Elisabeth Kidd (16 page)

“What for?”

“To take you to the Piazza for dinner, and then to Drury Lane—there is a performance of
Macbeth
tonight.”

“When am I to study my lines, then?”

“Go home and do so now. You have several hours yet before you must dress. Wear yellow, please.
Au revoir
.’’

D’Arcy bowed low to Sydney, smiled seigneurially at Daisy, and sauntered off.

Sydney, glaring after him, was torn between anger at his high-handed treatment of her—did he imagine she had nothing else to do but devote herself to his autocratic whims?—and her eagerness to take this first opportunity to come her way of seeing Mr. Kean act at Drury Lane. She had read much of this insignificant-looking and ungraceful performer who infused Shakespeare’s poetry with an astonishing passion since his debut five years before, and she looked forward to seeing—and learning from—the actor who was already being called the greatest of his age.

Sydney decided that for the sake of this golden opportunity—and perhaps even the possibility of seeing Kean again later as Iago, his most famous role—she would overlook D’Arcy’s cavalier dismissal of her previous commitments. She did, however, convince him that Janine Forsythe and Carl Wendt would have to be invited to join them, for to dine in a public place by themselves would occasion more scandal than even D’Arcy would find tolerable—or advantageous.

Thus, for the next week the Ton buzzed with the news that Pemberly’s heir and Lyle’s ward were to be seen everywhere together—even walking in Green Park early in the morning, some said, but this was generally discounted as too bizarre a practice even for Lord D’Arcy. When they danced together at Almack’s, everyone remarked at what a graceful pair they were—and how well suited in looks, each enhancing the other’s. When they drove out in Hyde Park at the fashionable hour, they were observed to be deep in animated speech, but those who came near enough to overhear said D’Arcy was only spouting poetry as usual. Prudence Whitlatch made certain now that she was present when Lord D’Arcy called in Grosvenor Square, but as he invariably did this when other people were also present and sat for no longer than a punctilious quarter of an hour in a corner saying nothing—only gazing soulfully out of those beautiful eyes at Sydney—Prue had little opportunity to ascertain precisely what his intentions towards her charge might be.

Sydney herself was a little perplexed. She knew now that her first meeting with Lord D’Arcy had been a kind of audition, at which he had determined her—by reason of what he thought her artful handling of Edward Kingsley—to be worthy of his notice. She understood also that she was being permitted to take part in his
Tempest
only because he did not think she would spoil the effect of his own performance—which after being exposed to it, Sydney was inclined to think a little on the histrionic side. But because D’Arcy possessed a fine speaking voice and did full justice to the poetry, even as he took considerable liberties with those parts of the play in which Prospero did not appear, she did not venture to criticize him.

When they were not rehearsing their lines or discussing the details of the production, D’Arcy paid Sydney all the attention she could have wished—sending her bouquets of white roses every day, standing up with her for at least two dances at every ball they both attended, and earnestly discussing
Don Giovanni
with her between the acts at Covent Garden instead of making assignations with those ladies who sent him longing glances from their own boxes, or even escaping to blow a cloud in the fresh air outside the theatre, as other young gentlemen did. She wondered if this too was a part of his performance—he seemed always to be acting a part—but if it was, it was certainly a very convincing one.

All that Sydney could be certain of was that, however carefully Cedric studied her behaviour, and whatever unsubtle hints Prudence and Sylvie de Lamartine dropped in her ear, she was not in love with Lord D’Arcy. She felt a certain aesthetic satisfaction, not unlike his own, in being seen with him, and it was pleasant to be able to talk of books and poems and plays with someone who did not think her eccentric or a bluestocking for her enthusiasms. Besides, she knew herself to be in even better looks these days, thanks to both Lord D’Arcy’s advice and his compliments.

Sydney concluded, not very regretfully, that she was simply not the sort of female who fell violently in love with anyone—for such a woman must surely have succumbed instantly to the glamorous Lord D’Arcy. Susan Whitlatch gazed at him more longingly than she ever had at Cedric Maitland, and even Janet Adderley was to be seen fluttering her lashes coyly in his direction. Sydney, on the other hand, viewed him solely as a means to an end. Somewhat less cold-heartedly, she confided to her journal that it was just as well she was on her way to her artistic goal, for it did not appear that her unnatural indifference, not just to D’Arcy but to all the eligible young men she had met, would ever lead her to the goal expected of her by everyone else—an advantageous marriage.

