Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1

Tallie settled down to absorb the atmosphere. Once her ears adjusted to the din and apparent chaos she began to pick out differences in costumes and to make some sense out of what was going on.

What had seemed to her first startled gaze to be Millie’s state of near nudity was revealed as being a set of skin-toned fleshings over which a dress, apparently made of disparate pieces of fabric, was in fact held together by panels of pink net. It still revealed slender ankles and a quantity of Millie’s well-turned calf.

Millie dusted her face with a vast powder puff and searched frantically through her cluttered table. ‘Where’s my lampblack? Jemmie!’

‘Yes, miss?’ A sharp-faced urchin appeared as though by magic.

‘Where’s my lampblack?’

‘Suzy half-inched it,’ the boy reported.

‘Well, go and half-inch it back.’

‘That’s a boy!’ Tallie gasped.

‘Yes, I know. That’s Jemmie. He’s eight.’

‘But you are all … I mean, half of you haven’t got any clothes on and—’

‘He’s used to it,’ Millie said calmly. ‘Doesn’t know any different. Thinks we’re all his sisters in any case.’

A man stuck his head round the door. ‘Overture and beginners! Shift your assets, you load of …’ A chorus of abuse and thrown objects greeted this announcement and he ducked back through he door.

Tallie had a sudden vision of what Nick would say if he saw her now and had to suppress a laugh. He hoped she was being neither indiscreet nor unwise, did he? How would he categorise sitting in the middle of the opera-chorus dressing-room?

Millie was jamming a saucy hat on her head and picking up a beribboned shepherd’s crook. ‘Right. Here we go. I’m in the first scene with the other village girls.’

Tallie spent an exhilarating hour and a half being jostled, sworn at, deafened and shocked as she jammed herself into a corner of the wings and watched the performance. At last the final curtain came down and the cast rushed off, sweaty, exhausted and apparently ready to spend the rest of the night in a continuous party.

‘Come on.’ Millie caught Tallie’s arm and dragged her along. ‘I need to get changed before they let any of them in.’

‘Who?’ Tallie found herself acting as an impromptu dresser, unhooking Millie’s costume and handing her pieces of cotton waste dipped in goose grease to clean off the make-up.

‘We get the lot: the bloods, the peep o’day boys, a few flats, some pinks of the ton,’ Millie said calmly. ‘I don’t encourage them myself, of course, but most of the girls have got followers.’

‘They are going to let them in here?’ Tallie squeaked. ‘Can we go before that happens?’

‘If I really rush.’ Millie stepped into her petticoats and reached for a walking dress hanging on a hook beside her. ‘Normally I’m never finished before they come in. So long as I’m dressed properly I don’t mind. I just get on and do my hair and things.’

Tallie fidgeted with impatience, unable to see anything she could help with to finish Millie’s toilette. The last thing she had expected was to be found in here by a crowd of amorously inclined men—judging from the very half-hearted efforts some of the girls were making to get changed, any man coming here this evening was not going to want to be discussing the finer points of the script.

‘Where are my shoes?’ Millie demanded, dropping to her knees and scrabbling under the table. ‘Oh bother, I’ve kicked one right through …’ She scuttled under the table in pursuit of her missing slipper, leaving Tallie by herself as the door swung open to admit a crowd of men.

They were in a dangerously boisterous mood, already half-drunk, clutching champagne bottles and more than ready to enjoy whatever favours the chorus girls were minded to share with them. Tallie retreated behind a rack of dresses, only to freeze as a very familiar voice reached her from the other side of the wall of mirrors.

‘Why, Miss LeNoir! Charmed to see you. I did so enjoy your performance tonight.’ Hemsley. Tallie pressed herself back against the wall, then realised that she could not abandon Millie, who was obviously responding with flattered delight to his compliments.

‘Your voice goes from strength to strength,’ he was confiding. ‘I think you are wasted in the chorus. I happen to know someone who manages performances at Drury Lane. I know he would hear you as a favour to me. Why don’t you let me drive you home this evening so we can discuss it? You don’t want to be here with this rabble—it is unsuitable for an artiste of your talent.’

‘Oh, thank you, Mr Hemsley, but I cannot drive with you this evening; besides, should you be out when you have so obviously been injured? Whatever happened?’

