Calypso Magic

Chapter 3

He who listens at keyholes will have his eye poked out.

ITALIAN PROVERB

"I hear she is from the West Indies."'

"One can tell that she is from somewhere dreadful. Did you see that tan?"

"I do wonder if it's true what one hears—the dreadful morals of supposed ladies in that uncivilized place?"

"One mustn't forget that she is Lady Cranston's guest."

"But how could she walk about in the sun like that? I tell you, her face is the color of a berry!"

Oh, dear, Diana thought as she paused at the partially open door. Why would they care about me? She unconsciously touched her fingertips again to her cheek. No more powder. In fact, there was a light sheen of perspiration on her skin. Yes, she was probably as brown as a berry.

She heard the swish of silk, the buzz of conversation coming closer, and quickly moved down the corridor. Five ladies came out of the withdrawing room and walked away from her toward the staircase. Relieved, Diana pulled back her shoulders and went in.

There was but one lady there, seated in front of a mirror. Her mouth was open, her fingertip rubbing her front teeth.

Diana merely nodded to her and continued on her way. Once she had returned, she was surprised to see the lady still there, standing now, tapping her foot, her fingers out of her mouth.

"You are Diana Savarol, I presume."

"Why, yes. And you?"

"Charlotte Moressey, Lady Danvers. I understand that you and Lyonel are cousins of a sort."

Charlotte! This was the young lady who had severely ruptured Lyonel's heart? She felt a surge of envy and wondered at herself. It was doubtless the effects of the champagne.

"Yes," she said. "Of a sort."

"I also understand that Lady Cranston is to bring you out?"

Diana heard the tone of vexation in Charlotte's voice and wondered at it. "Yes, that is correct."

"Are you not a bit old to have a first Season?"

"Probably. I am nineteen, soon to be twenty."

"Dear me, I am only twenty, but, of course, a married lady."

"My congratulations, my lady."

Charlotte frowned, just a bit. Was this little twit being sarcastic? "Of course you know that Lord Saint Leven is not interested in ladies at the present time."

"I doubt that sincerely."

Charlotte gave a thin laugh. "Ladies, my dear, ladies. Gentlemen, you know, will have their little amours hidden away."

Little amours? Goodness, it sounded as if Lyonel was secreting away some sort of small rodent.

"Take my advice and avoid your cousin of sorts. He is not a nice man. In fact, that is why I broke off my engagement with him. He is most violent-natured. Really rather vile, as a matter of fact. I shouldn't trust him if I were you."

"He seems most mild-mannered," Diana said with great and instant untruth. "Quite the gentleman."

"Trust me, my dear." Charlotte patted her arm and said abruptly, "My, how very large you are! It is unfortunate that gentlemen prefer smaller, more gently endowed ladies. But of course, if you have a decent dowry, there will be some who will willingly overlook your—"

"My immense number of inches?"

"Well, yes, perhaps."

"Or perhaps hands, as in a horse?"

"Your humor is most odd, Miss Savarol. You will be thought rather fast if you do not moderate your opinions."

"It was not an opinion, merely an alternative so that you could be precise in your observations, my lady. Did you mean rather fast, as in a racing horse?"

"No! Rather fast, my dear, means loose."

"Goodness! Loose as in a saddle girth?"

"That is quite enough, Miss Savarol! I am not amused, I assure you. I do not find you at all acceptable."

"I am quite cast down," Diana said, eyeing this gorgeous lady with growing dislike. "Not cast off, as in a horseshoe, of course."

"Or cast off as in what a gentleman does to a loose girl."

Diana chuckled. "Yes, Lyonel told me about Monsieur DuPres. He was most explicit about what that particular gentleman did to the unwary of our sex."

"But of course you are quite familiar with his kind, are you not? There is no society where you are from, no civilization, no refinement, no—"

"Not much of anything. Quite right, my lady. I cannot wait to return to my sort. Now, if you will excuse me."

