Noble Satyr: A Georgian Historical Romance (45 page)

“I hope Roxton is pleased to see us,”
whispered Estée nervous with anticipation. “He did tell you in his
letter it was urgent and that we make all speed and we are two
weeks late.”

“I don’t doubt he’ll be as mad as hell-fire,
my love,” replied Vallentine cheerfully, and let his wife go before
him across the passageway. “We are so overdue it don’t matter any
more, and he don’t care to be disobeyed. But he’ll want to see us.
I have that confounded will. And I didn’t go all the way to Rome to
search out some damme Italian lawyer to be turned away at Roxton’s
door! That would have been a wasted trip.”

“Wasted?” said Estée shrilly.

“Now, don’t you be gettin’ me wrong, lovedy.
Wasted only in the sense we could’ve travelled to St. Petersburg
for our honeymoon as go to Rome. We enjoyed Rome, didn’t we? And
Venice! Now there’s somewhere I’d like to return to one day.”

Lady Estée giggled behind her fan. “Don’t be
absurd, Lucian. Venice gave you dysentery.”

“Did it?” said his lordship unperturbed. “I
must be thinking of Florence. Or was it Milan? Damme if I can
remember one Italian city from t’other! Was the same when I went on
the Grand Tour with your brother.” He took in his surroundings with
interest. “This is more like it! Light and no covers! Been doing a
bit of redecorating too. A bit sparse on the furniture but it ain’t
bad just the same. Livable at least.”

Duvalier brought them up short at a door
attended by an alert footman. He turned and asked them to wait,
saying, “I will enquire if M’sieur le Duc is ready to receive you.”
He scratched on the door, and summonsed within, waved the footman
to turn the handle.

The Duke sat at breakfast alone. Duvalier
could not approve his master’s want of dress. The long black hair
fell unrestrained about the lean face, and a banyan of red flowered
silk was tied loosely over a white shirt that gaped at the throat.
The butler wondered what Ellicott thought of this new-found
laxness, amongst other matters.

The latest edition of a London newssheet was
spread across the table, a dish of coffee to one corner of the
page. The Duke slowly lifted his gaze, identified his butler, and
returned to scanning the printed page. His expression was as
inscrutable as ever; but his want of dress said everything.

“Unless my memory is failing, I do not
recall requesting your presence.”

“No, Monseigneur.”

“Did Madame la Duchesse ask for you?”

“No, Monseigneur.”

Roxton afforded his butler a second look, a
rare twinkle in his black eyes. “You thought, perhaps, to see if we
were still—er—alive?”

“No, M’sieur le Duc,” answered the butler
stoically.

“I saw the carriage. Whom won’t go
away?”

“It is M’sieur le Duc’s sister—”

“Indeed? Acquit me. When were Lord and Lady
Vallentine due to arrive?”

“The Vallentines are a fortnight overdue,
Monseigneur.”

The Duke lifted his eyebrows at this. “I
wasn’t aware—that is, the days…”

“Yes, M’sieur le Duc,” the butler answered
indulgently, a hint of a smile at his master’s awkwardness.

Roxton returned to his reading. “Admit them.
Have covers set and inform the cook.”

Duvalier was not given the opportunity to
formally announce the guests. Lord Vallentine, followed hot-foot by
his wife, strode into the room and pushed past the butler with hand
out-stretched. He had the broadest of smiles. “Roxton! Damme! It’s
good to see your insolent face!”

The Duke was out of his chair and had pulled
the banyan tighter about his shoulders. He met his sister across
the carpet and received her crushing embrace with a smile and a
kiss dropped on the top of her black curls. “The pleasure is all
mine,” he said and disentangled himself to hard grip his friend’s
hand. “You are both well after such a long journey. No tears, I beg
you, Estée,” he said gently.

“Jesus! But you’re looking mighty fine
yourself!” exclaimed his lordship. He ran a critical eye over his
friend’s appearance and whistled low. “What’s with the undress?
Don’t tell me you’ve just crawled out from under the covers at this
hour. I’ll not believe it! You?” He shook his head and laughed.
“Never known you to sleep late. It’s the country air, ain’t it. And
what’s with the loose locks? Tryin’ to put a younger man to shame,
eh? Damme if your hair don’t rival Estée’s!” He looked down at his
wife and winked. “Dear brother here ain’t himself. I think you and
I stayed away too long.”

