The Danbury Scandals (6 page)

‘Oh, and which
do you prefer?’ She shouldn’t be having this conversation with him, she told
herself; it was almost flirting, and it could lead to... oh, anywhere, and she
was playing with fire.

‘They both have
their place,’ he said solemnly, but there was laughter in his brown eyes, as if
he was enjoying teasing her. ‘But at this moment I have eyes only for the
English rose.’

She felt
herself colour under his scrutiny and turned away. ‘I must go back.’

‘Back?’

‘Home, to
Beckford Hall. Where else?’

‘Oh, dear, that
has the sound of hopelessness about it. Surely a young lady as young and
beautiful as you are has plans for her future?’

‘Perhaps I
have.’

He smiled. ‘But
they are secret? Ah, well, I don’t expect you to tell me. Keep your pride, it
is your best defence.’

‘Against what?’

‘Life’s little
set-backs. The disappointments, the dreams that fade, other people’s censure.’

It was as if he
knew all about her without having to be told, and it was most disconcerting.
‘How do you know so much?’ she asked.

He answered her
with another question. ‘Are you happy there?’

‘Yes, of
course. They are very kind.’

‘Kind! Is that
all you ask, that people be kind?’ His voice softened. ‘You deserve more than
kindness, little one.’

‘You, sir, are
impertinent.’

‘Your pardon.’
He sighed melodramatically and bent over her hand. ‘
Au revoir, mam’selle
,
until the next time we meet.’

‘There will be
no next time. We are all leaving for London very soon. Caroline is coming out.’

‘And what about
you?’

‘Me too.’

‘You are to be
put on the marriage market, are you? How do you feel about that?’

‘How I feel is
nothing to do with you.’ His prying was annoying her because he seemed to be
able to dig deep into her innermost thoughts, to unearth her anxieties and lay
bare her secret dreams.

‘Do you think
that is the best way to find the love of your life?’

‘And what do
you know of it? It is the custom and usually it works very well.’

‘Perhaps for
the Miss Danburys of this world, but not for you. I would have expected you to
be more independent.’ Before she could think of an appropriate retort, he went
on, ‘Tell me, what connection is that young lady to you?’

‘Her father and
my mother were first cousins.’

‘Cousins? I
hadn’t realised you were truly one of the family. I thought...’

What had he
thought? That she was a governess or companion? She drew herself up to her full
height and tilted her chin. ‘Mr Daw, I will have you know that the Duke of
Wiltshire is my uncle...’

‘Then my
condolences, ma’am.’ The teasing look left his eyes as he bowed to her. ‘I bid
you good-day.’

She watched him
stride away, with a feeling of deep disappointment in the pit of her stomach.
They had been enjoying a bantering light-hearted flirtation which had been
perfectly harmless and then all of a sudden it had turned sour, and all because
her pride had been dented and she must boast of her breeding. ‘Bufflehead!’ she
scolded herself.

He did not like
the Danburys; the more she saw of him, the more convinced she became of it.
What had he against them? If anyone had cause to be resentful, she had, because
of her mother, but had he also suffered at their hands? Could he be bent on
revenge? Who was he? His name was not Jack Daw, of that she was certain, and he
was certainly not a gypsy. If Lord Danbury had not insisted on her accompanying
them all to London, she would have tried to find out more about him. As it was,
he would have to remain a mystery, unless, of course, he was still in Beckford
when they returned in the autumn.

She was so
engrossed in her thoughts that she did not hear the sound of footsteps, until a
shadow fell across the stone floor at her feet. Startled, she looked up,
thinking he had returned, but it was Mark.

‘Who was that
fellow I saw leaving?’ he asked, using his crop to indicate the open door.

Maryanne had
stepped across to look at the register the Frenchman had been scrutinising and
was surprised to see the page open at the year 1787. The name Mark James
Danbury leapt out at her. Without knowing why she did it, she shut the book
before Mark could see it and turned, with as much composure as she could
muster, to answer him. ‘I have no idea who he was. He was in the church when I
arrived. We exchanged greetings and he was perfectly civil.’ She had missed the
opportunity to tell him of her suspicions, and now it would be even more
difficult to do so.