Diana turned and walked from the room, knowing she'd made an enemy and not caring. Odious woman! If she had been the one to break off with Lyonel, why was she so concerned about Diana becoming involved with him? She had no reason to be jealous. Diana decided halfway down the wide staircase that Lyonel, whatever his faults, and they did appear to be numerous, didn't deserve that female, even at his most obnoxious.

Lucia informed a nearly comatose Diana that they would leave at three o'clock in the morning. Diana felt as though her feet would crumble and disintegrate, and she said as much.

"You did magnificently, my child," said Lucia. "Perhaps your slippers are a bit small. We will see to it in the morning."

"Morning, Aunt? I doubt I will be alive in the morning. I assure you my feet don't wish to see the light of day."

"Did you not order the largest of slippers for her, Lucia?"

"Lyonel! Mind your tongue."

"Sorry, Lucia. Ladies, shall we go?"

It was Lyonel who was silent on the ride back. Finally, Lucia said, "My dear boy, whatever is wrong? I trust you are not blown?"

"No," he said, and that short, sharp word woke Diana up abruptly.

"Then what is wrong with you? Have you run short of nasty insults? Your shoes aren't too small, are they?"

"No. It is nothing. Go back to sleep, Diana. I am certain both of us would find that preferable."

"Will your gentlemanly sensibilities be offended if I remove my slippers?"

"There is no need to announce it. Simply do it and we will just trust that you do not have sweaty feet."

"Lyonel!"

"Sorry, Lucia." He sighed, leaned his head back against the soft squabs, and closed his eyes.

"He is in a snit," Diana said, her voice loud enough not only for Lyonel's ears, but also for the horses'.

"Miss—Diana, shut up!"

"I simply mean that I do not feel comfortable when you are not forthcoming, or rather, more accurate, obnoxious."

Lyon c****d an eye open. "Very well. Charlotte, Lady Danvers, was very busily shredding your character, your morals, or lack thereof, your impertinent mouth, and your lack of respect and deference for your London betters."

"That wretched bi—person!"

"My sentiments exactly."

"Oh, dear. Why is she doing such a thing, Lyonel?"

"I have a question first for Diana, Lucia. Did you speak to the lady?"

Diana shifted a bit uncomfortably. "Well, yes, perhaps. Do you remember when I went to the ladies' withdrawing room?"

"I remember very well. You had imbibed too much champagne and needed to—"

"Lyonel!"

"Forgive me, Lucia."

"She was there, waiting for me. She was the impertinent one! And I might add, I defended you, my lord. She was warning me about your vile character and your nasty temper."

That brought Lyonel upright. "She what?"

"She was warning me of you—"

"I heard you well enough. All right, you see, don't you, Lucia? My association with Diana can only hurt her chances now that Charlotte has decided to be petty."

"I dished her up in her own sauce," Diana said with great relish.

"She was the more ruthless. She dished you up in everyone else's sauce."

"Quiet, both of you," said Lucia. "I must think. In a sense, I am glad that Charlotte has shown her true colors immediately. I, as you know, Lyonel, am not without influence. I will not allow her to continue her malignant, very untrue, gossip. She is the one on the edge of social ruin."

"It appears she trusts my gentleman's honor not to betray her," said Lyonel, his voice as dry as Morgan's Island, a small bump of land in the Caribbean that sported not one tree or shrub.

"Betray her? What did she do? I thought she was the one who broke off your engagement? Why she told me that—"

"Shut up, Diana."

"No, my dear child, it was Lyonel who broke it off. I will make it clear to the chit that if she doesn't muzzle her mouth, it will become known exactly why he did it."

"No, Lucia. I forbid it."

Diana bounced forward on her seat. "Why? I do not understand you. You have done nothing but insult me from the moment we met, yet this woman, who isn't at all nice, you wish to protect. Do you still love her? Is that the reason?"

Lyonel sighed. "Lucia, try to find her a mute for a husband. No, better yet, he had better be deaf."

"You do still love her! You are so weak and—"

"Now, now, my dear. Let us hear no more about it. Ah, home at last."

