Chapter 12 #2
“I think not, May. No one will harm even a hair of your head while I draw breath.” He declared heatedly.
She sipped at her wine, noticing a smallish painting tucked in the corner. “She has a very interesting face. She looks as if she knows something that we do not.”
“Yes, it looks like a da Vinci.” He hailed a curator to confirm, and they were told that the work had reportedly hung in Napoleon’s bedchamber at the Tuileries before being added to the collection a decade earlier.
“I would have thought he would have preferred something of grander proportions,” Mary observed. “Though perhaps he is an admirer of Leonardo da Vinci.”
Lingley agreed and offered to escort her home.
Still a bit shaken from the earlier encounter, Mary agreed, and they made their way back across the Pont des Arts to change and request a light repast be served in the solar.
By silent agreement, the contretemps were not mentioned again by either of them.
∞∞∞
The next morning, just before visiting hours, while Mary interviewed and hired Cortez, mostly for her Spanish heritage but also for her skill with hair, Lingley was viciously pleased when it was announced that a Lord Metcalf and several men had presented themselves at the door hoping for a moment of his time.
He allowed them entry and Lord Metcalf entered the room, baying for blood.
“I am John Lingley, Viscount Lingley,” he purred. His words were polite, but the tone of voice stopped Lord Metcalf in his tracks. “To what do I owe this… pleasure?”
“Your Highness,” the policeman, who was well informed of the notables in the city, bowed. “This man claims that you accosted him yesterday morning and wishes to press charges.”
“Well, of course it was not the viscount!” Metcalf sputtered. “I am well aware of who the Lingleys are, as my estate, Metcalf Hall, is within twenty miles of Ashford Dell.”
“I told you to take a very good look, sir,” Lingley drawled, a look of death in his eye.
Metcalf’s eyes widened theatrically, and he began to babble incoherently as he justified and apologized by turns. Lingley let him ramble for a time before stopping him with a wave of his hand.
“Dueling is not so frowned upon in France as it is in England,” he remarked nonchalantly.
The man let out a rather effeminate whimper.
“If you wish to live, I suggest that you do your absolute best to never cross paths with me again. You laid your hands upon my wife, and the only reason that you are not floating in the Seine is that she does not bruise easily. I hope that you enjoy your estate, as I do not believe that London will be a comfortable place for you in the future. If my wife so much as hears your name spoken in her presence, your heir will inherit much sooner than he had anticipated. Be gone from my sight!”
The older man was gone before the last word was said, leaving behind several amused Frenchmen who had been silently mocking him the entire morning.
No one was more ridiculous than a mortally offended English lord who thought he might overpower his opponent through sheer self-perceived importance.
The policemen bid Lingley a polite farewell and apologized for disturbing his morning with nonsense before filing out of his study.
He allowed himself a moment to steady his emotions, as the outcome had done little to overcome his indignation.
Once he felt that he had mastered himself, he gathered up several invitations and the daily paper and went in search of his wife.
The remaining fury melted away into nothing when he found her chattering happily in Spanish with her new maid as the girl pinned her hair up into a very becoming style. A soft smile grew as he watched them from the doorway until their giggles drew him forward to envelope himself in her happiness.
“Hello, ladies,” he declared. “Might I join you in your preparations, or would you prefer I return when you are finished?”
“Of course!” Mary smiled up at him in pleasure. “You are always welcome. What do you think? Cortez is a dab hand with curls like mine. I have never felt so attractive.”
“You certainly are. I shall have to be careful when we begin to attend events that some man does not steal you away from me!” He looked so earnest in his worry that Mary could only laugh and pat his arm.
“Cortez also brought the first of my gowns. The seamstress is finishing the hem of a day dress as we speak.”
“That is excellent, as we have begun to receive invitations, which I brought to get your opinion on. There are two balls and several dinners with friends of my parents, as well as an evening at the theater with the Duc de Richelieu and his entourage.”
“Should I know who he is?”
“No. He is highly placed in the new government; the new prime minister assigned by King Louis XVIII. He is likely looking to build a relationship with the Spanish royals, and as my parents are not here, I am the next best option.”
“We are to meet the Prime Minister of France?” Mary squeaked, horrified.
“It is an evening at the theater, love,” he assured her. “It is more a request to be seen together as a show of support for the new regime. It will not require too much from either of us.”
She was still anxious but was becoming more used to relying on his words from the start, so she chose to have faith and let go of her worry.
“If we are to go to a ball, might we practice the most popular dances? My sisters mentioned that what we most often danced in Meryton was somewhat old-fashioned compared to London. I assume that it is even more true on the continent.”
“Of course! I would love to dance with you. Have you learned the waltz?”
She could not help her blushes. “Lady Lucas was adamantly opposed to it, declaring it too fast for young ladies of quality, but Lydia demanded that we learn it in case we ever went to London, where she was convinced it was danced every night. I was compelled into the gentleman’s position, of course, so I am not confident in my ability to give it up. ”
“You are a very graceful, lithe woman. I am certain that you will do very well indeed.” He wiggled his brows making her laugh.
“Besides, as a married woman, if you are not familiar with a dance, you need only sit it out with your adoring husband, and you are not constrained by the silly rules of refusal.”
They went through the pile of invitations, deciding to attend one ball which was in a fortnight and refused the one which was the next day.
The dinners were more difficult to decide as Mary did not wish to alienate any of her new family’s acquaintances, so Lingley was relied upon to know which were necessary and which could be put off with a polite note of thanks.
They then went through the papers, checking the production listings of the various theaters.
There were several which Mary was enthusiastic about seeing, but one, unfortunately, played for the final time that evening.
“None of my formal attire will be finished in time,” Mary sighed with disappointment. “Do you think that they will run the play again before we leave?”
“Likely not,” he replied candidly. “Perhaps Johnny and May would like to attend in the floor seats? There will be no aristocrats to accost us there.”
“Oh! Do you think that would be acceptable?”
“I believe so, let us give it one more try.”