Chapter 17 #2
When it was time to leave Eleanor Delaney drew Beth in for a warm hug.
“I’m glad you came. You must come again.
It isn’t normally quite so chaotic. Everyone is gathering in Town hoping to hear first news of the battle.
Peter has a brother with the 42nd, and there’s four of the Company over there.
For some reason,” she said with a smile, “they all gather here.”
“It’s … it’s a very happy house.”
“Yes,” said Eleanor “it is. But it’s happiness that’s been worked for.”
That was all she said and yet it was a message of sorts.
When the ladies left the room, Nicholas Delaney said, “Your attention, gentleman.” The six men turned to look at him.
“Eleanor doesn’t much care for talk of Deveril. Doesn’t much care for me to be dabbling my fingers in mischief again, but we can’t let such a man get away with anything.”
There was a chorus of quiet agreement.
“I’ve looked into the situation. It’s clear he has a lot more money this year than last. I have to assume that he somehow relieved Thérèse Bellaire of most of her swindled fortune, which warms my heart, but I can’t say I care to see him prosper.
For one thing, he’s the sort of man who’ll use money for evil. ”
“How are we going to get it off him?” asked the pianist, Lord Middlethorpe.
“I don’t know, Francis. As far as I can tell he’s not keeping it in any bank, nor has he made investments. My guess is he has it in gold in chests in his house.”
Hal Beaumont grinned. “We’re going to crack the ken?”
Nicholas Delaney frowned. “We are not. We are all respectable men here and besides, we have a member of parliament present.”
The fine-boned blond turned back to his papers. “I’m deaf as a post,” he said.
“So?” asked Hal.
“So,” said Nicholas, “the first thing Deveril did on returning to England was to hire a squad of bullyboys. They guard him and the house pretty well. It’s tempting to break in and steal the lot, but it would suit him to catch me in the act and haul me before the courts.
I’m looking for a more subtle way to rearrange his fortune. ”
“I hear rumors,” said Lord Middlethorpe, “that he’s looking to use some of his money to buy a bride.”
“All the more reason,” said Nicholas Delaney, “to render him penniless. His tastes are too foul for even the street drabs of Saint Giles.”
Stephen Ball, M.P., recovered the use of his ears. “He was implicated in the death of that girl a few months back. Body was found in the river. She’d been badly used. Just up from the country, as fresh and innocent as a lamb. Nothing ever came of the enquiries, though. No real evidence.”
“Or carefully used money,” said Lucien angrily. “God but the man’s a nasty specimen.”
“We’ll sort him out,” said Nicholas. “There’s no hurry.”
He wound up the soldier. With a whir the grenadier began to march, head turning first left then right. Everyone let out a cheer. Then, with a loud and ominous twang, the toy stopped dead.
Nicholas picked it up. “I hope that isn’t an omen,” he said.
Beth found that as soon as they returned to Belcraven House she was expected to drive in the park with the duchess. She had done this a few times before her marriage. It was, apparently, essential to see and be seen again now she was the marchioness.
Only she and the duchess were in the carriage which rolled slowly through the fashionable throng, and this was generally the case.
The gentlemen rode, drove themselves in curricles and broughams, or strolled nearby, quizzing the beauties.
The Belcraven carriage was frequently stopped for pleasant exchanges, and Beth recognized some of the people from the days before her wedding.
She was warmly welcomed back to Town. She was beginning to feel just a little less of an outsider, and she couldn’t help but realize that as the Marchioness of Arden she was now a person of importance.
She wished she felt it. She knew she would be happier with the simple, chaotic lifestyle of the Delaneys.
“How on earth do you remember who is who, Duchess?”
The duchess waved a hand and bowed at a rotund gentleman.
“Sometimes one pretends. That was Sefton, by the way. People of significance tend to impress themselves on one’s mind.
Do you know,” said the duchess, between more inclinations of the head and slight waves of the hand, “I think you should call me Maman as Lucien does.”
Beth found the conventional notion disturbing. She had never had a mother, in any real sense. But then she realized she could think of the duchess as her mother with no trouble at all.
“I would be pleased to, Maman.” she said, and the two women shared a warm smile. Then she saw Clarissa and her mother, accompanied by Lord Deveril. Clarissa waved to Beth like a drowning person, but the duchess gave the carriage only her slightest acknowledgement in passing.
