Dancing the Maypole (44 page)

“Not every man
can have a beautiful wife,” said Agnes. “If all people were
beautiful, no-one would be beautiful. It seems unfair that ugly
ladies have to be ugly so that I appear beautiful, but such is
life. I was born a maypole so short women can look charmingly
petite.”

Cosmo made a
grimace, “I feel sorry for ugly ladies, but I don’t want one. My
wife has to be a blue diamond worth a corresponding sum. She’ll
blind every man who sees her with her beauty, but she’ll only have
eyes for me.” Cosmo smiled as his imaginary wife’s eyes sparkled
like diamonds as she crooked her finger. “She’ll adore me.”

“And how do you
plan to lure this diamond into your possession?”

“My charming
personality, my not unpleasant person, and bit of self-made
luck.”

Agnes shook her
head, “I’m afraid you won’t remain single long enough to try the
experiment. Your heart is visibly exposed to the winds of chance.
You’ll be snapped up by the first desperate woman who finds you
introduced into her circle of influence. You’re not the only one
relying on self-made luck.”

“Is this insult
Cosmo day? If it weren’t cursed hot and I wasn’t aching like the
devil I’d pack my trunks and take the mail coach to the seaside,
far away from my cursed family. When you said you’d spend time with
me I thought you were being kind, not planning to see how many
times you could insult me before I limped from the room.”

“I’m not trying
to insult you. I’m trying to put you on your guard. As soon as
you’re twenty-one and financially independent you’ll find yourself
surrounded by pretty young creatures who all dream of a comfortable
life. If you want to find love, you’ll need to wait until your
heart says jump. When the thought of kissing a woman causes an ache
in your chest greater than any other ache, you’ll know you’re in
love.”

Cosmo’s mouth
fell open as he realised the beautiful woman wasn’t referring to
his aching backside. Blushing, he stared at the door, too horrified
to meet the woman’s gaze.

She paused to
choose a new colour and thread her needle, “Don’t leave, you’ll
miss the ball.”

“What ball?”
asked Cosmo, still staring at the door. He was unsure how to escape
without revealing the reason for his embarrassment.

“The one my
Aunt Gwen is throwing in two weeks.”

“Papa said I
wasn’t invited.”

“I’m inviting
you. Mabel is going to be there.”

Cosmo scowled
at the door. “So?”

Agnes sighed in
exasperation. “It’s time you were properly introduced to your
future stepmother. Some secrets are best shared before a man
embarks on his honeymoon. It’s not right for boys to return home to
find a strange woman sleeping in their dead mother’s room; not
without warning.”

“I’m not a
boy!”

Agnes ignored
his outrage and bent her head to work some minute detail. Cosmo
rolled his eyes and listened to the large French bracket clock
chime the hour. He didn’t need to die to experience hell - hell was
visiting relatives and being served by rude all-knowing servants.
In the fading light, the dark green wallpaper with its gold leaf
accents looked a miserable greyish-green as if he was sitting
inside a giant piece of mouldy cheddar. A shadowy figure lit the
oil lamp near his aunt and then moved around the room magically
turning mouldy cheese into the comforting green of a thick English
forest canopy on a sunny afternoon. His situation was
illuminated.

Once his father
wed his dream mistress, there’d be even less time for the fourth
son. A weight settled onto Cosmo’s chest making it hard to breathe.
It was just as well he’d be leaving on his twenty-first birthday.
Adderbury House would soon be refreshed by its new mistress. Rooms
would change colour. New furniture would replace old familiar
pieces. Ornaments collected by forgotten Smirkes would be packed in
wool and shoved into the attic. His childhood home would soon be
refashioned into a stranger’s home. At the mercy of the unknown, he
was being carried post haste into a driving gale, but there was no
rider to direct the horses. There were no reins he could grab to
slow down the vehicle. Chance would carry him forward until he
awoke to find himself married to some desperate cunning female or
worse, dying a youthful bachelor before he could find a cunning
female to share his bed. He was doomed.

Standing up,
Cosmo bowed in the direction of his aunt without looking at her.
“Thank you for spending time with me,” he said sarcastically. “I’m
off to bed.”

“Pleasant
dreams.” said Agnes.

