Dancing the Maypole (30 page)

Isabel wasn’t
convinced, “Lord Adderbury is not a charity case. He’s quite
handsome, and wealthy enough to find any number of eager ladies
willing to teach him etiquette.”

She thought him
quite handsome? Peter was so elated it took several long seconds to
comprehend her rejection.

“Isabel, my
brother is an unfortunate fortunate,” Agnes waved her hand at Peter
who was visibly cringing. “Behold a man with the trappings of
wealth and power too handsome, too overbearing, and much too big
for most women.”

James Smirke
draped his arm over the back of his wife’s chair and smiled like an
opium addict. “Every big man should share his bed with a maypole.
There’s nothing like waking on a cold winter’s morning to find five
feet, eleven inches of naked woman warming one’s bed.” The younger
male Smirkes ogled their Aunt Agnes in horror as they tried to
imagine the marble woman either naked or warm.

Agnes regally
ignored her husband’s embarrassing comment, “As I was saying…Peter
is an unfortunate fortunate and deserves as much pity as the next
unlucky man. He needs your help Isabel. I’ll give you a list of
situations to role-play; I trust you’ll be an impartial mentor. You
may practice in my gold parlour where you won’t be disturbed.” The
younger Smirkes gasped in shock. As far as they knew, the only
person ever allowed to enter it was their Uncle James. Not even the
maids were allowed to clean it. There was a legend, told by the
servants, that the locksmith had made only one key, and it was worn
by the mistress of the house at all times, even in the bath. “You
may choose three examples from the list and perform them for our
evening’s entertainment. It’ll be better than a play.”

The pleasure of
spending time alone with Isabel behind a locked door was forgotten
as Peter was gripped with terror. The thought of having to
role-play with Isabel while pretending she wasn’t the woman he
wanted to carry off to the nearest church made him itch to pack his
trunks and flee. “Absolument pas!”

“No-one will
force you to perform Peter.” said Agnes, “If I must provide
entertainment, I have a great a story that will amuse your sons.”
Her eyes went wide as she stared back and forth between Isabel and
Peter.

This time Peter
got the message. If he refused, she’d tell his helpful brats that
Isabel was his dream mistress. “It won’t b-be very
entertaining.”

“You
underestimate your ability to amuse.”

“I’m sorry to
upset your plans Agnes, but if his Lordship hasn’t learned manners
at his great age I doubt a few hours of my instruction will do much
good.” Hearing Isabel label him aged made it impossible to finish
his breakfast. Shoving away his plate, Peter folded his arms to
protect the empty box in his chest. Glaring at Agnes, he wished
he’d gone home, where he would have been safe from the knowledge
that he was an abysmal lover as well as a bully and a bore.

“I envision a
more complex exchange of communication,” said Agnes.

“Then you teach
him,” snapped Isabel. “You’re so good at complex exchanges.”

“Perhaps, but
you’re the one with the gifted imagination. It’s a pity you don’t
allow more people to read your stories; you’re quite good Isabel,
even if the main characters always look the same. I enjoyed the two
I read so much that I made copies so I could read them again. If
teaching Lord Adderbury the art of conversing is too noxious, I
could read one of them out loud to the family this evening. I’m
sure they’d enjoy it.” There was something in the marble woman’s
voice that made Peter think her words had a secret meaning only
Isabel would understand. His heart pounding, he glanced at the
green and white striped dress.

Isabel’s pale
cheeks flushed a watered claret as her lips compressed in defeat,
“Please spare your family.” The words were spoken through clenched
teeth. “I’ll happily teach his Lordship…whatever you wish.”

“You don’t
sound very happy Isabel. I wouldn’t dream of pressuring you into
doing something that made you uncomfortable.”

“I feel
perfectly comfortable,” said Isabel with a forced smile.

“Excellent!
I’ll make up the list, and then you can set to work sanding my
brother’s rough edges. I’m sure his future wife, if he can persuade
the lady to accept him, will be eternally grateful for your
efforts.”

Cosmo looked
embarrassed as he cleared his throat. “Aunt Agnes, I could use some
instruction on the mysteries of the female mind. May I join
Papa?”

“Your father
doesn’t need one of his brats hovering at his elbow laughing at his
pathetic attempts to sound like a lover. If you need instruction,
I’ll happily teach you how to talk to women.”

