Three Weeks With Lady X(17)

As Dautry bowed, Lala realized that her mother was responding to the  masculinity that clung to him like a second skin. Her handkerchief was  no longer clenched, but began gently waving about, conveying a sense of  fragility.

Mr. Dautry wasn't the man Lala would have chosen for a husband; he was  altogether too rough and masculine, with his hard eyes and the way the  air seemed to vibrate slightly around him. But that was irrelevant.

As her mother had said, beggars can't be choosers.

Throughout the fuss over the tea tray, Lala told herself that she was  not going to sit like a stone, without opening her mouth. She was going  to be witty. She had rehearsed some clever things to say, and she had  asked her maid to read aloud the Morning Post. If the conversation  lagged, she planned to say-brightly-"Isn't it marvelous that those  terrible mutinies in the Royal Navy were put down quickly?"

Mercifully, she didn't have to blurt it out immediately, because her  mother was inquiring about the "dear duchess," Dautry's stepmother, even  though Lala knew perfectly well that her mother had, at best, a nodding  acquaintance with the Duchess of Villiers.

Dautry was obviously aware that her mother did not move in such exalted  circles. At the same time, he didn't seem to care that she was claiming  acquaintanceship. Despite Lala's nerves, a smile turned up the corners  of her mouth. And Dautry smiled back at her-with his eyes only, but she  saw it.

"The duchess is great friends with Mrs. Worsley, is she not?" her mother  was saying. "Mrs. Worsley is so lively at the dinner table. She always  leads the conversation."                       
       
           



       

Dautry did not reply, and neither did Lala. She had learned long ago  that replies were not obligatory when conversing with her mother.

"I wouldn't know how to speak as she does, going on and on about affairs  of state and matters of high culture. There's something unrefined about  it, don't you agree, Mr. Dautry?"

"I find Mrs. Worsley an interesting conversationalist."

"Men do, do they not?" Lady Rainsford exclaimed. "That is, she has the trick of talking to every man as if she adored him."

"And every woman as if she loathed her," Mr. Dautry said. "I suppose  that I fall on the lucky side of that divide. But I come with an  ulterior purpose, Lady Rainsford. Your daughter has told me of your  exquisite taste."

Lala had never said anything like that, but she recognized the work of a master and smiled as if she had, indeed, said as much.

"I have recently acquired a country estate, Starberry Court."

"So we have heard," Lala's mother said, adding, with inexcusable  vulgarity, "for some twenty thousand pounds." That was typical of her  mother: she chastised Lala for mentioning money, but considered her own  social position so secure that she could say whatever she wished.

Mr. Dautry clearly did not like to discuss his finances. But when Lala  looked at him with a plea in her eyes, he did not utter the rebuke her  mother deserved. Instead, he said, "That rumor was inaccurate. The sum  was close to double that; the lands are quite extensive."

His expression apparently reminded Lady Rainsford just how presumptuous  she had been; the handkerchief began fluttering about her face as she  peeped over it.

"At any rate," Mr. Dautry continued, "I should be very grateful to have  your advice on restorations you might suggest for the estate, Lady  Rainsford. I am thinking of assembling a small house party for just that  purpose."

"We are frightfully idle in this family," Lala's mother replied, still  playing peekaboo with her handkerchief. "Even so, our social engagements  keep us running hither and thither all the time. When will you hold  your party, Mr. Dautry?"

"In three weeks, if that will suit you."

"I shall look at my engagement calendar." She looked as if she were bestowing a shilling on a vagabond.

Lala could read his eyes without difficulty. He thought her mother  horrible. She rose, guessing that her suitor had endured all the  intimate time with Lady Rainsford that he could tolerate. "Mr. Dautry,  it has been such a pleasure to see you."

Dautry sprang to his feet with the speed of a racehorse.

"You must forgive me for not rising," Lala's mother told him. "My health  is a constant concern to those who love me, and I do my best to  conserve my energy in order to cause them less worry."

