Dancing the Maypole (3 page)

The young man
ignored his brother’s rebuke and looked her straight in the eyes.
“Enchanté Mademoiselle…” There was innocence in his enthusiastic
kiss. She had to restrain herself from ruffling the golden brown
hair.

“And lastly our
Robert who’s eighteen.” Isabel’s heart throbbed as the tall slender
boy kissed her hand, his charming worldly smile made her blush. In
a few years, he’d look just like his father except he’d never need
to advertise for a wife. He probably had so many lovers he had to
fight them off to return home in time for dinner. “Please sit down.
Will you take tea?”

Isabel could
see herself fainting and spilling tea all over the carpet. “No,
thank you.”

Cecil nodded,
“Frederick, tell Cook we won’t need a tea tray…”

“What if I want
some tea?” said Cosmo. “I’m parched.”

“Then suck on
your tongue,” said Cecil. “The lady doesn’t wish to hear you slurp
your tea.”

Cosmo’s eyes
bulged in irritation, “If you’d read Papa’s list of words never to
repeat in front of a lady you’d know that using the word
tongue…”

“Cosmo, you’re
being an ass. If you want tea then go to the kitchen and ask Cook
to make you some.”

“You know she
can’t. Grandmother gave orders to refuse me food between meals; the
heartless woman. If you wished to consume a jar of marmalade every
hour between meals, she’d order the oranges from Spain and probably
use my portion of the food budget to pay for them. No-one cares if
the fourth son starves to death…”

“Forgive Cosmo;
he was dropped on his head by a nursemaid.”

“Speak for
yourself!”

“Please have a
seat…”

The young men
waited in silence as she sat down and looked around. The small
feminine parlour had suffered half a century of sunlight; the pink
chairs and curtains faded half-white. The walls puzzled with
sketches of laughing children and beautiful smiling youths. Her
heart ached as she allowed herself to look at the painting over the
mantle. It was a double portrait of a smiling twenty-one year old
Lord Adderbury and his blushing bride, the housekeeper’s daughter.
Isabel looked away, but every flat surface was cluttered with
maternal souvenirs interspersed with tokens of a husband’s love.
She was in their mother’s parlour. “Have you had
many…applicants?”

“No…” All five
replied as one.

“Three young
ladies called, but they all wanted to marry Cecil,” said Cosmo with
envy. “I offered to marry one, but she left in a hurry after
heartless Cecil told the girl to leave before she gave birth. The
poor girl was fat.”

Cecil eyed his
brother with exasperation, “You didn’t look at her from the side.
Her waist extended out a good seven inches beyond her bust. She was
at least eight months along with some other idiot’s child. If
you’re so desperate for a woman, ask cousin Lucius to introduce you
to one of his friendly widows.”

Cosmo’s face
turned bright red, “I’m not desperate! The girl was crying. I was
being a chivalrous gentleman.”

“You were being
an idiot. She needs the father to take responsibility for meeting
her behind a haystack. We want to help Papa find a wife, not scare
off the one decent woman bound to apply.”

Isabel smiled
as the five young men turned to stare at her with hope. She was
about to reassure the five young men she wouldn’t let them down
when her brother ruined the moment. “I’ll wager my favourite boots,
Lord Adderbury didn’t write that stupid ad.”

The eldest son
had the grace to blush, “It’s true Papa has no knowledge of our
advertisement, but he needs a wife in his…ouch!”

George Smirke
pulled his leg back from kicking his older brother, “Our father
finds it difficult to talk to people outside the family. He won’t
find a wife on his own, not when he insists on discussing the
weather every ten minutes. He’s not a bore. He does talk about
other things…Cecil, what does Papa talk about?”

“I don’t know.
Charles, what does Papa talk about?”

“He talks
about…the latest events. He’s always asking me what I think about
the justice of some man’s hanging or what crops I should grow in
certain types of soil. I hope he’s not asking the ladies what
they’d plant in clay…”

“He’ll be on
safe ground if the lady enjoys gardening. I understand thousands of
young ladies are conversant on the Latin names for garden flowers.
I should have paid more attention to those boring lessons. What am
I going to say if a young lady asks me if I prefer daisies or
pansies using their Latin names? She’ll think I’m an idiot.”

