The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (4 page)

“Be reasonable, Gervaise.” There was a distinct note of pleading in the gentler voice. “I know you think I could not—not help, but I could. Really I could! Only last w-week you said my fencing was much improved, and—”

“And would to heaven I'd never tried to teach you! I should have had more sense. I'd not have mouthed such fustian had I dreamt 'twould give you such an exaggerated notion of your skill!”

“I have no such no-notions. Lord knows I shall never be as good as you are, but you cannot possibly carry this off without help, and—”

“And
you
are to be my help?” A jeering laugh rang out. “I wish I may see it! Heaven aid me! I would surely be doomed!”

“Faith!” exclaimed Elspeth indignantly. “What a prodigious, unkind person!”

Her remark had been overheard. Hoofbeats sounded and two young men rode from behind the shrubs. In the lead was a tall, well-built man of about thirty, mounted on a magnificent black horse. His features were so clean-cut that despite his obvious arrogance he could only be judged exceptionally handsome. He was clad in a well-tailored dark-blue riding habit, and a gold-laced tricorne was set at a jaunty angle on his thick, dark-brown hair.

The second horseman, at least a decade younger, was a good-looking youth of sufficiently similar colouring and features to suggest that a relationship existed between them, though his manner was shy and he lacked the air of assurance possessed by his companion.

Skye stood as the two riders reined up and said politely, “Good day, Valerian.”

The first man nodded and raised his tricorne. “Servant.” A scornful glance from a fine pair of darkly lashed grey eyes was slanted at Elspeth. “I trust our small—disagreement did not disturb your—ah, friend.”

His manner clearly implied both that they had been eavesdropping and that they were conducting an improper tryst.

Skye began, “Ma'am, may I present—”

Elspeth interrupted coldly, “As a matter of fact, it did disturb me, sir. We were trying to conduct a civilized conversation and for a moment I feared you—ah, gentlemen were about to come to cuffs.”

Her sarcasm caused one of his dark brows to fly up. He bowed and said in a bored drawl, “My profound apologies, ma'am. Are you prone to unwarranted fears? Perhaps you are not accustomed to the City.”

Clearly, this nasty creature fancied her to be a country bumpkin! Flushed with resentment, Elspeth prepared to take up the gauntlet and give him a splendid set-down, but the opportunity was denied her.

Valerian laughed suddenly. “Though the lady was not so far wrong, eh, Herbert? Come, we must be on our way lest we cause her to fly into hysterics. Charming to have met you, Skye. Ma'am.”

A wave of his tricorne, a glimpse of his friend's scarlet and embarrassed countenance, and they were gone.

“We-ell!” gasped Elspeth. “Who was that revolting rudesby?”

Amused, Skye answered, “His name is Gervaise Valerian, and he's not known for tact and diplomacy, though I'll admit I've never heard of his insulting a lady.”

“He evidently thought we were listening to his quarrel, as though one could avoid it when he shouted so. How sorry I am for his friend. Mr. Valerian spoke to him as though he were beneath contempt when it was perfectly obvious the poor young man was merely offering his help!”

“I have not his acquaintance, though I've seen him now and then about Town. As I recall, his name is Turner, and they're related in some way, though they're not much alike, do you think?”

“Certainly not! Mr. Turner is a gentleman. Valerian is nothing more than a conceited Dandy!”

With a grin for her vehemence, Skye said, “A very popular Dandy, m'dear. Half of London's ladies are said to pine for him, and you have to admit he's a handsome fellow.”

“If one admires the type, I suppose. But if there are two traits I despise they are arrogance and dandyism, and since he possesses both you may be sure I shall join the ranks of the ladies who do
not
pine for the unkind creature!”

“Then I can but be glad of it. Now tell me what Vance has been about that has you in the boughs.”

Elspeth dismissed Gervaise Valerian from her mind, and very soon she had convinced Skye that her worries were no more than the understandable apprehensions of a doting sister.

2

When they returned to the house on South Audley Street, Elspeth said her farewells to Joel Skye and parted from him in the entrance hall. Her mind was beset by the need to formulate some plan to help her brother, and now that her hopes to enlist Skye's aid must be abandoned, she climbed the stairs while mentally compiling a list of gentlemen who might offer their help—if properly approached. She was so engrossed in her list, which was sadly short, that she failed to hear her godmother calling to her and was startled by a loud rapping on the wall. Turning, she saw Madame Martha waving to her from the foot of the stairs.