"At last is right," said Lyon.

He assisted Lucia from the brougham, then held out his hand to Diana.

"You see, it is like this," Diana said, hanging back. "I cannot put my slippers back on. My feet are too swelled."

He cursed under his breath. "Oh, come here!"

To her surprise, he grasped her about the waist and lifted her from the carriage into his arms. "You will certainly strain my back."

Even as he spoke the words, he was very aware of her warm body against his, her breasts pressed against his chest, the very womanly thighs against his arms.

He said under his breath, "Tomorrow, the very first thing tomorrow, I will take care of this."

"Take care of what?" Diana asked, unconsciously leaning her face closer to his.

"None of your affair. Be quiet, else I might drop you. Lord knows you deserve it."

"Come, you have not been at all reticent with me before. Have you suddenly become a coward? Yes, I suppose that you have."

Goaded, he said, "Tomorrow I shall find a pleasant... companion."

"Ah. As in a little amour? To hide away?"

He pulled up short on the top step of Lucia's town house and stared at her, his face only an inch from hers. "What do you know of such things?"

"Your very nice Charlotte told me that you and all gentlemen have these amours hidden away. It sounded most odd to me, as if you were secreting rodents in your house."

He laughed, he couldn't help himself. "You, Diana, should be whipped."

"I think she should be whipped. She also informed me that you didn't like ladies, just these little amours, after she broke your heart."

"For someone who has been in London—out of society—for less than a day, you have dug up more dirt than I would in a year.

"Nonsense. She doesn't like me and—"

"And what? Are you the coward now?"

"You are standing still, Lyonel, the door is open, and it is quite cold out here. And you will strain your back with my great weight."

"All true. And—"

At last he entered the house. He eased her down, letting her slide against the length of him. Again, he saw the startled, bewildered look in her eyes and wondered at himself. His gentleman's code seemed to be tottering on the brink. "Yes," he said firmly to himself, "tomorrow." He sighed. "You are tedious, Diana. Go to bed. Soak your feet. Pop out of your gown. Just get thee gone."

"You, my lord, are a bore, a lout, a butcherer of Shakespeare, an obvious rake—"

"Rake! Surely Charlotte didn't go that far?"

"Well, no. I heard that wonderful word and wanted to use it. You gave me the opportunity, and well, I couldn't pass it up, could I?"

"No, of course not. Good night."

He patted her cheek, turned on his heel, and left. Didier appeared out of the shadows and nodded to Diana.

"Good night, Didier."

"Good night, miss."

She was relieved that he did not comment on her stockinged feet and her slippers dangling by their ribbons in her right hand. Had he seen Lyonel holding her?

It occurred to Diana as she snuggled under the covers some thirty minutes later that Lyonel had spoken about a companion when he was holding her. It was probably nothing more than an interest evoked by the close proximity of her bosom, she thought, depressed.

She touched her fingers to her breast and wondered why gentlemen were so very interested. Just because they were swelled up, like her feet... except she stuck out there all of the time. After all, her nanny, the sharp-tongued, black-as-night Dido, had told her quite specifically when she was but fourteen that "de melons be for de chiles." Dido had no use for men, so Diana assumed that she wouldn't include them in the "chile" category. Or maybe she would.

She was suddenly seized with such a bout of homesickness that she caught a sob in her throat. She'd wanted Dido to come to England with her, but her father had been firmly against it. He'd said, "No, my love, there is too much feeling about slavery in England at this point. People simply wouldn't understand. You must trust me on this."

And so she'd traveled to England with strangers, an English planter and his family, from St. Thomas.

And she'd had to leave her father, Grainger, their overseer, her mare, Tanis, Dido... Her mind faltered as fatigue overtook her. Her last thought before succumbing was of Lyonel, her cousin of sorts, who had picked her up and held her close and made her feel so very odd.

