The day of the auction dawned to the sound of hammering as the auctioneers’ laborers prepared a suitable stand from which to conduct the momentous occasion. The constant and unexpected noise excited the hounds, and they yelped and whined, occasionally breaking into a fuller cry as they milled around in their confined space. Sleep was impossible in the house and Laura sat in her window, watching.
Tendrils of mist still clung beneath the trees as the men from Christie’s supervised the work. Some heavy wagons were drawn up on the grass and men carried planks of wood to the platform which was rising beneath a large, overhanging oak. The sun had risen slowly in the east, blurred by the haze of moisture in the cool air, but she knew that the day would be fine and warm—perfect for the business to be conducted at King’s Cliff, business that was spoken of the length and breadth of the land.
Kitty thoughtfully provided her mistress with a dish of tea, guessing that the noise would have disturbed her sleep. It was good to sit on the window ledge, just watching, and wondering how the day’s proceedings would go. Interest was at a fever pitch, and the neighboring landlords and farmers would come if only to see what happened. The Earl of Langford, however, would stay away, for he had made his anger and disapproval common knowledge. She sipped the tea. Yes, everyone would come, but would they dare to flout the earl by making bids? He was a force to be reckoned with, and she could only pray that the notices in the newspapers would attract interested parties from beyond Somerset.
As she watched she saw a woman on horseback riding slowly across the park. It was Augustine; Laura recognized her distinctive maroon riding habit. Laura watched her for a moment and then put down her tea. “Kitty, I believe that I shall christen my new riding habit.”
“Now, my lady? Before breakfast?”
“Yes.”
The maid hurried to bring the new garment from the dressing room, and Laura pulled a face. It was a disagreeable garment, disagreeably washy in color, being somewhere between gray and sage, and the haste with which a barely adequate Langford dressmaker had put it together was only too evident in its lack of grace or style. It would never even remotely match Augustine’s for excellence, but it was all Laura had, and it did at least make her look proper. It would also allow her out of the house for a while. For once, Laura admitted to herself, Augustine Townsend had had a good idea, an early-morning ride would be just the thing.
* * *
She rode the same mare she had ridden when accompanying Mr. Dodswell and Mr. McDonald, and she confined her ride this time to well-remembered parts of the estate—the edge of Langford Woods, the escarpment, and the outer limits of the Home Farm.
She was on her way back, riding slowly up the escarpment a little to the north of the Townsend monument, when she saw Augustine waiting. Augustine could not see her, for a thin scattering of trees hid her, but there was something about the figure in maroon that made Laura halt. Augustine looked for all the world as if she was waiting for someone.
Curiosity got the better of Laura and she dismounted, leading her mount slowly through the sheltering trees until she was reasonably close. She saw the pinnacle of the monument stretching up into the heavens and heard the grass rustle over the hillside. She saw the feather in Augustine’s black beaver hat flutter, her formal skirts flapping around her long legs, and the impatient way Augustine tapped her riding crop against the foot or the monument and glanced frequently at her fob watch.
Hoofbeats sounded at last, and Laura parted the leaves of a bush to watch as the Earl of Langford urged his black horse up the hillside toward the monument. For a moment she was afraid that he might see her, but the bush hid her and anyway he did not even glance in her direction, They were so close that she heard his leather saddle squeak as he dismounted. Laura’s eyes widened immediately with surprise and distaste as he took Augustine in his arms and kissed her. Augustine submitted, there being no other way to describe her limp acquiescence as she allowed him to embrace her.
“Jesu, Augustine, I have missed you,” he said, his voice carrying quite clearly to Laura’s hiding place.
“It is not easy to steal out like this.”
“But you are here now.” He smiled. “Meeting you is the one solace I shall know on this blackest of days.”
“It is a black day for me too. King’s Cliff will never be the same again. It is being destroyed.”
“By your former love.”
Augustine met his eyes quite blandly. “Yes.”
“I cannot remain from you for much longer.”
“I told you that I would marry you when your mourning was over—”
“That is not what I meant.”
She looked sharply away. “James, I do not think it sensible. What if we are discovered?”
“What difference will it make?”
“I will have no reputation.”
“We were discreet before and we will be discreet again. The same adjoining rooms—”
“We were lucky before.”
“And will be lucky again. I must go to Taunton at the end of the week. I want you to come there again too. Please, Augustine. Or must I once again resort to reminding you of what secret we both share?”
“It wasn’t my doing!”
“It is now, as much as if you had plotted it all yourself, my dear. I go to Taunton at the end of the week. Be there.” His face had lost its warmth now, his eyes were cold, and his mouth had become a thin, cruel line. He turned to remount, urging his horse away down the slope until the curve of the hill took him from sight.
Augustine was very pale as she watched him go, and Laura saw how nervously her tongue passed over her dry lips as she gathered the reins of her horse and prepared to mount. Laura sensed the fear James Grenville had aroused in the woman he professed to love, but she felt no sympathy for Augustine, whose own greed and ambition had brought her to her present unenviable position.