Cosmo grimaced
at the offer. “That’s very kind of you Aunt Agnes, but I uh…think
I’ll uh…” The young man coughed again and shoved a piece of toast
in his mouth.

Agnes carried
on, “If you were to ask newly met young ladies polite questions
about their interests instead of assuming they wish to know the
probable indignity of dying on a chamber pot they might converse
with you long enough to notice your good qualities.”

“What are my
good qualities?” asked Cosmo.

Agnes paused
for several long seconds, “Your ability to save money and feed a
family.”

“What? Those
are my good qualities? You make me sound boring.”

“Shall I
continue instructing you this afternoon?”

“No thank
you!”

“As you
please…Peter, be at the door to the gold parlour at three of the
clock.”

“Egg, that
room’s like an oven after three. They’ll roast. They should use my
study.”

“Peter needs to
be able to practice making an ass of himself without fear of being
overheard. If he finds it unbearable, he can strip down to his
shirt sleeves. Isabel is family, not the parson’s maiden aunt.”

“I can’t teach
manners to a man pacing in his shirtsleeves, sweating like a
galloping horse.”

“It’ll be
exactly the same as schooling a man sweating in a coat only he’ll
be more comfortable. If you have need of a fan, Peter’s sure to
have one in a pocket. Perhaps you can persuade him to reveal the
identity of the owner. If we knew who she was we might be able to
shove him into her arms and end his suffering.”

“I’ll bring my
own.”

“As you
please…Peter you’re looking pale. Does Lucius need to pass Isabel’s
smelling salts under your nose again?”

“No.” Peter
shoved a finger between his cravat and his naked throat and pulled
hoping to relieve the choking sensation.

“I hope you
won’t die before you can marry poor Mabel,” said Cosmo.

“Her name isn’t
Mabel!” snapped Peter. “She’s Ma Belle, My Beauty…”

Robert smiled
in triumph, “I told you Papa wouldn’t fall in love with a woman
named Mabel.”

Cecil Smirke’s
beautiful lips twisted with distaste. “Beauty is an endearment for
a favourite horse. I couldn’t climb into the proverbial hay with a
woman and whisper, ‘I love you Beauty…’ I’d end up saying something
vile like, ‘…you make me feel like a stallion. ’I’d end up making
love to my wife with the taste of sick in my mouth.”

“She’s Ma
Belle!” shouted Peter. “C’est Français!”

George Smirke
sat back in his chair and turned to Cecil with a hopeless
expression. “So all we have to do is find a beautiful old maid who
speaks French and thinks Papa is a lunatic. We’re looking for a
particular piece of straw in a very large haystack.”

Peter slapped
his chest to make sure the empty ache was only in his mind as he
stood up, his gaze falling on Isabel’s bent head as she inhaled her
vinaigrette. “I’m returning to Adderbury. I have to save Charles.”
It was the perfect excuse to run far away from failure. He’d buy
off the desperate widow and then lock himself in his bedchamber to
die in private misery.

“Peter…” Agnes
sounded almost kind, “…Charles is legally independent. If he wants
to make an ass of himself over a blind slut, that’s his affaire.
Your Belle is a romantic idiot who thinks you have to save her from
bandits to prove your heart, but that’s her father’s fault. She
adores you, even if she might momentarily wish you to perdition.
Marry the widow to rescue your brat and your Belle will likely
drink a bottle of laudanum after which her father will shoot you in
the heart. You’ve been telling Charles for years he’s a man. Let
him be a man or you’ll end up reenacting Romeo and Juliet and your
sons will be left without a good father. Is that what you
want?”

The faces
staring up at him seemed miles below as his neck protested the
awkward angle needed to look them in the eye. He held his breath
until the bent head with a brown frizzy halo tipped back just far
enough for her to gaze up at him over her smelling salts. “Non. Je
veux Ma Belle.”

“A sensible
choice. Romeo and Juliet were nincompoops. James, take your brother
somewhere he can fill his stomach in peace. Somewhere far away from
his helpful brats and my silly cousin who should know better than
to persuade a romantic young fool to protect a desperate blind
widow from a blacksmith. Isabel, in future if any of my nephews
require romantic advice, send them to me.” The four seated Smirke
brothers all looked away from their Aunt Agnes afraid to catch her
eye. “If they convince me it’s sensible to challenge a man with
arms as big their thighs over an aging slut, I shall escort the
woman to Scotland and watch her marry my nephew over an anvil.”