“Cursed
unlikely!” mumbled Cosmo as he left the room.

*

Hearing the
drawing room door open and close. Agnes pretended indifference as
familiar footsteps crossed the room to where she was sitting. James
stood staring down at her until she looked up. “I need to have you
painted doing your needlework. Seeing you bent over my next gift
makes my heart race.”

Agnes raised a
single eyebrow, “Who said it was for you?”

James snorted
in amusement and sat down beside her, “You might fool the rest of
the world Egg, but your lovely blue eyes are an open novel to me.
I’m momentarily reading a tale of longing…” He slid his arm over
the back of the settee and raised both eyebrows. “The plot is
simple…1001 days and nights spent making love to me.”

“You nearly
died of exhaustion before the end of the first week, remember? Our
honeymoon might better have been termed sleepymoon.”

“Egg, you’re
not supposed to remind your adoring lover he’s only mortal. And I
clearly remember it was nearly two weeks.”

“If you say
so.” Her lips twitched in amusement as he slid closer and laughed
her ear. “How are the children?”

“Sleeping. They
both sat on my lap for their endless bedtime story. My arms are
aching. I thought they’d never fall asleep.”

“Now you know
how I felt for nine months.”

“My very own
Saint Agnes! Where is everyone? I thought I heard shouting earlier;
the house is like a crypt.”

“Uncle Louis
carried Isabel away.”

“What?”
exclaimed James. “Has your uncle lost his mind?”

“Uncle Louis
loves stories of bleeding heroes who die in agony for beautiful
maidens. I suspect Uncle Louis is trying to goad Peter into doing
something rash.”

“I hope Peter
doesn’t die. I wonder if I could convince Peter to make Lucius
guardian of Cosmo and Robert. Where is Lucifer? I thought he’d be
haunting the window, staring at your reflection in the glass.”

“He’s asleep in
your study.”

“The devil he
is! Why?”

“After Cosmo
broke his nose, the other inhabitants of The Maiden’s Head picked
him up and threw him into the street. Poor Lucius, I haven’t seen
such a pathetic sight in years. The barber did his best, but I
doubt he’ll ever look the same. It’s hard to tell with his nose
bruised and swollen. You’ll have to endure your cousin’s company
until he’s fit to be seen in public.”

“If I must,”
mumbled James. “Who was shouting?”

“Lucius and
Peter; your brother was complaining about his life being hard to
your injured cousin. Judging by Lucius’ angry, resentful tone, he
secretly desires a wife.”

James scowled,
“Yes, my wife! Who’d marry him? He’s a servant! He might as well
have the plague.”

“Exactly! There
must be a few kind or desperate ladies who’d marry a steward, but
he’d have to find them and he’s only ever invited to visit family.”
Agnes finished her stitch and looked up from her needlework. “I
feel sorry for him. He’ll probably die a bachelor working for
Cecil.”

“No-one put a
pistol to his head and made him become a servant. That was his
choice. He should have married some rich widow years ago.”

“And if she
outlived him?”

“Egg, a man has
to roll the dice he’s handed. I inherited a small property and a
few thousand pounds. If I hadn’t sold the property and invested the
money with Midas I might never have met you.”

“Not everyone
is friends with the wealthiest man in the country.”

“If Lucius
wasn’t such a proud sullen fool, I’d have invited him to meet Midas
years ago. If your cousin is the best friend of the wealthiest man
in the country and you need a hand up in life, if you have any
sense, you make an effort to be pleasant company. He doesn’t! He’s
spent his life resenting other people’s good fortune, blind to
missed opportunities.” James slid closer and caressed her throat,
“Would you have married me if I had to work for Midas?”

“Probably,”
said Agnes.

James stared at
her in horror, “What do you mean probably?”

“If Midas had
fancied a maypole, I could have fallen in love with him. And if you
worked for him, I probably wouldn’t have met you until after I
became Mrs Lovelace.”

“Don’t be cruel
Egg! It hurts to even think of it.”

“Then don’t
think of it,” said Agnes. “You rolled your dice and won a penniless
maypole. Lucky you!”

James ignored
his wife’s sardonic tone, “Yes,” he whispered as he lightly
caressed her cheek. “Lucky me!”

