The King's Doll Read online

  “There is trouble in France, then?” Her Grace asked. “We hear so many rumors these days ... but I am not really interested in foreign politics."

  “There is indeed much trouble in my beautiful France,” Dani admitted sorrowfully. “Some chateaux have already been overrun by rioting mobs of peasants, and a few have actually been looted and burned to the ground."

  Her Grace did not appear too anguished over the plight of the foreign noblemen, merely remarking that, “We do things better here in England, ma'am."

  “I hope you will continue to do so, ma'am," replied her guest a shade tartly.

  The Duchess frowned. “My son, the present Duke of Lansdale, has suggested that we keep you here until you can find quarters more suitable to your needs. My son's agent, Ian Campbell, is already searching for a residence that you might wish to consider. Perhaps you will speak to him. You can inform him as to what money you wish to spend upon your purchase.” She stared at them disparagingly.

  Dani, affronted at this continued rudeness, was still aware of the vulnerability of her position. She had no money of her own beyond the few francs she had in her reticule. The two de Granville women were, in fact, dependent upon Sir Hilary for the roof over their heads and the very food they placed in their mouths. He was not averse to helping them—on the contrary, he implied frequently that a closer relationship would suit him very well, but it must not become known that the Frenchwomen were staying with such a raffish English bachelor. Such a rumor would put finish to any hope of Tiri's making a good marriage. So, somehow, Dani must arrange that they stay here with this sour harridan until Tiri was safely wed. Dani took a deep, restorative breath and focused a bland smile upon the Duchess.

  “When I meet with your King George later this week, I shall be sure to mention your—ah—courteous reception of us,” she promised sweetly.

  This shot went home. The Duchess looked alarmed. It had not occurred to her that this foreign female might have entrée to the English Court. Hastily she revised her strategy. “But of course you will both move in here today,” she hastened to say. “My son has suggested that rooms be prepared for you and has already instructed the servants to place themselves at your disposal. Perhaps you would care to repair to your suite now?” She ran over in her mind the instructions that she, not Daral, had given her staff. She would have to amend them at once—as soon as these wretched foreigners went upstairs.

  On their part, the “foreigners” were thankful to get away from the oppressive atmosphere of the gloomy drawing room. They followed their reluctant hostess back into the hall, where the Duchess gave them into the care of Mrs. Dodge, the housekeeper, a dour-faced female in a lugubrious black dress with a large bunch of jangling keys hanging from a heavy belt.

  “Feudal!” breathed Dani, with a mischievous twinkle at the keys. Tiri was not amused. Following her mother and the housekeeper up the dark, uncarpeted stairway, the girl was, for the first time in her life, prey to despair. Tiri was not stupid, and the signs had been clear to read of late. Maman, with all her worldly knowledge, was incredibly naive if she believed that she could behave as she had done when she was a charming, amusing friend of a harassed monarch. Here in England she was on very shaky ground indeed. Her only friend was an English nobleman of dubious authenticity, whose patronage would do her more harm than good. The English ruling class, for all the licentiousness of its male members, had strict rules of conduct, of which the most important one was: Be discreet. This much she had picked up from listening to the gossip around Versailles.

  When the housekeeper left them, Dani advised her that the trunks would be delivered that afternoon. Mrs. Dodge agreed to have them brought up the moment they arrived, with a maid to unpack them. After the woman left, Dani stood in the middle of the cheerless room and stared around her. Then she walked to the connecting door and gave Tiri's room an equally thorough inspection. She quirked an eyebrow at her daughter.

  “Not exactly Versailles, is it? Nor even the Rue du Rhône."

  King Louis had given Dani a charming little apartment on that quiet street, a place for him to slip away to when he could steal an hour or so, and for Dani and Tiri to live in when Louis was busy or otherwise engaged, which was most of the time. Tiri, unhappy at the loneliness, had asked her maman why they should have to spend so much time alone in the apartment.

