Chapter 9
Lying in the warm bath Flossie had prepared for her, having fought other maids and valets for enough hot water, Marguerite became calmer.
She was weary of her conflicting feelings.
Why could things not be simpler? Men like Charles and Felix had everything to please a woman: they were good looking, pleasant, well-mannered.
They were agreeable company, and neither lacked breeding.
But their presence, their touch, did nothing to her emotions—they could hold her hand, kiss her fingers or her cheek, put their arms around her waist while dancing, and all she felt was affection and light-hearted gaiety.
When Argyle had put his fingers on her neck, she was on fire—but why did he have to be so annoying and obnoxious?
He lost no opportunity in putting her back up.
It was unbearable. She admitted she was dying for him to kiss her again, and this frightened her, because half the time she only wanted to slap his face.
She decided she would avoid him in the morning, and go with Alice to view the animals in the menagerie.
It was said there was a tiger, some camels and zebras, and a variety of exotic birds in a large aviary.
She thought how Betsy would have enjoyed this—but, of course, she had not been invited.
Not noble enough for the Shales, who were vulgar themselves, with their ostentatious flaunting of their wealth—but of course they did not know it, and would have been horrified if they were told.
Well, Betsy was as nice as most of the people here, and nicer than quite a few of them.
Marguerite relished the thought of discussing all this with her father when she got back.
He had an amusing and cynical opinion of society’s foibles that enchanted her, while irritating her mother a little.
She got out of the bath. Flossie wrapped her in a warm towel, and then helped her put on a gown of dark rose silk trimmed with satin ribbons, with long sleeves and a slim skirt, and cut low across the bosom.
Sitting at the dressing table, she sprayed perfume on her throat, then fastened a simple necklace of pearls around her neck and slipped rings on her fingers.
She looked at herself in the mirror while Flossie put her hair up in an elaborate knot; a few curled ringlets fell onto her white shoulders, left bare by the dress.
She was pleased by what she saw, but she shivered a little, not sure if she was anxious or because her bedchamber was not very warm.
She went down the stairs and stopped for a moment at the drawing room door, looking curiously about her, taking in details she had missed the night before.
The room was decorated in heavy-handed luxury: plush burgundy velvet curtains draped the tall windows, adorned with huge gold tassels, crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, gilded French furniture was arranged in groups.
The walls were papered in a red and gold trellis and hung with oil paintings in heavy carved frames.
Reflecting she preferred her own family’s simpler, more elegant taste, Marguerite walked in to join the guests who were already there.
Felix Crampton at once approached and bowed. ‘Allow me to say you look beautiful in that dress, Lady Marguerite.’
‘Thank you, sir. Are you all right?’ She put her hand on his sleeve.
He said, ‘Physically, yes. No harm done. But I do confess my ego has taken a hit.’ He grimaced.
‘Oh, fiddlesticks. Everyone has a fall occasionally.’
‘Well, it was bad timing. I so wanted to impress you.’
She laughed but did not answer. She had seen Argyle across the room, his gaze fixed on her. Their eyes locked for a moment, then she looked away, feeling heat rise in her face. She turned back to Felix, saying lightly, ‘You have no need to impress anybody. Hunting is but an idle pursuit.’
People mingled in the drawing room, talking and laughing, footmen dispensed drinks from silver trays, and Felix continued to dance attendance upon her. Argyle did not approach her, and she did not know whether to be relieved or sorry; she avoided looking in his direction.
Some time later, however, while Felix had momentarily turned away to talk to a friend, he appeared at her elbow holding a glass of ratafia. He said, ‘I noticed you do not have a drink.’
Her chest tightened, but she took the glass and smiled. ‘Thank you, sir.’
Felix, having noticed his presence, immediately joined them. He took an elaborately decorated snuffbox from his pocket and, flicking it open with his thumb, offered it to Argyle.
Argyle lowered his eyelids and drawled, ‘I only take my own.’