Tallie tiptoed closer to the end of the makeshift wall of mirrors.

‘Footpads, my dear, six of them at least. I had my cane, of course, and I flatter myself I have a good right hook, but even so, it took me some time to—’ He broke off, his drawling voice choking on the words as Tallie appeared. She glanced around, but the rest of the men were gathered round a giggling group of girls by the door; they would not be overheard.

‘Why, Mr Hemsley, what a dreadful mess those villains made of your face!’ If she had not been present when it happened, she would never have believed that mass of bruises was the work of one man. ‘How heroic of you to beat them off.’

‘Do you know Mr Hemsley, then, Tallie?’ Millie asked innocently, her face lighting up to discover two of her friends were acquainted.

‘Yes, indeed,’ Tallie said earnestly. ‘You have been having a hard time, Mr Hemsley, have you not? Such ill fortune to be attacked by footpads immediately after Lord Arndale beat you so soundly for attempting to ravish me.’

‘What!’ Millie gasped, running to Tallie’s side to put her arm around her. ‘You … you beast!’

It was obvious that Millie trusted her friend’s word absolutely. She stood by Tallie like a fierce little cat defending its kitten against a dog. ‘Take one step nearer and I’ll scratch your eyes out, you libertine!’

‘My dear Miss LeNoir,’ Hemsley was making the mistake of trying to bluster. ‘It was simply a misunderstanding—’

‘On your part,’ a cold voice said. Three pairs of eyes turned to find Nicholas Stangate lounging negligently against a clothes rail. A semi-clad dancer ran over giggling and put her arms around him. ‘Not now, darling,’ he said absently, giving her a pat on her rounded little rump. ‘Off you go like a good girl.’

Tallie made a serious effort to steady her voice, then observed, ‘If you hit him here it will start a brawl.’

‘I know. Tempting, isn’t it? I feel like a little excitement … of some kind. But we don’t want to upset the ladies, do we, Hemsley? Why don’t you run along while I take them home?’

Hemsley stalked to the door with as much dignity as he could muster. Nick did not even trouble to watch him leave and missed the look of murderous hatred he shot back at Tallie. I will make you sorry for this, those eyes promised. She shivered. She had made an enemy, a very bad enemy, and so had Nick.

Tallie turned back to look apprehensively at Nick. What was he going to do? What, more importantly, was he going to say in front of Millie and a potential audience of drunken bucks?

‘Do you have your cloaks, ladies? Then if you are ready to leave, Miss LeNoir?’ He escorted them firmly out, a broad shoulder turned to the romp in the main part of the room that was rapidly becoming raucous.

Nick appeared to know the labyrinthine passageways backstage with remarkable accuracy. ‘You have an excellent sense of direction, my lord,’ Tallie remarked slyly. Her nerves were getting the better of her, she wanted to throw herself into his arms. Directing jibes seemed safer.

‘Not at all,’ he retorted smoothly, taking the wind out of her sails. ‘I just happen to be very familiar with this theatre.’

Oh really, Tallie fumed, allowing herself to be steered towards the stage door. And which opera dancers have you got under your protection, Cousin Nicholas?

There was a closed carriage waiting, its sides black with no arms visible. Millie settled back against the silk squabs with a sigh of pleasure and smiled prettily at Nick when he climbed in after them. He slid one of the shutters off an interior lantern and the inside of the carriage sprang into life.

‘Thank you so much, my lord. I am very grateful to you. Tallie … Miss Grey was so brave to face up to Mr Hemsley like that. Why, I was quite taken in by him.’ Her pretty face crumpled for a moment, then she regained her poise. ‘I can see that I must be even more on my guard.’

Tallie leaned over to pat her arm and shot Nick a warning glance. Millie did not need any lectures on the dangers of her position.

He simply raised an eyebrow at her and said, ‘Had you considered using your talents in any other way, Miss LeNoir?’

Millie smiled. ‘I know I am not good enough to be a soloist. My voice is not strong enough.’

‘For the stage perhaps you are right. But what about private parties, musical evenings, select gatherings of that sort? You would have to be very careful about what offers you accepted and you would need to employ a driver and a chaperon, but you could make an excellent living, I would judge, and be far less exposed to insult and unwanted attractions.’