  “It is important,” Dani had told her, “that one should not be too available. Or too visible,” she had added with a wry smile. While she had held a certain place as the widow of the bearer of an ancient title, Dani had been subject to criticism and scorn when she became Louis's mistress. Her position, and that of her daughter, would be even more precarious in London. Only King Louis's parting gesture, the letters to the Duke and to George III, stood between the two women and disaster.

  With a little sob, Dani held out her arms. Tiri ran to her, feeling more like the mother than the daughter as she held her maman close and patted her shoulder. It was fortunate that a maid brought up tea at this moment and set it on a small table. While Tiri suspected that this courtesy was extended by the Duchess to avoid the necessity of sharing tea with her guests downstairs, she was glad to have it. Both women marveled at the amount and variety of food the English deemed necessary to sustain the body until dinner. After eating nearly everything, however, they sat back and smiled at one another.

  "Bon! I am now ready to face even that dragon downstairs! And her son. One wonders if he is like his mama?"

  “One hopes not!” shuddered Tiri. “Two such dragons in the same cave would be unendurable!"

  They shared a laugh at the description of the ducal mansion, and both felt better for it. Tiri was pleased that her impulsive and rather spoiled maman was taking this new development so lightheartedly. Perhaps they might be able to establish themselves in spite of the unpleasant Duchess and her invisible son. In a few days, one could catch one's breath, recuperate from the rigors of that headlong flight from Paris, and have leisure to decide upon the best course of action. If Maman really did have a note from Louis to the English King, it would certainly be more impressive to deliver it in a ducal carriage than in a hired hackney.

  And if there was no note?

  Tiri drew a shuddering breath. Surely in a city the size of London there would be something a girl could do—some decent employment that would enable her to keep herself and her mother. For she did not want Maman to enter into a liaison with Sir Hilary Conray! She did not trust him. There was something about him that suggested a more sinister purpose than a simple seduction of the charming Countess he had met so casually in Calais.

  The long afternoon dragged for the two women. Tiri spent time helping the maid unpack the trunks, and then, when their few but exquisite costumes were safely disposed in the cavernous wardrobe, the girl wandered through the austere suite, considering what could be done to brighten it up for Dani's comfort. Tiri feared that her mother would never be content to remain in such depressing surroundings. Already her pretty mouth was drooping forlornly. Soon it would harden into a stubborn line of rejection—and she would begin to fret for the dashing English milord. What arguments could Tiri use to keep Dani here long enough to accomplish the introduction to Polite Society? Long enough even to find some other refuge than Sir Hilary?

  Reinforcing Tiri's worst fears, Dani said abruptly. “I shall remain in this dungeon only long enough to see you safely embarked upon your Season, ma petite, and then disappear. You may tell everyone I have returned to the de Granville estates in Brittany."

  “Think of the scandal it would create if you suddenly disappeared!” protested Tiri. “King Louis would be sure to hear of it. Think how disappointed he will be after all his trouble in seeing us safely ensconced in England!—"

  Dani laughed scornfully.

  “My poor child, Louis no longer cares what happens to either of us. He has his own troubles! Oh, he was generous in getting us away from Paris, where we had no future in any circles we might be able to enter, bu
t his concern was chiefly because I had become an embarrassment to him. His ministers and the Queen were urging him to give not even the slightest excuse for scandal at the moment. No, my dear Tiri, this must be a new life for us both. There is nothing for either of us in your father's demesne. I think I have found my destiny,” she said warmly. “I may even be able to convince my Englishman that he wishes to marry me!"

  With her lips open to protest, Tiri was silenced by her mother's evident joy. “You would really consider?—” she began doubtfully.

  “I have never met a man who attracted me so strongly,” Dani confessed quietly. “Now I have only to persuade him!” She smiled at the girl. “But first, ma chére enfant, we must find a suitable parti for you! I am afraid we'll need the Duke's sponsorship for that. So fortunate that your father was a nobleman of ancient lineage,” she added, grinning like a gamine.

  Tiri was so grateful that her maman was speaking more cheerfully that she began to grin also. “Do you really have a letter from Uncle Louis for the English King?” she asked.

  Dani nodded. “It should be enough to insure your being presented at Court. That will smooth our path."