Lyonel found his little amour the very next evening when he visited the theater. Her name was Lois, and she affected no French accent, for which he was profoundly grateful. She came from Birmingham, was fresh, quite pretty in a plump, plentiful manner, and, of course, had no means to support herself. He ignored three summonses, each more imperious than the last from Lucia, and plowed Lois until she finally said, in her light, breathless voice, "My lord, it's enough, I beg of you."

He drew up over her and felt like a rutting animal.

Lois ran her fingers over his beautiful face. "A long time without a woman, my lord?"

"Too bloody long," he said, and moved away from her. "Forgive me, Lois. I will not use you thus again." He began to dress, then turned to look down at her. He realized another reason he'd picked her was the size of her breasts. They were huge and round, her n*****s large, a dusky color. He swallowed, knowing he was a fool, but not about to admit it, even to himself.

Lois regarded him as he dressed in front of the fireplace. He was magnificent, his body big and hard, and she knew from experience that this man would treat her well. There had been no perversion in him, merely immense hunger. The fire light danced in his chestnut hair, touching the strands with gold. Yes, she was indeed pleased with him.

He finally left her to make arrangements for a maid and a cook. Her small apartment was tucked just off Curzon Street. He discreetly left fifty pounds for her on the dressing table on his way out.

When he returned to the Saint Leven town house in Portsmouth Square, a monstrosity built by his grandfather, another summons awaited him. Too tired to do more than shake his head, he told his man, Kenworthy, to inform her ladyship that he had the ague. Then he chuckled to himself. Kenworthy, a slight, bald man of middle years, and a valet of great capacity and loyalty, simply nodded, then watched with some concern as his master took himself upstairs to his bed.

"Ague!" Lucia muttered, studying the valet's stone face. "That is nonsense and you know it! Now, tell me what your master is up to, Kenworthy."

"The ague, my lady," he repeated with bland fortitude. "His lordship will call on you as soon as he leaves his bed."

"Oh, bosh!"

When Didier removed Kenworthy from Lady Cranston's august presence, Diana snorted.

"Ridiculous! He is malingering and I don't care. We do not need him, Aunt. Let him take care of Charlotte's nasty gossip himself! Let him—"

"Hush, my dear. We do need him, at least we need his escort and his marvelous arrogance. However, I suppose he will come when he is ready to."

Diana nearly discovered the truth that afternoon when three old cronies of Aunt Lucia's were sipping endless cups of tea in the drawing room, shredding the younger generation with tuts, sighs, and headshakes punctuated with "deplorable," "such a shame for their parents," and the like.

"And of course when I heard what your dear Lord Saint Leven was doing, Lucia, I knew I must tell you immediately."

The seemingly reticent lady was a formidable dragon with tight gray sausage curls, a scrawny body, and a brain as tough as steel.

Diana, dismissed before these very interesting confidences were uttered, waited just outside the drawing-room door, all ears.

Lucia, who hadn't heard a word about Lyonel other than the ague, sat forward, willing to receive information even from the odious Agatha Damson.

"... and so my maid heard it from her cousin's niece whom Lord Saint Leven hired to see to his, ah..."

"May I do something for you, miss?"

Diana could have spit with vexation, but she forced a smile for Didier. He knows I'm eavesdropping, she thought. She looked him straight in the eye. "You have caught me, Didier, but you see, they are talking about Lyonel,

and I want to know what is going on."

"You are a young lady," Didier announced in the repressive tones of an archbishop.

"You know and you will not tell me."

"Correct, miss."

"You are being most unfair, Didier."

"Yes, miss. Would you care for some tea?"

"No. I shall just have to find out for myself, won't I?" Didier blanched and Diana smiled.

"I shall speak to my lady," he said. "You, miss, would be well advised to retire to your bedchamber."

Diana's eyes glittered. "On the contrary," she said, "I believe I shall go for a walk."

That sounded innocuous enough to Didier and he relaxed, just a bit. "I will fetch Jamison for you, miss. He will escort you. To the park, I think. Yes, that will be fine."

Diana did not disabuse him.