Roxton pushed a hand through his hair and
for want of something to cover his self-consciousness, went to the
sideboard and peered under several of the domed-covered dishes.
“Have you breakfasted?” he asked. “I am told there are several
excellent courses. Devilled kidneys, potted venison, and I
think—yes—trout. We caught a score on the lake yesterday. Oh, and
there are of course hot rolls and coffee. Or would you prefer
chocolate, Estée?”

Lord Vallentine glanced suspiciously at his
wife but she was peering keenly at her brother. He scratched his
wig and addressed his brother-in-law in his customary blunt way.
“Not ill, are you, Roxton? Lord Strathsay wouldn’t say where you
were. Not that I think he had the foggiest notion. But there was a
rumor you’re recovering a bout of influenza—Influenza! You’ve never
been ill a day in your life!” He put up his quizzing-glass. “If you
don’t mind me saying so, you’re acting mighty strange. We’ve been
gone months, not years, and I’ve stayed under your roof enough
times to know you don’t eat more than a roll for breakfast.
Speaking for m’self, that’s not what I consider a gentleman’s
portion, but you’re not one to change a life-long habit. Never
will! Estée, do you think your brother is looking slightly flushed?
Don’t tell me some plaguey physician recommended—”

“Do be quiet, Lucian!” snapped his wife. She
put a hand on her brother’s sleeve. “Something—something has
happened. What is it, Roxton?” she asked softly.

“Don’t need to ask the man what’s obvious!”
blustered his lordship. “Eh? What—what the—who’s that?”

The Duke smiled and blushed in spite of
himself. “Can’t you guess?”

“Eh? Who?” asked Vallentine in mystified
accents and turned puzzled eyes on his wife.

“Lucian! Sometimes I cannot believe you’re
as dull-witted as you pretend! Don’t be a blockhead. You know very
well who it is! You do!” She squeezed her brother’s hand. “You
didn’t wait for us. That offends me. But me, I understand
completely. I—we—are so very happy for you.”

The Duke kissed her hand. “Thank you, my
dear.”

“You’ve gone and married the chit without
us!” his lordship declared in amazement. “Of all the tricks to
serve! Couldn’t wait another day longer! Just had to up and do it
just like that! Well! Well! That explains it all. No wonder you’re
lookin—”

“
Lucian
,” said Estée in an
under-voice of fury and embarrassment. “If—you—please.”

“Er, yes. Forgetting m’self,” mumbled his
lordship sheepishly and kicked the carpet with the toe of his shoe.
“Damned awful tongue I’ve got, Roxton. Must wish you happy,” he
said and clasped the Duke’s hand again. “And we are happy for you!
Damned happy! Time you settled down and started your nursery. At
your age—”

“Lucian!” whispered his wife angrily. She
tugged at his sleeve. “Dysentery wasn’t the only malady you came
down with in Venice.”

“It was your decision to marry him,” said
Roxton and offered his friend snuff. “Careful, my dear. My mix
might be too strong for your senile nostrils.”

Lord Vallentine shrugged in resignation and
gave the Duke back his gold box. “It ain’t madness,” he said, “it’s
marriage that’s done it to me.”

Lady Estée gasped. “Of all the cruel
remarks!” And then she laughed.

Vallentine executed her a splendid bow. “I
am yours to command, Madame! So,” he said to the Duke, “when do we
get to see the minx—Madame la Duchesse?”

Estée sighed. “It has been an age since I’ve
seen her. We were all so sad to see her leave Paris, were we
not?”

“You, my love, were in floods for weeks,”
agreed his lordship. “I’ve missed her. Can’t say when I’ve missed
verbal abuse so much. A good deal has happened since Paris. I hope
she hasn’t changed.”

“Not the least little bit, my dear,” the
Duke responded and turned to the bedchamber at the sound of his
wife’s voice.