* * *
The sun was high in a clear sky when the carriages at last began to arrive. There were elegant drags with coats of arms emblazoned on their panels, post chaises hired by farmers who had no fine carriage of their own, and wagons bringing the hundreds of lesser beings who flocked to King’s Cliff. One and all, they were intent upon witnessing the day’s events, the passing of an era that had glittered so dazzlingly and for so long.
Near the platform, the crowds jostled together, all eager for the finest positions, while the aristocracy gathered in a separate enclosure, sipping the iced champagne that was served by footmen in the impressive Grenville livery. The iced champagne was an extravagance, Laura knew, but maybe it would help to bring forth more generous bidding….
She dressed as the hour approached for the auction to commence. She had chosen to wear her apricot lawn gown and her most colorful Kashmir shawl. The black ribbon graced her throat again and a particularly attractive lace cap rested on her carefully pinned hair. It was a warm, fine day, but she shivered as she descended the staircase, for she did not know what reception she would receive.
Mr. Dodswell waited for her in the vestibule, and Augustine and her mother sat stiffly on a sofa, their faces grim and unsmiling. Laura ignored them, giving Charles Dodswell her undivided attention, for he looked unexpectedly splendid, having discarded his customary dusty coat for one of dark blue cloth. Instead of breeches he wore trousers, and his waistcoat was of cream gambroon. All in all he did not look at all like the Mr. Dodswell she knew and she could not hide the surprise.
He smiled. “The caterpillar is become a somewhat gaudy butterfly, I fear.”
“You look very handsome, sir.”
“In my youth I was considered presentable enough.”
“And still you are.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you seen who has come?” she asked anxiously. “Is there anyone from outside the county?”
Augustine stood then. She was particularly beautiful, her hair peeping from beneath a frill of a day-cap, her tall figure swathed in folds of a creamy white muslin stitched with tiny blue stars. “It will not matter how many come from outside the county,” she said coldly, “for no one will help to destroy King’s Cliff. They come merely to witness your disgrace, my lady, and the ridicule which will be heaped upon you when this day’s work proves an unmitigated disaster. Come, Mama.” She swept out into the sunshine, duly followed by her mother.
Laura glanced nervously at the agent. “Do you think she is right?”
“They have come here to King’s Cliff, my lady, and from that fact alone I take heart.”
“I am afraid to go out there.”
He took her hand and drew it through his arm. “I will be with you. You should not be afraid at this eleventh hour, not when your undoubted courage has sustained you thus far. You have shown yourself to be, in my humble opinion, a very fine lady, with a strength which makes you so perfect for King’s Cliff. I earnestly hope that you have reconsidered your decision to leave.”
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Dodswell, I have not.”
“Then I am very sad, Lady Grenville.”
They walked to the doors and out beneath the portico, but they had barely descended three steps when the arrival of another carriage caused a considerable stir among the crowd.
The costly, gleaming landau was drawn by six perfectly matched bays and was handled by postilions wearing very distinctive livery. The hoods of the carriage remained obstinately raised, concealing the identity of the occupants. A second coach followed it, a much plainer and less impressive drag that drew little attention from onlookers.
Mr. Dodswell’s lips parted with surprise when he saw the postilions. “My lady,” he said softly, “they wear royal livery.”
She stared as the landau came to a standstill at the foot of the steps. The second carriage halted too and its door was opened to allow a very anxious, dapper gentleman in dull brown to climb out. He wore a very formal wig and carried a shining cane, which he used now to tap the arm of a nearby footman. He asked a question and the footman turned to indicate Laura.
The anxious man hurried up the steps toward her, sketching a swift, but excellent, bow. “Lady Grenville?”
“Sir.”
“His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester, desires the hospitality of your house while the auction is in progress.”
“The Duke of Gloucester?” Her wide eyes went uncertainly to Mr. Dodswell. What should she do? How should she act?
The anxious man waited, his cane swinging to and fro. “Madam?”
“His Grace is of course most welcome to my husband’s house, sir.”
He inclined his head and hurried back down the steps to the landau. Laura’s mouth felt dry and her heart began to rush in her breast. She was glad of Mr. Dodswell’s presence, for without him she doubted if she could have said anything at all. She watched now as footmen flung open the doors of the landau.
A very stout young man climbed out. His body was supported by very spindly legs and his eyes were prominent. His face, while not exactly ugly, was far from being agreeable, and there was an expression upon it of great conceit and arrogance. His clothes were obviously stitched by the very finest tailor in Bond Street, although not even the greatest cutter and stitcher of cloth could make this gentleman a picture of sartorial elegance. Laura stared down at him. This was the man who was so soon to marry the Prince Regent’s sister, Princess Mary, and who was himself a first cousin to both. To look at him was as repellent as looking at James Grenville, and Laura shuddered to think of him in the role of bridegroom.
Slowly he came up the steps toward her.