Millie just stared at him, her eyes wide, then she clapped her hands together in delight. ‘Oh, yes! Oh, my lord, thank you—it would be just the thing.’

‘I can make some recommendations to start you off,’ Tallie offered. ‘Soon you will make your own reputation. And, Millie, I had been wondering what present I could make you—may I employ a chaperon for your first year?’

They dropped an ecstatic Millie off at Wimpole Street. Nick waited until he saw the front door close behind her, then rapped on the roof of the carriage with his cane. As the wheels began to turn, he said, ‘Well?’

‘I had no idea he would be there,’ Tallie said defensively. ‘I had no idea they would let any men into the dressing-room at all. I only went because Millie forgot her purse.’

‘I know. I went to collect you from Mrs Blackstock’s and she told me where you were.’

‘Oh. I thought …’

‘You thought I had gone to the Opera House on much the same errand as Hemsley, did you not?’

‘I did not know what to think, only that I was very glad to see you!’ Now was not the time to throw his familiarity with backstage in his face. Tallie searched round for another means of attack. ‘Collecting me alone in a closed carriage is somewhat unconventional is it not?’

‘We are in a closed carriage now, as you can observe. You may also have noticed that I am able to restrain my carnal appetites. If you can refrain from lowering the window and crying “rape”, I think we can brush through the experience without having to resort to wedlock.’

Tallie reviewed a number of possible responses to this, including throwing herself into his arms, slapping his face or insisting on him stopping the carriage and getting out. None of these would approach his own standard of infuriatingly cool indifference and she badly wanted to surprise him. ‘Well, that is a relief,’ she said warmly.

Tallie had intended to provoke him, but she was not prepared for his reaction. Nick tipped back his head and laughed. He laughed without any restraint, a genuine, uninhibited roar of amusement, crinkling his eyes shut, stretching the long tendons of his neck as he threw his head back, removing every trace of constraint and control from his face.

She stared, torn between fury at being laughed at and fascination at the transformation. The carriage slowed, then stopped outside the Bruton Street house. Nick mopped his streaming eyes and regarded Tallie with a grin.

‘Tallie, you are enchanting.’ He leaned forward and planted a brotherly kiss on her cheek as the groom came to open the carriage door for her. ‘Now in with you or Aunt Kate will be worrying.’

The groom might be standing there pretending to be invisible with an expression of well-trained indifference on his face, but his presence effectively silenced any retort that Tallie might have made. Always supposing she was able to think of one.

‘Goodnight, my lord,’ she said with a chilly formality that provoked an equally formal half-bow, marred somewhat by the fact Nick’s shoulders were still shaking. Tallie swept up to the front door without a backward glance and was relieved that Rainbird was already opening it.

‘Good evening, Rainbird,’ she said brightly. ‘Is Lady Parry in?’

‘She retired early, Miss Grey. May I get you anything?’

‘No, thank you, Rainbird. I will retire too—could you send my maid up?’

The minute she was in her room Tallie regretted that last request. Now she had to act with calm and dignity while Susan helped her undress, unpinned her hair, put away her jewellery. What she wanted to do was find another cushion and beat the stuffing out of it.

Instead she sat in her wrapper while Susan plied the hairbrush and calmed herself by mentally listing all Nicholas Stangate’s numerous faults. He is cool, he is manipulative, he is domineering, overbearing and suspicious, he kisses innocent young women, he makes me lose my temper and my self-control. That was a satisfyingly long list.

Tallie bit her lip and decided in all fairness she should catalogue the few—very few—virtues Nick possessed. He loves his aunt and looks after William with a great deal of tact. He rescued me from Jack Hemsley twice. He behaved with chivalry when he found me in the attic. He is highly intelligent. He has a sense of humour. He looks … He is very handsome. When he kisses me I want to … I want him never to stop. He makes me lose my temper because … because …

Her thoughts stumbled to a halt. ‘Thank you, Susan, that will do. I do not require you any further tonight.’

The fire flickered and crackled in the grate, hypnotically drawing her eye. Tallie gazed at the flames and let her mind go free. Why did Nick crack right through her painfully acquired poise, her calm common sense?