While Sir Gavin Thiers modestly disclaimed any responsibility for the fine weather that greeted his guests when they arose on the morning of his Richmond fête, he otherwise went to a great deal of effort to provide for their refreshment and entertainment.

Sydney and the three Whitlatches traveled out from Town in their carriage, followed by another containing Janine Forsythe and her mother, Cedric Maitland, and—at Cedric’s casually dropped suggestion, to which Mrs. de Lamartine was loathe to object—Carl Wendt. Completing this procession was yet another coach containing the ladies’ maids and evening clothes, and—secreted at the bottom of a large, securely-fastened bandbox—Ariel’s costume.

When the party arrived at Sir Gavin’s stately brick home, which boasted a gracefully sloping lawn, several magnificent pines scattered about it, and an ornamental water close to the gates of the Park, they were shown immediately to one of the bedrooms to refresh themselves before joining the activities already in progress in and out of doors.

Lady Thiers, a fragile-looking but still lovely woman with a soft voice and her son’s merry brown eyes, came up to bid them welcome and told them they might choose from croquet and archery on the lawn, riding in the adjacent Park, walking wherever their fancy took them, and reading, cards, or any other pastime they might care to pursue within the house. A nuncheon would be served at noon, and dinner at six, after which musicians would serenade them before the start of Lord D’Arcy’s new version of
The Tempest
, to be performed at dusk. (Lady Thiers said with twinkling eyes that this prodigious event would doubtless amaze all his lordship’s friends and confound his enemies.) There would then be fireworks to conclude the festivities.

In spite of Lord D’Arcy’s efforts to publicize “his play,” when Sydney went downstairs ten minutes later, Lizzy, Janet, and several other of her friends hurried up to her to ask if she knew anything about it.

“Yes, a little—but I must not give anything away. Lord D’Arcy likes to be mysterious, as you know.’’

“Oh, but how perfectly thrilling!” Janet exclaimed, clapping her hands together so that her new chip-straw bonnet tilted a little farther to the side. “Can you not give us a little hint, Miss Archer?”

“Who is to perform in it?” Sarah asked.

“Mostly Lord D’Arcy,” Sydney said, making them all laugh. She then turned the conversation in another direction, which was not difficult to do, since all the ladies had new clothes to discuss and exclaim over. Sydney, on D’Arcy’s advice not to try to o’erstep nature, was dressed simply in white, with a blond-lace border on her skirt and a matching lace fichu over her shoulders. It was an ensemble not designed to elicit impassioned comment, as did, for example, Lizzy Daniels’s saffron-coloured craped muslin with ruffled sleeves and yellow morocco sandals to match—but when the ladies, arm in arm, walked out onto the grass, it was Sydney who drew masculine admiration, and some curious feminine glances, to her.

Since Lord D’Arcy had declared his intention not to betray their secret by dancing attendance on Sydney during the day and had therefore not yet made his entrance on the scene, it was Cedric Maitland who approached her first, and complimented her on her high good looks.

Sydney was tempted to tell him how amazed he would be at her appearance later in the day, but although her eyes sparkled mischievously, she only thanked him with becoming modesty for his kind words.

“Are you going to be good today, Sydney?” Cedric asked, mistrusting the sparkle.

“Exceptional!’’ Sydney replied, still thinking ahead.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.’’

“Why, Cedric!” Sydney exclaimed, taking his arm to be escorted across the lawn to where several young people were setting up a game of croquet. “Have I not behaved very ladylike for weeks now?”

“Yes, you have. That’s why I can’t help thinking there’s something brewing, and you’re just being sly about it. Speaking of which—I haven’t seen D’Arcy yet. What’s all this about Shakespeare under the stars—he ain’t going to make everybody watch, is he? I remember the last time he read his poetry at some party, he buttonholed everybody afterwards to ask them what they thought of it. Wanted to be sure we was all listening.”

“I think you’d better listen to him this time, Cedric,” Sydney advised, the sparkle in her eyes becoming even more pronounced.

At that moment, Cedric was prevented from investigating his apprehensions about Lord D’Arcy’s doubtful project by Robin Wendt’s calling out to Sydney from the croquet pitch, “Syd! Come join our side. We need you!’’

Cedric grinned, forgetting his suspicions for the moment. “Another of your many accomplishments, Miss Archer?’’