“Cecil, please
tell Cosmo to shut up before Mademoiselle assumes all Smirkes are
inbred.”

“Shut up
Robert!”

“Isabel, we
should leave maintenant!”

Cecil jumped to
his feet and clasped his hands like a beggar. “Please don’t go!
Please Mademoiselle! Monsieur! Please stay!”

“What is the
harm in answering a few questions?” Knowing she wouldn’t be meeting
their father meant she could relax and enjoy the possibility of
being Lady Adderbury without fear it might actually happen. “What
would you like to know?”

“Who are your
family?”

“My father
descends from a French King’s bastard and my mother is the aunt of
your Aunt Agnes.” All five pairs of eyes widened with excitement.
“Unfortunately, I’ve never met your father while visiting my cousin
Agnes.” Isabel didn’t think it necessary to admit she’d only ever
visited Agnes when she was certain Peter would be elsewhere.

“Do you like
children? Papa takes his parenting responsibilities very seriously.
If you were to have children, he’d expect you to see them at least
once a day.”

“I love
children.” The thought of sliding into Peter’s bed caused dangerous
white lights to flash in front of her eyes. Her vinaigrette pressed
against her nose; the smell of ammonia swept the naked Pierre from
her thoughts. “If I gave him three or four children you wouldn’t
need to fear splitting up your inheritance. My children would share
my dowry. I inherited eighty-thousand pounds.” Five pairs of black
eyes widened in shock. “It seems rather odd that a woman with that
sort of money would be answering an ad. My father made me come. On
learning your father was a tall man…he thought your father and I
would suit.”

“How can Papa
not want to marry Mademoiselle? She’s perfect,” said Cecil.

“We still have
to convince Papa,” said George.

“How can he not
be convinced? She’s agreeable company, pleasant looking, and has
eighty thousand pounds. She’s perfect!” Robert Smirke pronounced
his verdict. His father would marry Isabel and they’d be happy ever
after.

“Papa doesn’t
care about money or whether the woman is a beauty. Some men value a
woman’s heart more than her face.” Charles tone made it clear he
counted himself one.

“And she’s half
French and related by marriage. Let’s write and tell him he’s
needed in Adderbury soon. Tell him Robert’s sick. He’ll come if he
thinks his baby is ill. No-one cares when I’m ill.”

“Poor
Cosmo…”

“Shut up
Robert!”

“The pair of
you…” Cecil gave his two youngest brothers his most frightening
look. “Shut up before you frighten Mademoiselle away. Don’t give
her reason to write Papa off before she’s introduced to the man.”
Isabel could see herself standing before the altar in a silver
tissue gown; her head adorned with her silver and amethyst tiara.
Standing next to her would be a tall dark handsome man in black
smiling down at her… The vision ended as the door flew open, the
door handle striking the wall with a sharp bang. The thin layer of
red dust covering Lord Adderbury’s black hat and great coat made
his enraged black eyes more frightening; as if he’d ridden through
the flames of hell and survived to wreak vengeance. Cecil Smirke
jumped to his feet and gaped up at his unhappy parent. “Papa? What
are you doing here? I thought you were attending a house
party…”

Her hero
marched up to his eldest offspring and grabbed him by the collar,
“Cecil Francis Smirke, if you weren’t your mother’s son I’d whip
you all the way to Greenwich. You’ve ruined everything! How could
you p-p-publish that that p-p-pathetic advertisement? You’ve made
me the laughing stock of England. You’ve ruined me!”

Isabel started
muttering urgent Hail Marys through trembling lips as stars flashed
before her eyes. She had to leave. She managed to stand up, but her
knees locked. Her brother was tugging on her arm, but her eyes were
fixed on Peter Smirke’s back. The strong arms that had saved her in
countless adventures couldn’t be used to kill his children.
Romantic heroes were at heart sensible creatures.

“Greenwich?”
Cecil’s eyebrows met in confusion. “Why Greenwich?” The young man
squeaked in discomfort as he was yanked off the ground.

“Did I not
t-t-tell you to mind your own b-bloody b-b-business?”