“Is that young lady a friend?” she asked mildly.
“She was a pupil at Miss Mallory’s. She called on me yesterday.”
“I see. I do not much care for her family or the company she keeps, but I will not try to restrict your acquaintance. I would advise you, however, to have nothing to do with Lord Deveril.”
“Willingly, Maman. Poor Clarissa, however, is going to have to marry him.”
The duchess paused a moment. “That is unfortunate,” she said.
“Very. I wish I could do something to help her.” Beth hoped for some guidance or expression of support.
The duchess looked seriously at her. “Such marriages are not uncommon,” she said with meaning. “Any family can experience difficulties, but in the case of the Greystones, the evil, I believe, is gaming. Without that so many people would not be brought low.”
Beth discovered later that she had neatly been deflected from Clarissa’s problem to the larger problems of Society.
Beth was inexorably drawn back into the mad social whirl and wondered when she would have the opportunity to visit the Delaneys again.
She supposed Lucien went there, for the rigorous socializing seemed largely to be a female occupation.
If he didn’t, then perhaps he was spending all his time with the White Dove. Beth certainly saw little of him.
Two days after their visit to the Delaneys, Beth found herself alone with her husband as he was about to escort her and the duchess to a rout.
He placed a finger under her chin, the better to study her face.
“You are finding this hard, Beth,” he said kindly.
“This society life does not suit you at all. Just a few more weeks, then I promise you need never come to London unless you choose.”
“And you, Lucien? Will you not come to Town again?”
He looked puzzled. “But I enjoy it, Beth.”
“I suppose you do,” she said.
She had thought perhaps this evening would be an opportunity to grow closer, but now she lost the urge to try.
It would doubtless suit him very well to have her in the country bearing children while he conducted his debauches in Town with the White Dove.
If, she thought bitterly, they ever progressed to the stage where bearing children became a possibility.
He frowned and looked as if he would question her, but then the duchess joined them and he changed the subject, relating an amusing anecdote. Beth couldn’t help laughing. He could always make her laugh, but it never lessened the bitterness inside.
Over the evening, the chill in her manner eroded his good humor, and he spent less time with her, tried less to amuse her.
Beth felt the loss like an aching void but could not change her behavior.
It was amazing, she thought, how two people could have such a thorough falling-out without a word spoken in anger.
When she rose from her bed the next morning determined to turn a new leaf and try to win him back, he was, as usual, already out.
To distract herself from her unhappiness, Beth concentrated on Clarissa’s problem. She tried to think of solutions but got nowhere. If she had money she could send the girl to a distant town or even to the Americas, if she would go. Did Clarissa have that kind of character?
If she had money she could offer it to the Greystones as a dowry, but that would solve nothing. They did not simply wish to marry Clarissa off; they wished to get the fee offered by Deveril. If they were paid to forego that marriage they would find another similar.
Besides, Beth had virtually no money. She had the guineas Miss Mallory had given her, and Lucien had arranged pin money for her. But all the accounts for the house, her clothes, and such like were settled by the de Vaux man of business.
If nothing better occurred, Beth could help Clarissa to return to Miss Mallory’s, but that would be the first place her parents would look. Beth was not even sure Miss Mallory would conceal the girl from them. Aunt Emma always had to balance her principles against business sense.
As she was sitting in her boudoir that afternoon, taking tea and worrying about the problem, Lucien came to join her. It was so unusual an event these days that she felt panicked and quite unable to take advantage of the situation. She rushed straight at the subject on her mind.
“Did I tell you one of the girls from Miss Mallory’s visited me last week?” she chattered. “Clarissa Greystone. Her parents are selling her to an unpleasant husband. She expects an offer any day.”
The marquess raised a brow. “With anticipation?” he queried, obviously not outraged by the affair.
“No. With trepidation.”
“If he is not to her taste, she would be well-advised to reject her suitor unless she puts money before other considerations.”
“Her parents do.”
“Yes, I hear Greystone’s rolled up,” he said off-handedly.
Beth wondered why he had come, if it was of significance. An awkward silence was growing, and so she picked up the topic, hoping for some worldly wisdom. “It seems a shame for the girl to be sacrificed for her family’s sake.”