“Egg!” James
snorted in amusement, “This reminds me of the time you were accused
of cheating at cards and that Captain pulled out his pistol and
threatened to shoot you, and you made him laugh so hard he wet
himself.”

“Yes and then
he accidentally shot that one legged Lieutenant in the leg. Take
your brother away and try to avoid playing cards with rum
characters who have wooden teeth and crypt-breath.”

“Ah, those were
the days…Frederick, fetch my brother’s beribboned walking stick and
our hats and then find us a hackney-coach…” Peter sighed in relief
as he realised Agnes had saved his life and settled the whole
affair with only a few words. He was trying to think of some way he
could thank her when his brother interrupted the thought by
slapping him on the back. “…we don’t want the ladies to see Lord
Madderbury limping down the street. They might think he has gout.”
Peter’s scowl only made his brother laugh. “You need to keep your
strength up old man. You won’t persuade Ta Belle you’re a sensible
Lord in need of some tender ministrations if you drop the
wench.”

Peter scowled
at his brother, “You’re worse than my brats.”

James smiled
and bent to kiss his wife’s cheek. “I’ll have him back by two of
the clock so he’ll have time to comb his hair for his lessons
d’amour. After he’s fed and watered I’ll drag him round the shops
and dare him to spend his blunt on something other than
ribbons.”

On being handed
his walking stick, Peter allowed himself one last glance at Isabel,
but she appeared engrossed in pouring herself a cup of chocolate.
“Mademoiselle?” The word flowed off his tongue before he knew he
was saying it. Brown eyes paused to stare at the cup before looking
up. “Pardonnez-moi…” Before he could explain why he was begging her
forgiveness, his brother was pushing him from the room and into a
waiting hack.

At half past
two, Peter’s sons were ordered into their father’s carriage by
their cousin Lucius and carried off to take the waters. At a
quarter to three, Agnes’s twins danced out of the house with their
father, their miniature reticules jingling with coins. Watching
from a window in the drawing room, Isabel turned on hearing
footsteps and scowled at Agnes. “You look pleased with
yourself.”

“It isn’t every
day I save two idiots from the jaws of death,” said Agnes sitting
down. “Peter says he’ll be at the door to the gold room as his
pocket watch strikes three. The big baby is sitting on his bed
cursing helpful relatives. Men!”

“He has a
point! Why do we have to do this? It’s too hot…”

“You’re not a
prisoner Isabel. You’re free to run away from happiness. It’s
unfortunate that Uncle Louis will kill your beloved Pierre and bury
him in a pasture, but that needn’t concern you. These things
happen.”

Seeing stars,
Isabel pressed her vinaigrette against her nose. “Papa wouldn’t
kill Lord Adderbury!”

“He would if
you cried yourself to death like a nincompoop. Marry Peter before
he chains himself to that blind slut and ends up with a lead ball
in his heart. At the very least marry him out of kindness for me!
If Peter dies, James will become the guardian of Robert and Cosmo.
I couldn’t bear a year of Cosmo’s disapproving monologues. I’d have
to send him on a grand tour. The boy wouldn’t be in France a week
before he found himself married to a cunning harlot.”

Isabel sighed
with longing, “Cosmo is a lovely lad. I wish I were his
mother.”

“Then marry the
boy’s father and pray the sentiment endures until Cosmo reaches his
majority.”

“I’d rather
mother Cosmo than your two fiends. They sneaked into my room and
put maggots in my slippers, and the yellow liquid in my perfume
bottle belongs in a chamber pot. The little horrors…”

“I told you,
lock your door or tell the fiends you’ll leave them each a sizeable
fortune if they’re good. They equate money with buying sweets.”

“Their
godfather is Midas Lovelace. They don’t need my money!”

“You don’t have
to actually put them in your will, just tell them you have. When
they learn you lied, you’ll be safely dead.”

“What if I have
an accident in Bath and I’m brought back half-dead? The fiends
might finish me off for the money.”

“They won’t!
Their father tells them a story every night about two little girls.
We plot the next adventure every morning. If the fictional girls
kill anyone; something bad happens to them. My angels wouldn’t kill
you. They’d be afraid the money would be swept away down a raging
river, stolen at gunpoint by highwaymen or eaten by hungry
lions.”