‘Because I love him,’ she said out loud to the room. ‘Because I love him. ‘

Chapter Twelve

The following morning Tallie found she had no idea what to do about her moment of self-revelation the night before. She had felt strangely calm afterwards and had simply gone to bed and slept. So far as she was aware she had not dreamed.

The odd calm persisted, but underneath she was disturbed. It was as though she was sleepwalking into danger, watching herself do so and yet unable to wake herself up. Something had to be done about it, of course, she quite realised that. Nick was certainly not in love with her and, even if he were, she was a most unsuitable wife for him.

The odd feeling persisted despite an expedition with Lady Parry to Ackerman’s Repository. Although Tallie already possessed every gown she could ever imagine she would need, Lady Parry wished to get ahead of what she called ‘the others’ by procuring all the latest fashion plates now, so that a refreshed wardrobe could be paraded halfway through the Season.

‘I am certain you will be receiving some offers soon, Tallie dear,’ she remarked complacently as they embarked in the barouche for the Strand.

Tallie was staring absently at a thin individual in an overlarge greatcoat and battered beaver who was lounging against the railings near the house. He looked oddly familiar. She focused on Lady Parry. ‘Offers, ma’am?’

‘Of marriage. You are not sickening for something, are you, Talitha?’

‘No, no … I beg your pardon. Who would offer for me?’ Several gentlemen had appeared to enjoy her company, that was true. There were a number who always sought her out to dance, several who took her driving and more than one who had introduced the subjects of their family, country estates and interests in life into the conversation in a way that she supposed she should have recognised as being somewhat pointed.

Lady Parry rolled her eyes. ‘Making all due allowance for modesty and inexperience—honestly, Tallie! Let me list a few—Mr Runcorn, Sir Jasper Knight, Dr Philpott, Lord Ashwell, the Reverend Mr Lax-ton …’

‘Truly?’ Tallie gazed at her incredulously. ‘But … I had not considered marrying any of them. I simply had not thought of them in that way.’

Lady Parry shook her head at this folly. ‘I will lay any odds you like that at least three of them come up to scratch by the end of the week, so you had better decide what you want to say to them.’

‘No.’

‘No? You want me to speak to them first? They will not necessarily approach me, as they know you are of age and I am not your guardian.’

‘I mean, no, I do not want to marry any of them.’ I want to marry an infuriating man who does not trust me, laughs at me—and for whom I am entirely ineligible as a wife.

‘Oh well, the Season is young yet,’ Kate said philosophically, gathering up her reticule and fur as the carriage began to slow down in the Strand. ‘You are suffering a little from tiredness and nerves, I have no doubt. We must buy some more hats—I find that is always such a tonic.’

Nicholas Stangate awoke feeling decidedly cheerful, a sensation that lasted through a leisurely bath, a careful shave, an excellent breakfast consumed in the comfort of his bedchamber before dressing and two cups of coffee.

It was at the point where the second cup was making its stimulating effects felt that he woke up enough to consider just why he was feeling this good. A moment’s reflection was enough to produce a vertical line between his brows and a decided diminution in his feeling of joie de vivre.

Miss Talitha Grey was proving a serious worry. She might be enchanting to observe on her alarming progress through Society. She might be delicious to kiss and charming company for his aunt … But he was now convinced that if Aunt Kate thought she knew Tallie’s dark secret, she was deceiving herself. One blinding flash of revelation at the Duchess of Hastings’s ball left him suspecting a far more unusual and scandalous secret than any he had imagined. And if he were correct, it could prove both dangerous for Tallie and, at the very least, could cast a blight over Lady Parry’s position as a leading member of Society.

If she had only failed to ‘take'! But Tallie had been an instant success and, if he was not much mistaken, would soon be receiving any number of offers. Had he known it, his list of likely candidates was the same as his aunt’s, but Nick regarded it with considerably less favour.

Knight was a dull dog, Runcorn had a tendency to gamble, the Reverend Laxton was a prosy bore, Dr Philpott was only looking for a wife with money before retreating back to Oxford and his books and Ashwell was … Ashwell was probably perfect for her.

A title, a modest fortune, a nice little estate, bright, pleasant, responsible. Perfect. Nick kicked a boot across the room and contemplated a newly wedded baron storming into Lady Parry’s house to demand why she had allowed him to unwittingly marry a woman with a shameful secret. It had to be stopped.