  “How do you know what's in it?” worried Tiri.

  “I stood at his shoulder as he wrote it,” confessed Dani. Her expression became contemplative. “Poor Louis! He always seems to make such a muddle of the simplest things! I do hope he will be able to rescue himself and his family from this désastre! Il fait toujours des étourderies!" She sighed, shaking her head over the poor judgment and irresolute behavior of her former protector. “Well!” she rallied, “we must find ways to persuade this English Duke who plays least-in-sight to give a ball for you, my dear one.” Her expression became dreamy as she scrutinized her daughter's slender elegance in a silk gown which exactly matched her hair. “If we cannot catch you an eligible bachelor with your looks, ma poupée, the English must be blind!"

  CHAPTER 3

  As the day advanced, however, Dani's mood became depressed again. No one came near the two Frenchwomen, not even a maid to assist them in dressing for dinner. To keep her maman's mind busy, Tiri proposed that they help each other dress. “No one knows how to impart a touch of high fashion as well as you do, Dani!"

  The older woman immediately became more cheerful and began to mull happily over the choice of costumes and the important question of whether a shawl might be worn to dinner.

  “For it is already clear to me that Madame la Duchesse is a penny pincher and probably refuses to have the fires lit unless it is snowing!"

  As her maman's mood lightened, Tiri found her own spirits sinking. How could they exist in this mausoleum? Cold, stale air and ugly furniture one could endure, but the chilling lack of welcome, the complete disregard of her mother's feelings, demonstrated by their hostess—these could freeze the soul! Protective anger at her mother's predicament rose in Tiri's breast. High stickler the Duchess might be, but she was neither poor nor solitary, and could provide more suitably for her guests. Moreover, the Duchess had received a direct request from a reigning monarch—to welcome his personal friends. The Monarch's slightest wish was equal to a command in his own country, and should be so in the country of an ally. Tiri glanced around the comfortless rooms. Why was there no fire in the grate? Why had not hot water been provided for their use? For that matter, where were the bouquets of flowers, the crystal decanters of fine wine, the bonbons in elegant little china dishes, all of which had graced the guest rooms in the Rue du Rhône? Were the English a race of barbarians? Glancing at her mother's lovely face, now bent over a box of shawls, Tiri said with false brightness, “I am going to find a maid to help us."

  “Why not just pull the bell rope, dearest?” murmured Dani.

  “Like so much else in this place, it does not seem to be working,” replied Tiri crisply.

  She went out into the dark hallway and walked down it toward a dim light which came from two candles in a tarnished lamp. This feeble light marked a wide landing at the head of the staircase. The girl paused to look down into the entrance hall just as the butler was opening the heavy front doors to admit a guest. As the man walked in, he was illuminated by the light of a small chandelier. Tiri's breath caught in her throat. He was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen.

  He was wearing a green satin coat and white breeches. His hair was skillfully powdered and tied back with a neat black bow at his nape. An emerald ring gleamed on one slender white hand. His features were handsome, but there was a stubborn set to the well-cut lips. His expression, as far as Tiri could read it, was complacent, even supercilious. He knows his worth, that one! she thought, and then: He finds this dismal place amusing!

  The man was speaking at some length, low-voiced, to the butler, and receiving obsequious answers. A horrid thought struck Tiri. Why was the Duchess's butler so deferential to this newcomer? But if he were the Duke!—

  Without giving herself time to consider her action, Tiri called out sharply, "Arrêtez-vous, s'il vous plait!"

  The man halted abruptly as she had commanded, and turned to see who had spoken. His eyes widened as he stared up at the small, enchanting figure above him. Dani had chosen a gown of soft silk whose color exactly matched Tiri's bright hair, and the girl made a colorful picture on the shadowy staircase. After a moment the man asked, incredulously, “Are you Madame la Comtesse?"

  “I am Mademoiselle de Granville,” Tiri answered and began to descend the staircase toward him. “And you, sir?"

  The classic coldness of his face softened into amusement as he heard her challenge. “I am the Duke of Lansdale,” he said, his deep voice touching Tiri's nerve-ends to quivering response.