“Yes, but…”

George Smirke
bravely stood up to face his irate father. “It was my idea Papa.
Lord Raynham found a magical wife by advertising in the papers so
we thought we’d find one for you. You’ve been searching for years
without any luck. You need help…” Releasing his eldest son, Lord
Adderbury transferred his rage to his second child whose face
twisted with displeasure. “Papa, please don’t hold me by my coat
like I’m some thieving footman. It’s making me feel unloved.”

“George Eugène
Smirke, how could you publish my personal details? My d-d-desire
for a daughter? My income? What were you thinking? Those papers
will be sent around the world. I’ll be fending off toothless hags
till I’m sealed in a lead coffin and dropped into the vault. My
name will become a b-byword for a lovelorn loser. Who the b-blazes
will marry me after reading that…that feckless advertisement?”

George looked
past his white lipped father to make sure Isabel’s pale features
were still present. “She will! Mademoiselle de Bourbon is
practically family, and she has a sense of humour. If you’ll stop
scowling like the devil I’ll introduce you…”

“We’re leaving
Isabel. If I have to kill that big lunatic in self-defence you know
they’ll hang me like a dog because I have a French nose.” Isabel
heard her brother say something, but the words were muffled as if
spoken through a thick winter scarf. Isabel’s eyes were fixed on
wide muscular shoulders encased in black. “You’re not fainting…
Blast!” Isabel flinched as the man of her dreams turned enraged
black eyes in her direction. He couldn’t be staring at her face in
horror. He couldn’t be looking her up and down as if revolted by
her person. He couldn’t. Her heart froze as she gasped for air.

Blinking with
shock, Peter watched the tall woman clutch her throat. The pretty
face, the large brown eyes, the delicate shaped lips that could
beguile him with the sweetest smile; he’d kissed them in a thousand
dreams. For eighteen years this woman had been haunting his sleep,
tempting him beyond endurance.

Peter clenched
his teeth as his five senses sparkled with electrifying clarity. He
had no memory of meeting her, but he knew her intimately. Somehow
this woman had succeeded in persuading his sleeping brain to break
his marriage vows while his wife lay dying in the next room. She
was the mistress he swore he’d never have, the woman he clung to
when his wife no longer had the health or desire to perform her
conjugal duties. His face burnt as he remembered waking that
morning wishing she was still in his arms, and here she was in the
flesh.

Looking her up
and down he was torn between self-disgust and the insane desire to
take her in his arms and cover her with kisses. The longer he
stared the more he could see. In his dreams, she was younger and
always dressed in diaphanous white muslin. This giant old maid
looked as though she was on her way to a convent.

“Papa, did you
hear what I said? Mademoiselle de Bourbon is related to Aunt
Agnes…” Peter could only hear blood rushing through his veins as he
was trapped in a mad daydream. His dream mistress had been forced
against her will into a French convent with thick stone walls. If
he didn’t save her, he’d never see her again. She was in the middle
of taking her vows of chastity as he pulled a cannon up to the
front entrance and blew away the large door. Inside he shoved away
hordes of angry nuns and ran to the chapel where he found her
kneeling before the altar dressed as a novice. Scooping her into
his arms he carried her back to his waiting carriage, the horses
galloped them away to safety as she thanked him with heavenly
kisses.

“Is Papa going
to kiss her hand or play statues?” said Robert. “Maybe he’s too old
for a wife. Maybe we should have advertised for a nurse.”

Peter covered
his embarrassment by filling his lungs with air and spoke without
thinking. “Get out of my house!” Brown eyes rolled back into her
head as the woman swayed forward like a sapling chopped down with
one blow of the axe. The woman appeared to be trying to engender
pity by pretending to faint. Against his judgement his arms reached
out to catch her, but a boy wearing a miniature straw hat leapt
forward and grabbed her before she hit the floor. The fact the boy
happened to find smelling salts hanging around her neck made it
seem even more like a performance. “Do you expect me to applaud
this p-p-pathetic charade? Out!” What was he saying? He felt
imprisoned in a tower. He was peering down through a barred window
at his adored mistress who’d travelled far to see him, but his
heartless jailer had turned her away.

The boy stood
up and tilted back his head revealing an enraged miniature
Frenchman. “Franchement, tu es une grande vache stupide! We are de
Bourbons…et toi?” The small beautiful face withered with scorn as
the final word addressed in the familiar punctuated his
contempt.