Felix said, ‘Of course, Your Grace. Please yourself.’ His voice was pleasant, but his face showed he had registered the snub.
He took a pinch of snuff and inhaled it.
Before the conversation could go any further, his friend whom he had left abruptly hailed him, and he had no option but to turn away again.
Marguerite turned to Argyle and said, a little aggressively, ‘I have never seen you take snuff.’
‘It is because I seldom do. I find that, after a while, it makes the nostrils turn yellow.’
She smiled mockingly and said, raising her eyebrows, ‘Quelle horreur!’
‘Nevertheless, I do have my own mixture.’ He pulled a snuffbox out of his pocket and opened it. ‘Would you like to try some?’
‘No, thank you—I would not like my nostrils to turn yellow.’ She noticed his box, while not nearly as elaborate as Crampton’s, was of exquisitely tooled silver.
They were again joined by Felix. Argyle bowed and turned away.
Marguerite debated whether to make a comment about his obnoxious behaviour, but Felix, after apologising for having abandoned her, at once started talking about his friend and she was grateful to be spared the task of deciding how to go about it.
* * *
At dinner, she was seated between two unknown gentlemen, who were pleasant but without much interest—throughout, she was conscious of Argyle, who was sitting opposite her but further down the table, almost but not quite concealed behind a large and hideous epergne.
He was between two pretty girls, and talked in turn to each, his face grave as usual.
Both girls were animated and, from a distance, appeared flirtatious; one of them was Alice.
Marguerite forced herself to be gracious to her neighbours, but their conversation could not hold her attention and, although she had to admit the food was delicious, there was too much of it—course after course, with many removes and innumerable side dishes, and footmen continuously replenishing her wine glass.
Ennui made her drink more than usual, and her stomach started rebelling.
She sipped at her water glass, and wished she could go to bed.
After dinner Alice came up to her and said, ‘I see what you meant about the Duke of Argyle, Marguerite. Goodness, he is difficult to talk to—but worth the effort. Although there are others more handsome, in my opinion—his face is quite harsh, is it not—I find him rather intriguing.’
‘Do you? But he is very arrogant, isn’t he?’ Marguerite wondered what Alice would say if she knew of his proposal—she would probably think Marguerite was lucky, and crazy to have refused. Refuse to become a duchess: one had to be mad. Then she thought she would not like him to kiss Alice.
Later, tea was served in the drawing room where a number of card tables had been set up.
Argyle came, carrying his cup, to sit next to her on a sofa where she remained for a moment alone, trying to decide whether she wanted to play or not.
She felt tired after her day’s hunting, too full of food, and her head ached a little from the wine.
He asked, ‘Where is your chevalier servant?’
She did not pretend she did not know who he was talking about. ‘He is playing whist. And he is not my chevalier servant.’ Her voice was low and devoid of expression.
His gaze told her he found her beautiful, but he did not say so—however, there was a hint of a smile about his mouth.
He said, taking a sip of his tea, ‘Well, I am glad you are not playing, since I wanted to talk to you. To redeem myself for having annoyed you earlier, I have come to propose a drive tomorrow morning. I have brought my curricle with me and my bays, and the countryside around here is lovely.’
Marguerite frowned a little. ‘I don’t think so, but thank you, Your Grace.’ She drank some of her own tea.
He sat with his back very straight. ‘Even if I promise not to flirt or annoy you?’
She lifted her eyes to his and laughed. ‘You don’t flirt, Argyle, you sneer. And mock.’
‘I will not do any of those things. And what if I promise to let you drive?’
She hesitated, but she could not resist. ‘You do not give up, do you? All right, but you must keep all those promises. And only if the weather holds.’
‘It will.’ He put his cup down and rose. ‘Come, play something for me tonight. I enjoyed listening to you yesterday.’ He stretched out his hand to help her up.
It was the closest he had ever come to a compliment, and she found she had to concentrate hard on her notes as he leaned against the pianoforte and turned her pages. His nearness made her stomach knot.