When three women arrived from the village, she promised to pay them half again as much as their regular wage. Her maid, Marie, appeared and professed herself happy to help as well. They all began dragging furniture downstairs, and even throwing some out the windows with the help of Adelaide's grooms.
Dear Mr. Dautry,
I am attaching a list of all the usable furniture discovered in the house. Most important is an extraordinarily beautiful cabinet with pearl-inlaid swans on panels of exotic wood. It bears the mark of the artist Jean-Henri Reisener, who is one of the most notable French cabinetmakers.
As you'll see, the list is short, as unfortunately most furnishings have been damaged or stolen. I will be buying a great many items in the next week and shall have the invoices sent directly to you. I will also be contracting for wall painting and coverings.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Xenobia India St. Clair
Dear Lady Xenobia,
It's nice to know that you haven't crashed through an unstable floorboard and broken your neck. Swans and more swans . . . what have you done with Leda? I can't say that I'm very fond of swans. Did you know that the males bite hard enough to snap a child's arm bone?
Thorn
Dear Mr. Dautry,
I am sending this note back by the groom who delivered yours. In a piece of luck, we discovered that the cellars are intact. You have a quite fine collection of wine, which includes port laid down twenty years ago. When we find a butler, he will have to fill in gaps in the collection, but of course the sediment in any new bottles would not have settled by the time of your house party.
You will also be glad to know that there are no swans in the river that borders your gardens. I put Leda in the attics; a bosom that size might terrify an unwary chambermaid.
Yours sincerely,
Lady Xenobia India St. Clair
Dear Lady Xenobia,
I speak for all the males in the house when I say that Leda's bosom was the best thing about her.
Thorn
"There is no response," India told the groom who had spent the day riding back and forth to London. By all rights, she should throw such a disgraceful missive in the fire.
Instead she folded it and slipped it in her pocket.
Chapter Ten
June 22, 1799
76 Portman Square, London
Home of Lord and Lady Rainsford
and their daughter Laetitia
Miss Laetitia Rainsford, known to her family and friends as Lala, was in the grip of a wave of pure, unadulterated panic. Mr. Dautry would soon arrive for tea. Her mother had already succumbed to three spasms that morning, and Lala felt as if she was on the verge of her very first.
He was coming. Mr. Dautry. The son of the Duke of Villiers. Her suitor. He had made his intentions very clear, although this was the first time he had paid them a call. She had met him a month ago in Kensington Gardens, at which time Dautry had told her plainly that he meant to court her, following that up with an appointment with her father.
She truly appreciated his clarity and decisiveness, because she always found herself confused when people engaged in clever conversation. Society conversation.
She hated society.
"Lala!" She turned to find her mother standing in the drawing room doorway, clutching a handkerchief, looking the very personification of self-sacrifice. "Is that what you mean to wear?"
"Yes, I am wearing this gown," Lala replied, clasping her hands behind her back tightly so that her mother couldn't see that they were shaking. "I'm afraid there isn't time to change it now, Mama. Mr. Dautry will be here any moment."
"I suppose that is the best you can do," Lady Rainsford said, eyeing Lala's hips. "He must not mind overly about your shape, as he has accepted our invitation to tea."
"I am of the impression that he does not dislike my form," Lala said, finding her voice. Her aunt had told her that she had been dubbed the most beautiful debutante of the season, but her mother never said a word about that; she was obsessed with the overly generous shape of Lala's hips. "My figure is not terrible, Mama." Where did that come from? She never stood up to her mother.
Surprisingly, Lady Rainsford didn't burst into an angry retort. Instead, she strolled into the room, sat down, and said, "The man's a bastard. Beggars can't be choosers."
Lala swallowed and said, "Mama, Mr. Dautry is no beggar; he is extremely wealthy."
"Daughter! A lady never speaks of money in such a direct and vulgar manner." Her mother raised a melodramatic hand to her brow, like a bad actor in a penny drama.
As Lala saw it, given that ladies such as her mother took great pleasure in spending money, the subject could not be outlawed. "Julia heard from a friend that he recently bought a country estate because he is planning to marry."
Her mother straightened. "Which estate?"
"Starberry Court."
Lady Rainsford sank back onto the sofa again, brow creased in a way that would give her palpitations if she caught sight of it in the mirror. "That's the Earl of Jupp's estate-before the line died out, of course. Dautry probably bought it for a song."
"Twenty thousand pounds," Lala said, telling the first huge lie of her life. She had made up the biggest sum she could imagine.
"Well, I suppose his money balances his blood," her mother said, showing no reaction to the sum, though Lala knew she had to be impressed. "Sit down, if you please. You drive me to distraction the way you're looming about. You must remember, dear, that your bottom is better hidden than revealed in the open air."
"I understand you dislike talk of money, Mama, but I also know that Father is feeling very strained by lack of funds and would prefer not to pay for another season."
"Oh, your father," Lady Rainsford said, allowing her head to droop like an unwatered tulip. "When has the man not fussed about this or that? My ill health is due to his constant laments."
"Mr. Dautry won't care that I have no dowry," Lala said bluntly. "And he's likely to give Father a very large settlement if we marry."
"Believe me, Lord Rainsford could talk the hind leg off a donkey on that subject," her mother cried. "Neither of you seems to understand what a disgrace it would be to marry my daughter to a by-blow."
"Better married to Mr. Dautry than never married at all." Lala had been beset by suitors all season, but her father had rejected every one. She knew why: he had decided that her beauty was worth a huge settlement. In short, no one had bid high enough to pay off his debts.
"If only you'd eat less, your season might have had an entirely different outcome!" her mother said, her voice becoming a little shrill. "Why, you were seated beside Lord Brody, the Duke of Pindar's heir, throughout six courses. You could be a duchess!"
To Lala's mind, her failure with Lord Brody had nothing to do with her figure. It was because she was stupid. She couldn't follow conversations that pinged like tennis balls, clever expressions flying back and forth. His Grace had looked bored by the end of the first course.
"Father cannot afford another season," she said, going back to the only point that might influence her mother. "Thus, if I don't marry Mr. Dautry, I might never marry at all."
"There's no need to play the martyr," her mother said, clutching her handkerchief in a manner that threatened to shred it. "It's as if you actually want me to have another nervous spasm. I'm sure we all wish you would marry, even if it is to-"
The butler opened the door and announced, "Mr. Dautry."
Lala knew perfectly well that her mother's voice was audible in the entry, even through the door. Whenever she heard that strident tone in the drawing room, she tiptoed up the stairs.
But Mr. Dautry strolled into the room as casually as a lion into its den, Lala thought, with a sudden-and uncharacteristic-turn to metaphor. Except that lions' eyes were tawny and hungry, and Mr. Dautry's eyes were the color of the sky on a windy, rainy day: cold, without an ounce of sentiment. His rumpled black hair was a bit longer than the fashion, but then, as far as she knew, he had nothing to do with the ton, so why should he follow fashion? And yet she noted with relief that his coat and breeches had been crafted by a master. Her mother would never forgive a second-rate tailor.
"It is such a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Dautry," Lala said, risking the revelation of her bottom by rising from her chair. "Mother, may I present Mr. Dautry to you?"