It wasn't until after Dautry had departed that Lala realized she hadn't  uttered a word the entire time, other than "hello" and "goodbye." Her  heart sank. So much for being clever and funny.

She'd done it again.

"You're such a pea-goose," her mother said, confirming the thought. "How  can a man be expected to spend a lifetime with a woman who doesn't make  an effort to entertain him? That's the least a wife can do, you know.  They feed us, clothe us, take care of us, and in return, we entertain  them."

"Yes, Mama," Lala said.

"We charm them with our beauty and our conversation, soothing away the cares of the day."

Lala wished her father were there to hear this lecture. It might be the first thing he'd laughed at in weeks.

"Yes, Mama," she said.

Dear Mr. Dautry,

I have bought silk for the drawing room walls. The cost is approximately £300, but they will send the invoice to you directly.

Lady Xenobia India St. Clair

Dear Lady Xenobia,

The invoice for silk arrived, asking for £350. I also received an  invoice from an Italian painter by the name of Marconi, who is charging  £150 for painting swallows. Where are these swallows? They must be  formed from liquid gold, so I want to make sure I notice them.

Thorn

Dear Mr. Dautry,

The swallows will be on the dining room walls. As you seem to be worried  about costs, I had your statues assessed. You will be happy to know  that the bronze was indeed sculpted by Benvenuto Cellini, and may be  worth a great deal of money. I can arrange to sell the piece, if you  wish.

Lady Xenobia India St. Clair

Dear Lady Xenobia,

Offer it to the vicar. If for some strange reason he doesn't want it, I might give it to you as a wedding present.

Thorn

Dear Mr. Dautry,

The vicar would be gravely offended, and I shall not do such a thing. Nor do I desire a wedding present of that nature.                       
       
           



       

Lady Xenobia

Dear Lady Xenobia,

I think I'll call you Lady X. It has such an exotic sound to it; I feel  as if I am writing to the madam of a prosperous brothel. (I've never  done that before, in case you're wondering.)

Thorn

Dear Mr. Dautry,

I am named after a queen who conquered all of Egypt, not after a brothel  owner. Had you paid attention to your history lessons, you would  presumably know that.

Lady Xenobia

Dear Lady X,

Please do remember that you are my temporary wife, in other words, at my  beck and call for the next three weeks. I begin to see a spiritual  purpose in all the money I'm spending to tame the Queen of Egypt. My  first command is that you address me as Thorn.

Thorn

Dear Mr. Dautry,

We all know you were born on the wrong side of the blanket, but you  needn't have called yourself after a bush. It seems unreasonably humble.

Lady Xenobia

Dear Lady X,

You will have to imagine my response. I cannot put it in writing.

My given name is Tobias, a self-effacing name that doesn't suit. I was  informed of it when I was twelve, at which point it was already  inappropriate.

Thorn

Dear Mr. Dautry,

I like Tobias. It has an intellectual ring. A man with that name should be able to recite ancient Greek poetry.

Lady Xenobia

I rest my case.

Thorn





Chapter Eleven



June 27, 1799

Evening

Starberry Court

India had never been so tired in her life. The house had been gutted and  scoured, and the interior walls replastered, the hardest physical labor  completed in record time by crews paid treble their usual wages.

What was left now was the more nuanced work of making Starberry Court  into a luxurious residence, with a patina of refinement and  respectability. That would start tomorrow, when tradesmen would begin  arriving with furnishings. But at the moment she could only think about a  bath and her bed at the Horn & Stag.

She was heading outside to summon her coachman when the sound of a  carriage made her look up. Perhaps one of the tradesmen had decided to  beat the crowd.

But then she recognized Dautry's glossy black coach and vaguely  remembered that he had mentioned an inspection visit. Watching as he  leapt from the carriage, she decided that he looked remarkably like the  statue of the satyr. Maybe it was exhaustion making her hazy, but his  shoulders seemed just as wide.