The grey
morning light cast greenish shadows over the drawing room as the
clock struck half past five with a smug chime. Standing near the
empty grate, his arms folded against the chill, Peter glared at the
clock and then at the door. He couldn’t sleep until he knew Isabel
had reached her destination. Mental sketches of the previous
evening flashed out of sequence before his eyes. One moment
Monsieur de Bourbon’s carriage was driving away, wrenching Peter’s
intestines into a painful knot. Then, Peter was holding Isabel’s
face, kissing her smiling lips. Now, he was squeezing her hand as
he helped her into the carriage. He’d failed to rescue his Belle,
and his punishment was to suffer the interminable hell of waiting.
In his mind’s eye, he imagined Agnes looking at him with sympathy
as she handed him a letter.

Unfolding the
letter, Peter would find a few short sentences from Isabel
informing him he was a pathetic excuse for a hero, and that she
never wanted to see him again. After a sleepless night, it seemed
rational to wish Isabel was next to him, staunching a wound in his
foot with her skirts. If he’d been shot, and he hadn’t bled to
death, she’d be tending his wound instead of… He didn’t want to
think of what might have happened. His private misery was disturbed
by a maid entering the room to perform her morning duties. He
clenched his teeth and prayed for deliverance. It was gone six
before he was alone again with his misery. A muffled knock on the
front door made his heart thump his chest with fear. Limping at a
gallop to the window, he tried to identify the caller, but there
was no vehicle. It was probably someone’s servant delivering
invitations. Hearing the door close, he waited to see who walked
away from the house, but the street remained empty.

A few minutes
later he heard hesitant footsteps cross the landing and approach
the drawing room door. It was the sound of a man in boots
delivering bad news. Peter’s throat closed in terror as his knees
threatened to give way. His eyes felt painfully dry as he stared
wide-eyed at the closed door. The man on the other side stood
still. Peter mentally screamed at the heartless fiend to knock. It
was almost another minute before the door handle turned. The soft
click seemed to reverberate through the house, drowning out the
sounds of a maid scrubbing the front hall, and the housekeeper
ordering the footmen to check all the clocks to ensure they were
telling the same time. Seeing Charles standing in the doorway,
Peter reeled back in relief and found himself propped upright
against the wall.

With his arms
still folded, Peter cleared his throat and tried to sound casual.
“Well?” The single word came out sounding as if Peter expected to
hear his third son admit to treason. Charles closed the door and
stared at the floor, gripping his hat with clenched fingers.

“If you’re here
to ask for my b-blessing to marry that b-blind slut,” said Peter,
“I won’t give it. You’re of age. You c-can throw your life away if
you wish, but d-don’t expect me to c-congratulate your ruin. I want
my sons to be happy. I want you to wake every morning and find the
woman you love smiling at you even if you have crypt-breath and you
stink like a randy goat. Not wake alone and wish the woman in the
next room was someone else…like I did.”

Charles gave no
sign of having heard Peter’s tirade, “It was gone eleven when I
reached Adderbury. I thought she might be up playing her
pianoforte. There was a lamp in her window so I knew she was awake.
I knocked on the door five times. That was our arranged signal. She
said it was so she’d know I was at the door and not one of her
neighbours wanting to steal her tea caddy. I knocked five times
again, but there was no response. On the other side of the church a
dog started barking and then I heard footsteps. I stepped back into
the shadows and waited for the man to pass, but he didn’t. He
stopped at her door and knocked seven times. The door immediately
opened, and he went inside without a word. I waited, fearing he
might be blackmailing her, but then I heard her laugh. I couldn’t
move. I stood there for hours. Finally, the lamp was blown out and
the door opened. I heard them kissing in-between whispers, and then
he danced back the way he’d come. I would have asked her to marry
me.”

Peter groaned
in empathetic horror as his thoughtless words pressed down on his
tired brain; he’d failed again. “I’m sorry son.”

“How could I be
so…so blind? I thought she loved me.”

“Sometimes we
want to be loved so b-badly we c-convince ourselves that we’ve
found the right woman.”

“I’ve been such
a fool. Cecil was right, curse him. How will I know when I’ve found
the right woman?”