“One of those at which I perform only tolerably well, Mr. Maitland.”

Sydney curtseyed pertly to Cedric, who bowed in return. She then joined her cousins and Janine Forsythe, who were playing against Edward Kingsley, Janet Adderley, and the Whitlatches—an unfair match all around, thought Cedric, who paused to watch for a moment Edward’s efforts to instruct Miss Adderley in the proper way to grip her mallet, and Dolph’s less subtle admonitions to his sister not to kick the wicket over. Robin cheerfully ordered everyone about, and was cheerfully ignored for his pains, until Sydney said, “of course, Robin, whatever you say,” and everyone magically fell into place to begin the game.

Feeling it was temporarily safe to leave his charge to her own devices, Cedric then wandered off towards the edge of the Park, where he found Sarah Thiers feeding the deer. They came to her like old friends, and Cedric thought they made a very pretty picture.

Thus the afternoon passed quickly in amusements ranging from the sedate (Lady Thiers and Prudence Whitlatch walking among the azaleas) to the madcap (Sydney and Robin’s vociferous archery match in which both their shafts went wide enough of the target to pose a positive threat to the other guests, the deer having by then fled to safer ground).

Lord D’Arcy arrived just before noon, dressed—quite undesignedly this time—all in white, and seated himself on a round rustic bench beneath a pine tree, where he fastidiously nibbled at paper-thin slices of spiced ham, cold white asparagus spears, and whatever other delicacies the admiring ladies of his court thought to tempt him with. Sydney did not join this throng, she and his lordship having laid their plans with great care the day before and being therefore in no necessity to confer with each other further.

Lady Romney also made an appearance, emerging from the woods—Sydney thought when she caught sight of her—rather like Mr. Kean’s Birnam Wood coming down to Dunsinane. She was accompanied by two gentlemen, was elegantly dressed in dark blue and pearls, and unhappily passed too near to Sydney to be politely disregarded.

“How do you do, Lady Romney,” Sydney said, bobbing a curtsey and hiding her bow behind her skirt as best she could.

“Miss Archer—how delightful to meet you again.” Lady Romney smiled regally and gazed into the air off Sydney’s right ear. “May I present Mr. Standen and Mr. Lacey?”

The gentlemen bowed. Mr. Standen, a tall, distinguished-looking gentleman, kept Lady Romney’s arm in his as he enquired languidly after Miss Archer’s health and welfare—subjects in which Sydney could not help thinking he could have no interest whatever, but of which Lady Romney must be making careful mental note. The rotund, jolly-faced Mr. Lacey, on the other hand, smiled cheerily at her and seemed inclined to linger and chat, but when Lady Romney and Mr. Standen turned to go, he was obliged to trot off after them.

“You appear to be enjoying yourself immensely, Miss Archer, so we shall not detain you,” Lady Romney said graciously. “I shall certainly tell your guardian how well you are getting on when I see him next week.’’

Sydney frowned after her, and then, handing her bow to Robin, announced that she had had enough archery practice and was going inside to comb her hair.

Lady Romney might well have wondered at the lack of enthusiasm displayed upon her arrival—had she been at all conscious of it—when her brother next greeted her with, “What are you doing here, Nessie—and with that man-milliner Standen hanging about you?”

Mr. Standen was fortunately some distance away at this moment and did not hear. “I’m pleased to see you, too, Cedric dear,’’ Vanessa said with the derisory tone she reserved for familial occasions. “As it happens, however, James and Wilfred and I were all invited by Lady Thiers. Do not suppose us to be trespassing only because you cannot be civil.’’

“Sorry, I’m sure,” Cedric apologized unconvincingly, and added bluntly, “but do stay away from Miss Archer, would you? You do rather make her uncomfortable, you know.”

“Why, Cedric! Are you among the throngs of her defenders also? But never fear. I would not dream of spoiling Miss Archer’s fun—or to tear her away from her admirers.’’

With that, Lady Romney moved gracefully back to Mr. Standen’s side, a slight but satisfied smile on her lovely lips.

Except for these minor vexations, however, the day passed happily even for Sydney until by the time dinner was announced, all the guests professed themselves exhausted and more than ready to sit down and be waited upon. Dinner was served in the Thiers’s glass-enclosed summer room, and consisted of numerous courses, ranging from soup à la Reine to broiled chicken with fresh herbs to a particularly delectable trifle.