“Renard?” called Antonia. “I am very sorry
to keep you waiting. It is in such unbelievable chaos the dressing
room. All is a jumble! I tell you I will be glad when the workmen
put everything to rights. But I did manage to bathe without
dripping water from the bathing room to the dressing room, unlike
the last time. But as you were just as wet and chasing me upon that
occasion I feel it was not entirely my fault.”

She chuckled as she came through the
doorway, head to one side, concentrating on affixing the small
pearl buttons at her wrist. She was dressed in a morning sacque of
delicate silk embroidered with sprays of bright flowers and vines,
and wore matching slippers. Her hair was brushed but left
undressed, tied loosely halfway down her back with a silk
riband.

“I do not know what we are doing today,” she
said. “So I told Gabrielle, do not lay out anything until we
decide. I should like to stay undressed in this way all day! I have
become used to going without those horrid corsets and hoops and—”
She looked up with a mischievous smile. “
Bon Dieu
,” she
stammered and blushed. “Vallentine and-and—Madame!”

Roxton went to meet his wife and led her
further into the room. “I don’t blame you for thinking them an
apparition,
mignonne
,” he said dryly. “We expected them half
a lifetime ago, did we not? Estée, my lord, I wish to make you
known to my wife—Madame la Duchesse de Roxton.”

“Did you think we would never come, little
one?” said Estée, who was the first to go forward. She embraced her
new sister with tears in her blue eyes. “You have made my brother
very happy, child. I can see it in his eyes!” she whispered in
Antonia’s ear and kissed both her cheeks, saying in her other ear,
“When you left us for England I knew then that this could be the
only outcome. We-we are so very happy for you both!”

“Thank you, Madame,” Antonia murmured shyly.
“I cannot explain how I feel. But you must know how-how wonderful
it is to be a married lady. It is bon, yes?”

“You can whisper all you want to the chit
later!” said Vallentine impatiently. He grinned at the Duke.
“Females!” He pushed past his wife to unceremoniously sweep Antonia
off her feet in a crushing embrace. “It’s good to see you again,
minx! We missed you and Roxton while we were away. Too damned much
I can tell you!” He put her back on her feet and turned to his
friend, an arm still about Antonia’s waist. “If you hadn’t married
her I’d have had you clapped up! You’re the luckiest of men,
Roxton, and I’ll wager you don’t realize the half of it!”

“My dear Vallentine, I assure you, I most
certainly do,” Roxton drawled.

Antonia recovered enough of her composure to
say haughtily, “Monseigneur, now I am a duchess it is not right of
Vallentine to call me chit and minx, and to pick me up in the air
so.”

“Quite irregular,” said Roxton and took her
back in his arms. “Travel has made his lordship lax. He forgets the
manners of a gentleman. A duchess demands the highest regard.”

“Aye? I didn’t mean—You can’t think I—Well,
it’s just that—”

“Oh, Vallentine!” laughed Antonia and looked
up at the Duke. “He has not changed in the least! He still looks
like a great John Dory fish!”

“I will ignore that comment, your Grace,”
said his lordship with a sniff and went to the sideboard to peer
under the covers. “I’m famished! Let’s eat!”

“Yes,” said Antonia at his side. “Marriage
gives me an appetite, too.”

His lordship’s plate fell with a clatter to
the floor and he gaped at Antonia.

“Did I say something terribly wrong,
Renard?”

“Nothing your brother-in-law should not
expect to hear from your sweet mouth,
mignonne
.”

“Good.” She handed Lord Vallentine a fresh
plate with a smile. “I am quite an outrageous duchess, I
think.”

“Outrageous! Jesus! That’s a fit
description! It won’t do. Won’t do at all to be so-so outrageous
once Roxton takes you into society,” lectured his lordship. “It is
all very well to be a bundle of mischief as Mademoiselle Moran, but
now Roxton has made you his duchess you will have to conduct
yourself with a modicum of—”

Antonia gave a sigh. “Poor Vallentine.” She
filled half her plate and sat at the table on the Duke’s right. “I
fear marriage has turned him old in the head, Renard.”

“Old?” spluttered his lordship and straddled
a chair opposite the Duchess. “Did you hear what the chit—what the
chit—Did you hear that, Estée?”