Chapter 19 #3
Beth burst into laughter though she knew her cheeks must be flaming. Thoughts of the night wound around her, making her hot, nervy, and restless.
Her contentment with being secluded in her room evaporated.
She needed action and fresh air. Still, she was reluctant to show her face in Society.
When Redcliff returned, they experimented with the cosmetic cream, which did disguise the worst of the darkening.
The maid then dressed Beth’s hair with side curls.
It was not a style she favored, but it helped with the concealment.
The addition of a Pamela bonnet with a large bow at the side completed the effect.
Turning from side to side in front of the mirror, Beth was sure her bruise was unnoticeable.
But where to go?
She flicked through her invitations and found none of interest. Then she went through the listings Lucien had given her.
A talk by Professor Richards on his travels to China, a musicale at Lady Rossiter’s, a reception for Mrs. Edgeworth.
She had intended to go to that as she much admired the author of Castle Rackrent and Tales of Fashionable Life.
She looked at the mantel clock. There was still time.
Beth sighed. Today she could not do justice to such an interesting speaker.
She was interrupted by the duchess, who stared to find Beth sitting at her desk en deshabille, yet with a bonnet on.
“Redcliff and I were just trying the effect of a new coiffure,” explained Beth with a straight face.
“Ah,” said the duchess, studying the effect. “I’m not sure it is flattering though, Elizabeth. It makes your face look rather round.”
“I was of much the same opinion myself, Maman. Is there some way in which I can assist you?”
“A tedious matter. Sir Peter Greystone was here asking for his daughter. Marleigh dealt with him, but he reported to me. It seems the silly girl has run away and they thought she might have come here.”
Beth hoped her practice in dissimulation would hold up under the duchess’s carelessly shrewd eyes. “Here?” she said. “They thought Clarissa was here? I can assure you she is not, Maman.”
“I did not see how she could be, and she did not visit here yesterday, even.”
“But has she truly run away?” asked Beth.
The duchess gave a very Gallic shrug. “That is what they say, and one cannot imagine a reason for them to make such scandal over nothing.”
“Well, I am very glad,” said Beth, feeling she must stay in character. “No young girl should be forced to marry Lord Deveril.”
“You are right, of course,” said the duchess with a moue of distaste. “A horrible man. He called here, too, but Marleigh soon dismissed him.”
For once, Beth thought, the army of servants had its advantages.
“Do you have engagements?” asked the duchess, glancing at the pile of cards in front of Beth. “I am to visit Lord Taberley’s to see his collection of medieval jewelry. One of the best in the world, they say. Do you care to come?”
“Thank you, but no, Maman. I am a little tired and will have a quiet day.”
The duchess looked at her with concern. “Are you sure you are well, ma chere? You seem so easily tired. Perhaps—”
“Oh, I doubt it,” said Beth, reading the woman’s mind.
“One never knows,” said the duchess. “I gave birth to Maria nine months after our wedding.”
“Er … I feel that is unlikely in our case.”
“Oh,” said the duchess. “I see. In fact, that is as well. You have plenty of time and once the babies come life changes.” The duchess gave Beth a warm, perfumed kiss on the cheek—Beth was careful to turn her left cheek—before leaving.
Beth immediately pulled off the bonnet and undid the silly hairstyle.
She then tried to settle to peaceful solitude.
The day’s edition of the Times, which she usually read with relish, could not hold her interest. Just more speculation about Napoleon’s whereabouts and troop movements, all four or five days old.
A fascinating article in the Quarterly Review on the Hapsburgs had no appeal.
She looked at the clock a dozen times and the hands had hardly moved at all.
She picked over her luncheon, plagued by tantalizing questions.
When would he be back? He hadn’t said. Would he be home for dinner?
There seemed a vast wasteland of time to be got over before even then.
Would it be very bold if she were to order a quiet dinner to be served in her room for them both?
Very bold or not, it was too bold for Beth.
The only thing to do, she decided in the end, was to go somewhere. She was not a prisoner, after all. She could visit the fashionable emporiums. The idea held little appeal, for she was still uncomfortable with spending large amounts of money on fripperies.
She could visit the Delaneys. But they were such perceptive people, and today she felt transparent as glass.
What she needed was a long walk to dissipate some of her nervous energy.
Decided at last, Beth summoned Redcliff and dressed in a pale blue figured lawn gown and blue twill spencer which matched the high Pamela bonnet.