His aunt was delighted to see him arrive at the dancing-and-card party she was holding that evening, fluttering forward to kiss him on both cheeks. He looked down at her with a smile. ‘You are very fine this evening, my love.’ She put her head on one side and smiled back. ‘What are you up to? You look positively smug.’

‘Nicholas!’ She rapped his wrist with her fan, then cast a swift glance round and whispered, ‘I think Tallie is receiving her first declaration.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Lord Ashwell.’ Lady Parry was positively glowing with pride. ‘For him to come up to scratch so early is a triumph. A much, much better match than I could have hoped for. He is perfect.’

‘Perfect,’ Nick agreed. ‘And where is this romantic interlude taking place?’

‘The conservatory, I believe. He was steering her in that direction just five minutes ago with considerable aplomb.’

We will see about that, Nick thought grimly. With a smile for his aunt he surrendered his place by her side to General Hepton and strode off in the direction of the conservatory.

So early in the evening it was deserted except for one couple virtually concealed behind a large potted palm. Nick advanced cat-like until he could see Lord Ashwell on one knee holding Tallie’s hand, his head bowed as he made his declaration.

Tallie looked up and Nick saw her eyes widen and her chin go up at the sight of him. ‘Go away,’ she mouthed silently over her suitor’s head. If he strode forward now she would know it was no accident that he had stumbled into the middle of the declaration, but a deliberate attempt to break it up.

Inwardly cursing, he forced a look of surprised apology onto his face, mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ and silently backed away out of the conservatory and into the reception room it opened onto.

The minutes seemed to drag by. Nick scooped a glass of champagne off a passing tray, agreed vaguely to make up a hand for whist later and bent an apparently attentive ear to the involved story concerning a bet on a curricle race being recounted by Lord Beddenton.

Lord Ashwell emerged from the conservatory so discreetly that Nick almost missed him, but he did not miss the droop of his lordship’s shoulders, nor the lack of a smile on his face. He allowed him to get well clear into the room where the dancing was taking place, excused himself to Beddenton, snared another glass of champagne and made his way into the conservatory.

Tallie was still sitting where he had seen her before, playing with her fan. She tapped it, let its folds pour open, then flicked it closed, only to open it again. He watched her calm face, her air of concentration, wondering at the reserve behind which she could hide her feelings. Hide them most of the time, he corrected himself. Since he had known her she had appeared more transparent, more open. It seemed that either he was learning to read her moods or in some way he provoked her into revealing them.

How long had he been standing there watching her? He realised he had no idea. Long enough to have closed his eyes and repeated faithfully what she was wearing, from the tortoiseshell combs in her high-piled hair to the amber silk slippers just peeping from beneath an over-gown of golden brown lace with a pale yellow under-dress. The mix of golds brought a flash of recollection: a picture of masses of golden-gilt hair, shot through with deeper tones, waving over the bared shoulders and back of that naked goddess in the garret. Heat washed through him as he fought for control.

He must have moved. Tallie’s head came up and she looked directly at him, her face expressionless. She raised one eyebrow smoothly. It seemed she had perfected the trick of it. ‘Good evening, Cousin Nicholas.’

‘Good evening. I apologise for blundering in just now.’

A faint sceptical smile. ‘I doubt if you ever blunder anywhere, my lord.’

‘You rejected him then.’ He made it a statement.

‘You asked him?’ Her voice sharpened.

‘I saw his face.’ Nick strolled forward and took a cast-iron seat at right angles to her. The embossed ferns made an uncomfortable perch.

‘I was sorry to hurt his feelings,’ Tallie said. ‘But I doubt they were deeply engaged. Thank you, no champagne.’ He put down the glass.

‘You think him insincere?’ Nick let his surprise show in his voice.

‘No. Not at all. I am sure he likes me very well and honestly believes that we would make a good match.’

‘Then what is there to dislike?’ It was suddenly important to know. ‘He has breeding, a fortune, intelligence. He is kind …’

‘Is that what you look for in marriage?’ She swung round suddenly. It took an effort of will not to lean back away from her vehemence. ‘Breeding, money, intelligence? Kindness?’