‘It is not only
unseemly, but dangerous to speak to strangers, Maryanne.’ He took her arm. ‘I
think I had better tell the Reverend Mr Cudlipp to keep a watch on the church
plate. And it would be better if you did not walk out alone again.’

‘Why not? I
surely do not need an escort to come to the village, where everyone knows me. I
don’t suddenly stop being the parson’s ward just because the Dowager Duchess of
Wiltshire takes it into her head to recognise me after all these years.’

He opened his
mouth to scold her, changed his mind and his tone softened. ‘Maryanne, you are
already very dear to me and I would never forgive myself if anything happened
to you.’ He was infuriatingly confident as he took her hand and tucked it in
the crook of his arm and turned to leave.

‘I told you, we
hardly spoke. You are making something of nothing.’

‘Your
well-being is not nothing, Maryanne. I do not think you realise how important
it is to me.’ He shut the lych-gate behind them and took her arm again. ‘I went
home to ask if you would like to ride out, but you were nowhere to be found.
You told no one where you were going.’

‘How did you
know where to look for me, then?’

‘Your maid said
you had taken the hassock with you, so it was not difficult to guess.’ He
smiled. ‘Come, we will be back in time for luncheon, if we hurry, and perhaps
Father will have returned home with the news that Her Grace remains tolerably
well and we can all set off for London. I am looking forward to being your
escort and the envy of the whole ton.’

She smiled at
his compliment, and together they walked back to Beckford Hall, unaware that
brown eyes watched their progress and the owner of the eyes was cursing his ill
luck in voluble and colourful French.

Chapter Three

As soon as they
were all installed at Danbury House, in Piccadilly, Caroline, accompanied by a
reluctant Maryanne, began a round of visits to friends who had also arrived in
the capital, a pastime which was punctuated with receiving callers, shopping,
carriage rides in the park and endless gossip. They were always chaperoned by
Mrs Ryfield. Several years younger than her brother, Emma Ryfield was still a
very handsome woman, with sleek dark hair and the Danbury brown eyes. James had
told her to treat both girls alike and to make sure they were seen in the right
places, spoke to the right people and were invited to the right gatherings, and
she was to ensure that they were not plagued by the attentions of undesirables.
Maryanne entered into the social whirl with rather less enthusiasm than
Caroline, who spent much of her time speculating on the number of proposals she
was likely to receive and looking daily for the longed-for invitations to Lady
Markham’s ball which arrived one morning when they were sitting over a late
breakfast.

‘A masked
ball!’ Caroline said, ripping hers open. ‘And only a week away.’ She turned to
Maryanne, eyes alight with excitement. ‘What shall I wear? Something striking,
of course.’ She got up and paced the room, waving the invitation in front of
her face like a fan, while Maryanne watched from her seat. ‘I think I shall go
as Queen Elizabeth.’ She turned to her cousin and surveyed her critically.
‘What about you?’

‘I will find
something,’ Maryanne said, but when she refused to divulge what she had decided
on Caroline spent some time persuading her that if she had nothing suitable to
wear it would be useless for her to go.

Mark would not
hear of that. ‘I shall be quite cast down if you don’t come,’ he told Maryanne.
‘I shall expect at least three dances, so that everyone will see what a
handsome couple we make.’ He sat down beside her on the
chaise-longue
where she was sewing, and added softly, ‘We do, you know. I shall be the envy
of the ton.’

By the time the
carriages arrived at the front door on the Friday evening to take them to
Bedford Row, even Maryanne had yielded to the excitement.