“Your pardon, ma'am,” she said, hurrying down to join the lady. “I fear I was wool-gathering.”

“Indeed you were,” said Madame indulgently. “Thinking of that handsome young officer, I do not doubt! I hope your ride was enjoyable. You have just missed some relations who came to call. Never look so betwattled, child. You certainly have relations. Most people do. I suppose if truth be told, everybody does, for just being born gives one parents, at least.”

“I do have relations, of course, Godmama, but none living in London at present. Unless—Oh! Has my Aunt Hortense come up to Town, then? I had thought she was to stay in Wales with Mama.”

“As she is doing, of course, for it is her home. Though why your mama would choose to go so far away to live with Hortense after your poor father went to his reward quite baffles me. Now what was I saying? Oh, yes. Your Uncle, Sir Brian Beech, and his son, Conrad, came to call on you. Such a distinguished pair, though I was surprised, as I had quite forgot your mama had a brother. Half-brother he is, actually, is that not so? But of most insinuating address, for all that.”

Astonished, Elspeth said, “Small wonder you were surprised. We've heard nothing of them for years. I remember Conrad as a spiteful—that is to say as a mischievous boy who used to tease Vance and enjoyed to pull my hair. I fancy he must be—oh, about five and twenty by now. Mama had thought they might come to my father's funeral, but we heard they were living abroad. Did they leave word for me, Godmama?”

“Yes indeed, and spoke of you most highly. They are eager to see you again. Happily, they are both invited to the Bottesdale party tonight so—Good gracious! Never say you had forgot? My brother is to be our escort and you know how starchy Sir Mortimer is about punctuality. He never used to be, I recall. It seemed to come with the title … Never mind. Do hurry and change your dress, my love. We don't want to start off the evening with a fuss. I fancy the dowager will attend. You will like to meet her. Lady Elmira is a shocking tease and speaks her mind when she had better not, but a kinder individual you could never wish to meet, and 'tis good for you to widen your acquaintance with people of Quality.”

Elspeth responded appropriately, while thinking that the people she wished to meet were fighting men rather than aristocrats. In her room she listened absently to her maid's chatter and paid little attention to her appearance, noting that her hair was swept up and powdered and an evening gown of pale-green sarsenet trimmed with silver ribbon was fastened over her wide hoops. She selected emerald drop earrings and an emerald pendant, took up her fan and gloves and went downstairs worrying over how her beloved brother was being treated at this moment, and whether Nicholas had managed to hire a boat.

Madame Colbert clapped her hands and declared that her godchild looked delicious and would win hearts tonight. Her brother, Sir Mortimer Hallbridge, arrived in a splendid coach and four. He was a big, raw-boned man who grumbled that although he was willing enough to escort two lovely ladies, he was always more comfortable at his country seat than in Town. As taciturn as his sister was garrulous, he contributed little to the conversation. Madame was not at all offended by his demeanour. She chattered merrily during the carriage drive, attributing Elspeth's rather subdued responses to excitement at the prospect of the evening's entertainment.

About twenty couples had been invited to a dinner party with more guests to arrive later for dancing and cards. The mansion was large and luxurious. The hostess, Lady Ruby Bottesdale, slender, poised, and gracious, was clad in an exquisitely embroidered silver blue gown, the skirts spread over the wide flattened French panniers that were becoming so popular. She held her head regally; perhaps necessarily, Madame Martha later whispered, “Because the elaborate styling of all those hair pieces must have kept her in the powder closet with her hairdresser for hours!”

Lord Bottesdale, whom Elspeth guessed to be at least a decade his wife's senior, was tall and slightly stooped, and so sleepy-looking that she thought it would be remarkable if he stayed awake through dinner. He had charming manners, however, and before bearing Sir Mortimer off to meet a friend, he exclaimed over the beauty of Miss Clayton, who was, he declared kindly, a delightful addition to the
ton
and would become a toast in no time.

