep in a manner quite
foreign to him. It had never before occurred to him that his sister
might conceivably feel herself to be a nuisance but it did so now
and aroused a faint feeling of guilt. When their mother had died,
Nell had been thirteen and he thirty-two – a large enough margin,
it would seem, to enable him to care for her without indulging in
pass-the-parcel with Lucilla. Something, he decided wryly, as sleep
overcame him, would have to be done.

The letter lay
amongst others beside his plate on the breakfast table and, by the
time Nell put in an appearance, he had not only read it but also
drawn certain noble if vaguely depressing conclusions. He therefore
watched her heap her plate with scrambled egg and kidneys and then
said lightly, ‘Who – or what – is Dianthea? It sounds like a
stomach disorder.’

Nell deposited
her plate on the table to stretch out a hand for the sheet of pink
note-paper he was scrutinising dispassionately at arm’s length.

‘Di and Thea.
Diana and Althea – the Franklin twins. If that is for me, may I
have it please?’

‘With
pleasure.’ He passed it to her and dusted his fingers with his
napkin. ‘I have never liked Eau de Chypre … but one should always
be wary of making rash judgements. They may be charming girls.’

‘They are.’
Nell looked up, flushed and expectant. ‘They say their mama has
written to you.’

‘She has.’ He
picked up a second, closely-written sheet. ‘She asks – at some
length, you will notice – that I permit you to make one of the
small house party she holds each summer.’

‘I know. Di
promised me she would. What do you think?’

‘That my lady’s
literary style leaves a lot to be desired.’

Nell impaled a
kidney on her fork with unnecessary force.

‘Yes, yes – but
can I go? Di and Thea are my very dearest friends. They look almost
exactly alike, you know.’

Rockliffe’s
expression remained sceptical.

‘What perfume
do they use?’

‘Oh Rock – stop
being trivial!’

‘I am never
trivial. I am trying to establish a very vital point. Not for
anything will I commit myself to spending two weeks in a house
reeking of chypre.’ He paused and met her open-mouthed stare with
lifted brows. ‘If you intend to eat that shrivelled piece of offal,
I wish you would do so.’

Nell laid her
fork carefully back on her plate.

‘
You
won’t spend two weeks …?’

‘Ah. Did I
neglect to mention that I am invited as well?’

‘Yes. You
did.’

‘My lamentable
memory. Well?’

Nell swallowed.
‘Di uses gillyflower essence and Thea likes lavender. Can – do you
mean that I can go?’

‘I mean that I
am prepared to take you.’ He fixed her with a deceptively lazy
stare. ‘Omitting your dearest friends for a moment, what – briefly!
– do you know of their family?’

She grinned and
ticked off points, reciting.

‘One: that
their father is Roland Franklin, baronet, and their mother is
therefore Lady Miriam. Two: that they have two brothers – Andrew,
the elder and Tom, the younger. Three: that the household includes
her ladyship’s brother and an indigent female cousin of uncertain
age. Four: that the party will include other neighbouring families
and – ‘

‘Enough.’
Shuddering slightly, his Grace set down his cup and rose from the
table. ‘I see it all. Informal balls,
al fresco
luncheons,
playing cards for sixpenny points and endless, insipid
conversation. A nightmare.’

‘Don’t be so
superior. And there’s nothing insipid about Diana. She’s
ravishingly beautiful and you’ll probably fall hopelessly in love
with her.’

Rockliffe
looked down with saturnine mockery and gave her ample time to
regret this remark. Then he said sweetly, ‘Well, of course. I
thought that was why I’ve been asked.’

It was,
reflected Rockliffe as he moved easily with the motion of the
chaise, not entirely unpleasant to play the martyr for once. He was
deriving a certain amount of quiet amusement from Nell’s evident
appreciation of his sacrifice; and, if he had to pay for this with
a fortnight’s tedium … well, it was rapidly beginning to seem that
this might be preferable to the storm-clouds that were about to
burst over his life in London.

Although never
destined for operatic renown, Carlotta Felucci was possessed of an
outstanding degree of beauty and, at the start of their liaison,
her occasional bouts of Neapolitan temperament had been amusing.
But that had been seven months ago and, now that the novelty had
worn off, the only amusing thing about Carlotta was her undoubted
talent between the sheets. Unfortunately, this - unique as it was -
no longer outweighed her jealousy, her rapaciousness or her
tantrums. Had he been less lethargic of late, he would probably
have terminated their relationship several weeks ago. As it was, he
had simply allowed his visits to become less frequent and thus been
put in the inconceivable position of having Carlotta accost him on
the street while Nell was on his arm. The mere thought of it still
made him shudder and he had wasted no time in sending the lady a
sapphire bracelet and her
congé.
But he was glad he would be
out of range for a time. He abhorred scenes and Carlotta liked
throwing things.

He watched Nell
gazing eagerly through the window. Really, apart from escaping
unattended to buy some ribbons she’d previously forgotten she
needed, she had given no trouble and had even [if one were honest]
contrived to brighten an otherwise increasingly empty existence.
Perhaps Rosalind and the rest of them were right, he thought
unenthusiastically. Perhaps it
was
time he married. The
trouble was that, although it was not difficult to call to mind
some half-dozen young ladies who might suit Nell as a sister-in-law
and chaperone, it was impossible to think of even one with whom he
felt in the least inclined to share the rest of his life.

Sighing
faintly, he attempted to approach the problem logically. When you
were thirty-six years old and head of your house, it was probably
time to forget the foolish notion that had kept you single and
remember what you owed to your name. For if, in all this time, you
had not found what you sought, it was probably because it did not
exist. Therefore, it would be only sensible to choose between the
merits of the various alternatives available; and if Louisa
Rushton’s laugh was irritating or Mistress Grantham’s tongue only
capable of endorsing the opinions of others, they were at least
born of your world and generally held by it to be beautiful. They
and three or four others, all of whom you regarded with equal
indifference.