She took a last
look at herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw, though she
wondered if her dress might be too plain for a costume ball. It was one of her
mother’s which she had kept because the material was so fine, and because Mama
had been very fond of it, though as far as Maryanne could remember she never
had occasion to wear it. Its overskirt was of white Nottingham lace, trimmed
with white satin ribbon and the underskirt of finest white silk, which draped
itself into soft folds from a high waist. It showed her figure to perfection
without being too daring. A wreath of greenery around curls dressed a la
Grecque and a sash of twisted foliage across her shoulder and over her breast,
together with a pair of silver sandals, put the finishing touches to her idea
of what a wood nymph might look like. She smiled to herself remembering Jack
Daw, who had given her the idea.

‘Oh, Miss
Maryanne, you look so pretty,’ her maid said, opening the door for her. ‘Bowl
them over, you will.’

‘Thank you,
Rose. You need not wait up for me.’ Trembling a little and with shining eyes,
she went slowly downstairs.

Mark was
already in the hall, dressed as a highwayman with a many-caped cloak and a
large feathered hat. He turned from admiring himself in a long mirror and
smiled up at her. ‘My, oh my!’ he exclaimed.

She smiled. ‘Do
you like it?’

‘Like it?’ He
laughed and came forward to take her hand. ‘I am speechless.’

‘That certainly
makes a change,’ said his father, coming out of the library with Mrs Ryfield.
He turned to Maryanne and for a moment looked startled. Then he smiled. ‘You
look charming, my dear, so much like your mother, I was quite taken aback.’
There was a look of sadness behind his eyes which lingered for a while even
after he had smiled and said, ‘You will have them all by the ears. Now, where
is Caroline?’

‘I am here.’
Caroline appeared, at the top of the stairs, regal as Queen Elizabeth, complete
with red wig and a huge starched ruff. The family diamonds, with their hard
white glitter, encircled a décolletage which was only just decent. She
descended the stairs slowly, defying anyone to do anything but praise her, and
although her father’s brows rose a little his only comment was, ‘A queen
indeed.’

The press of
carriages in the street outside Lady Markham’s home meant that they were kept
waiting in line for several minutes before they could reach the door and
alight, but at last they found themselves in a brilliantly lit foyer, where a
footman took their cloaks. Then they made their way along a wide corridor to
where Lord and Lady Markham stood at the entrance to the ballroom, receiving
their guests. His lordship had declined to wear costume, but her ladyship was
dressed as Nell Gwynn. She was short and plump, with a mischievous smile and
laughing brown eyes. She kissed Mrs Ryfield on both cheeks, dropped an
imperceptible curtsy to James and held out her hands to the girls. ‘How nice to
see you. Now go on and enjoy yourselves; if you don’t get handsome offers
before the night is out, I shall want to know why.’

Mark took
Maryanne’s arm and they moved forward into the ballroom where they were just in
time to join a cotillion. It was not until the dance had finished and he
escorted her to a seat that she was able to look at her surroundings. The
ballroom was enormous, with a high domed ceiling and long windows, draped with
velvet curtains which were drawn back so that the light from hundreds of
candelabra shone out on to a terrace and garden. An orchestra played on a dais
at the end of the room and everywhere there were banks of flowers. The costumes
delighted and amused her; kings, queens, Greek gods and goddesses, harlequins,
coachmen and gypsy maidens abounded. And sprinkled among them were the scarlet,
blue and green of dress uniforms.

In spite of
their masks, Maryanne recognised many of the guests as people to whom she had
already been introduced: young Lord Brandon in the full dress uniform of a
captain of the Guards, plump, red-faced Lord Boscombe, and Caroline’s
particular friends, the Misses Georgiana and Henrietta Halesworth.

‘Caroline is
happy,’ Mark observed dryly, seeing his sister surrounded by an animated group
of admirers. ‘And while she holds court I can have you all to myself.’

‘I am rather
hot,’ she said, wondering why she found this declaration unnerving. Mark’s
attentiveness had become more and more like serious courting since they had
arrived in London and he was becoming a little possessive. ‘Would you fetch me
a glass of cordial, please?’