The guests were assembled in a beige-and-gold saloon brilliantly lit by a large central chandelier and many candelabra. Madame Colbert shepherded her goddaughter among richly gowned ladies and dashing gentlemen. Some were already known to Elspeth but many she had not met, and although the gentlemen were uniformly admiring, a few of the ladies were so proud that she felt properly snubbed.

She was watching her godmother chat animatedly with a thin matron who said not a word in response and whose face seemed frozen into a perpetual sneer, when a male voice exclaimed, “Can I believe it? Surely, dear lady, you cannot possibly be my little niece?”

Elspeth turned to face two gentlemen whom she would scarcely have recognized but who smiled at her warmly. Sir Brian Beech's coat and waistcoat were works of art but could not conceal the fact that he had become rather stout during the fourteen years since last she had seen him. His round face was thickly painted and rouged, a pearl glowed in one ear, a lacy handkerchief fluttered from one hand, a snuff-box was held in the other, and he minced along in jewelled shoes with high red heels. Elspeth thought an instinctive, ‘Faith! We've a Dandy in the family!' His son Conrad, whom she remembered as a fat and untidy boy who delighted in practical jokes, had metamorphosed into a tall, slim gentleman, his good looks enhanced by garments of excellent cut and the latest fashion. Tonight they both wore powdered wigs and jewels sparkled in Conrad's pleated stock and the foaming laces of his father's cravat. Besides the heavily scented handkerchief that Sir Brian wafted about, they exuded an air of polite affluence and nothing marred their grace as they bowed over Elspeth's hand.

Sir Brian was overjoyed by their meeting, and as Madame Colbert joined them, he lost no time in begging permission to call on her the following day. “Since 'twould be most improper for me to monopolize my dear niece this evening,” he said, adding lightly that he was very sure all the unattached gentlemen in the room were eager to make the acquaintance of so lovely a young lady.

Conrad said in a deep, well-modulated voice that perhaps they were speaking out of turn. “My cousin may be well acquainted with the company, sir.” One eyebrow lifted enquiringly and he went on, “And is likely already betrothed.”

“Not possible, my son,” argued Sir Brian firmly. “A gentleman who won so fair a flower would be foolish in the extreme did he allow her to go into society without he was by her side.”

Madame gave a ripple of laughter, and Elspeth, amused by such flattery, admitted that her uncle was correct in that she was not betrothed. Confirming that fact, Madame invited Sir Brian and his son to take tea with them the following day, and she swept Elspeth off to be presented to the rest of the company.

The Dowager Lady Elmira Bottesdale was indeed present. She was a stout little lady, wearing a magnificent diamond tiara atop her powdered wig, and having a pair of snapping dark eyes and little resemblance to her sleepy son. She was gracious to Elspeth but startled her by asking suddenly if she was well acquainted with Sir Brian and Conrad Beech.

“Sir Brian is my mother's half-brother, ma'am,” evaded Elspeth.

The dowager nodded and said with a smile, “Which does not answer my question, does it, child? But then I understand he has been living in Europe for some years and returned to these shores only recently. One cannot but wonder what has brought him back … And indeed what led him to abandon England in the first place. Were I you, my dear, I would be
consumed
with curiosity.”

At this point Lady Elmira's attention was claimed by her daughter-in-law and four new arrivals. Moving on with her godmother, Elspeth murmured behind her fan, “What a very remarkable old lady!”

“Just so,” answered Madame Martha. “With a shrewd mind and, if rumour speaks true, more intrigues than can be attributed to that French baggage who rules the Court of Versailles.”

Reminded of her beloved brother, Elspeth suffered a pang and sent up a silent prayer for his survival.

At dinner she was seated between an elderly and rather boring diplomatist who was subject to sudden sneezing attacks, and a pompous naval commodore who spoke of the East India Company as though it were his personal property. He allowed Elspeth little chance for comment, but when she mentioned that she was acquainted with Lieutenant Joel Skye, he uttered a short bark of laughter and said contemptuously, “His sun has set! Small doubt of that! Attached himself to the wrong coat-tail!”

Annoyed, Elspeth stiffened, but before she could comment the diplomatist leant forward and enquired in his high-pitched voice, “And how does
your
son prosper, Commodore? I understand he has ambitions to replace young Skye. Has he found an appropriate, ah—coat-tail?”