She submitted once more to the curls down the sides of her face and the tower of white straw on top.
Looking in the mirror, she sighed. “This is ridiculous. In this bonnet I must be quite six feet tall!”
“It’s all the thing, milady. And it’s not as if you have to watch such matters with his lordship. He’d still be able to give you some inches.”
Beth glanced at the clock again. Hardly half the afternoon had passed. How could she yearn for him so much? It wasn’t lust even, just a simple longing for his presence, his mischievous grin, his quick and salty wit, his comfortable embrace.
“Is something the matter, milady?”
“No,” said Beth, gathering her wits. “We’re going for a long, brisk walk, Redcliff.”
The maid’s face fell. “Where to, milady?”
“I don’t know,” said Beth cheerfully.
“To Green Park, perhaps, milady?” offered Redcliff.
“Good heavens, no. That’s no distance at all. Perhaps to the Tower of London.”
“What!” exclaimed the maid. “But that’s miles, milady. And through some not very nice areas. You must take the carriage for sure.”
“I don’t want a carriage ride, Redcliff,” said Beth tightly.
Perhaps this house was a prison after all.
What would happen if she just walked out of the front doors?
She imagined striding around the square with a bleating train of anxious servants behind.
Her sense of humor returned and she smiled.
But what was she to do? It would be no pleasure to drag an unwilling maid around London, and the woman was probably correct about the dangers.
Beth knew little of London other than the circumscribed area of Mayfair.
“I know,” she said suddenly. “We’ll visit Clarissa. I need to talk to her anyway.”
“Miss Greystone? Where did you take her, milady?”
Beth could feel herself freeze in the face of this new problem. Would Redcliff know the name? Blanche, along with other popular actresses, was often featured in the prints displayed in shop windows.
“To a Mrs. Hardcastle,” she said carelessly.
No reaction, thank heavens. “Do you want the carriage then, milady?” asked the maid with the clear implication that the answer should be “yes.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Apart from her desire for exercise, Beth did not want more servants aware of her scandalous association with Blanche Hardcastle. “It is not so very far—” she said and then broke off. “Goodness, I don’t know the address. How foolish.”
Redcliff looked relieved, but Beth was not to be so easily deflected. This outing was assuming the nature of a major challenge.
“The boy,” she said triumphantly. “The stable boy called Robin. He knows. Send for him.”
“A stable boy!” exclaimed the maid. “Here?”
“Very well, Redcliff,” countered Beth firmly. “We will go there.”
“To the mews, milady?”
“Yes.”
The maid obviously recognized that her mistress’s patience was at an end. They exited the mansion by the majestic front doors and then made their way around to talk to Granger, the head groom in Town.
Dooley was apparently off with the marquess and Viking, but Robin Babson was around. The wiry, sallow-faced man was considerably astonished that anyone wanted to speak with him.
“That varmint,” he muttered. “He’s here right enough, for all the use he is. And the marquess saying he should sleep in. No right being out at night, that’s what I say—”
He broke off because Beth had had enough of contrary servants. For the first time she used a de Vaux look. His grumbles died.
“Right away, milady,” he said hurriedly. “Oy! Sparra! Come out here!”
Robin came dashing out, a rough apron over his shirt and breeches. He had a piece of leather strap in one hand and a polishing rag in the other.
“Yes, Mr. Granger?”
“Her ladyship wants to speak with you.”
The boy turned and gave Beth a cocky grin. “Yes, your ladyship?”
Beth drew him away from the listening groom. “Where did we go last night, Robin?”
“What?”
“The address. I want to visit the young lady there.”
“Oh, number 8, Scarborough Lane. But how you going to find it, milady?”
“Won’t Redcliff know?” asked Beth, amused by the direction she could see the conversation taking.
“Nah,” said the boy positively. “It’s a small street and quite new.”
Beth looked at him and smiled. “You think perhaps you should be our guide?”
“Might be best, milady,” said Robin innocently.
Beth turned to the man. “Mr. Granger, would you mind if I took Robin away from his duties for a while? He can guide me to where I wish to go.”
The man frowned. “The coachman’s available, milady. He knows London like the back of his hand.”
“I wish to walk,” said Beth with amiable firmness.
“One of the footmen would be more suitable than Sparra, milady.”
Beth raised her chin and stared at the man again. “I prefer to take Robin, Granger. The marquess also wishes the boy to be addressed by his proper name.”