  “Then—then you must be our host,” she faltered, pausing just above him.

  His smile widened a little unpleasantly, the girl thought. “No, I am as much a guest as yourself,” he said coolly, “in this house."

  “But I understood—Is not this the home of the Duke?"

  “The eighth duke—my father,” he corrected her. “It is my mother's residence. I live elsewhere in London."

  “Oh,” murmured Tiri, deflated. Her first pleasure in this handsome young man was rapidly dissipating. Was the whole family of this unpleasant temperament? “Then why am I—why are we here? Uncle Louis committed us to your care,” she said, with a flare of temper.

  “Because I live in a bachelor establishment, quite unsuitable for a young lady and her mama,” the young Duke told her with odious complacence. “To have a young woman, even one so highly sponsored, in my own residence, would be to invite the whispers of all the busybodies in London, and stimulate the matchmakers to a frenzy."

  “Since that was presumably the purpose of this whole exercise,” Tiri said crisply, “I cannot see the harm. You are, I believe, intended to present me to Their Majesties and to Society, and make sure I am betrothed to an appropriate parti." She heard herself utter this rather callous statement with considerable surprise. It was not normally her custom to speak so rudely, but something about this young nobleman quite disturbed her poise.

  He was, in fact, regarding her as though she had affronted his notions of good taste. “Is it always your habit to speak so plainly?” he asked coldly. “I must warn you it will not do in English Society."

  “Of course it is not,” Tiri retorted crossly. “It is just that I have had a perfectly horrid day in this gloomy mausoleum—and if that affronts you, perhaps you might make a push to have your mama brighten up her home.” She peered around the dark-shadowed hall with distaste. “It is no wonder you moved to another mansion!"

  He grinned wickedly. “Nasty place, isn't it? I moved out of it the day I became Duke. But you must remain here, my ambitious little Frenchwoman, if you wish to catch yourself a husband! Oh, I'll do what's required to present you, but not a move more, be warned of that! My mother will be responsible for launching you upon the Ton."

  “Then I am sunk already,” snapped Tiri waspishly. “Your mama has been rude and ungraciou
s to my mother and me. We have been left in a wretched, ugly room to our own devices, without a maid, or fire ... or warm water—” Her voice broke. The Duke thought with a twinge of remorse that she was much younger than he had suspected, and more vulnerable. Knowing his mother, and the lack of amenities in this house, he felt a certain sympathy with the girl. She was such a child!

  The child was glaring at him with wrath-filled eyes.

  “You are not at all gentil, Your Grace! I had expected that a friend of King Louis would be more agréable!" She caught her breath on a tiny sob. “It is nothing to you or your formidable maman that my mother and I have had a desperate journey from Paris and are abandoned in a strange city at the mercy of cold-hearted English persons!"

  “My dear Mademoiselle de Granville,” said the Duke in a voice of icy hauteur, “there are as many different kinds of persons in England as there are among the French. Ignorance, malice, and prejudice are not to be found solely in London. If you are to “take” at Almacks', you will have to strive for reticence, self-control, and modesty! Even your pet name is an affront to English ears, and I hope you will not try to use it! Poupée dorée!" he uttered in scornful accents.

  “That name was given me, in affection, by King Louis!"

  “I cannot believe that endeared you particularly to the high sticklers in His Majesty's Court,” said the Duke with a pitying smile Tiri found detestable. “I must advise you not to boast of the casual favors of Royalty, mademoiselle. They are two-edged."

  “Unlike your own favors,” the girl lashed back, “which have only a killing thrust!"

  The Duke surveyed the small defiant figure, the lovely face flushed with anger, the proud chin tilted. Perhaps he also read the hurt in the depths of the big blue eyes, for when he spoke again, his voice held a softer note.

  “I came tonight to meet your mother and you, mademoiselle, and to make sure that my mother will put all in train for your presentation to Their Majesties. There is a Drawing Room scheduled for next week—and I have already spoken to King George's secretary and told him of your letter to His Majesty. You may present it to the King after you make your curtsey."