Jamison, a second footman with twinkling blue eyes and a wide smile, was delighted to escort the young Miss Savarol. Diana, on the other hand, plotted how to rid herself of him.

It turned out to be an impossible task. Jamison had his orders in no uncertain terms from Didier. One religiously followed the old monk's orders.

"I believe I should like to visit Portsmouth Square, Jamison."

"Uh? "Tis a far piece, miss."

"Fine. Fetch a hansom cab for us."

Jamison, unfortunately, knew nothing about Lord Saint Leven's place of abode. He most willingly followed Miss Savarol into the lion's den.

Kenworthy just happened to be out when Diana firmly knocked on the Saint Leven brass town-house knocker.

Titwiller was not Didier's equal. He gawked, stammered, and fell back in disarray at Diana's imperious request to see her cousin immediately.

"Tell him," Diana added with a sapient eye, "that it is most urgent and that if he is not here in ten minutes I shall fetch him myself."

Jamison stared. He could easily picture Didier's reaction when he heard of this escapade. He nearly moaned aloud, knowing full well that the messenger of bad news usually had the misfortune to have his head bashed.

Titwiller lost what little aplomb he possessed as he took the stairs two at a time.

"What the devil!"

"It is Miss Diana Savarol to see you, my lord. She informed me, my lord, that it is most urgent."

Lyon was exhausted from oversatiation. He cursed long and fluently. "Get Kenworthy. He'll get rid of her."

"Kenworthy is not here at present, my lord. She informed me, my lord, that she could, er, come up here to fetch you if you did not come down."

Lyon finally reacted to the abject pleading in Titwiller's voice and Diana's threat, which he didn't doubt for more than ten seconds. He cursed again and threw back the covers.

Diana was getting ready to place her foot on the first step when Lyon appeared on the landing.

"Don't you dare!"

"Well, you have certainly taken your time!"

"The only reason I'm coming down is to toss you out on your ear, Diana!"

"Ha! Suffering from the ague! What is wrong with you? Don't you care that Charlotte has been—"

"Shut up!" He reached her, took her arm, and pulled her none too gently into the library.

"Very nice," Diana said, looking about. "I wager you haven't read a quarter of all these books."

"Well, you'd be wrong. Diana, what the devil are you doing here? This is a gentleman's residence, a bachelor's residence as you well know, and it is most improper—"

"You look awful. Haven't you slept? Are you truly ill?"

"Thank you and no and no."

"Then, what—"

He turned his back to her and fetched a glass of brandy from the liquor cabinet.

He tossed it down, drew a deep breath, and turned to face her. "Oh, sit down. You have ten minutes, then you are leaving."

"Such a gracious host," she said, and eased down into a leather armchair.

He merely looked at her, his face a study of irritation and long suffering.

"You must come to see Lucia. Charlotte has been spreading more venom and she is most desirous of having you aid her in a counterattack."

"I will come this evening. I believe Lucia said she'd managed vouchers for Almack's. I will escort you. Anything else?"

"I want to know what is wrong with you. Why haven't you come?"

"I've been rather occupied."

"Doing what, for heaven's sake? Ah, you've been at a gaming hell, haven't you? Have you lost your fortune? Will you blow your brains out?"

He sighed and ran his hand through his already rumpled hair. "Where, I dread to inquire, did you hear that term?"

"Gaming hell? I overheard Jamison—he's the second footman who accompanied me here—he was talking to Aunt Lucia's driver."

"A foolish question. No, I wasn't at a gaming hell."

"Then, where were you?"

"It is none of your damned affair, Diana."

"Ah, I know. You were hiding from your precious Charlotte!"

Her tone was so insulting, so very nasty, he forgot his resolution, forgot that she was a young lady, and nearly yelled at her, "I was with my new mistress, damn your impertinence!" The instant the words were out of his mouth, he cursed. Diana's eyes widened. "Is she here? Upstairs in your your bedchamber?"

Lyonel was without words. He turned back to pour himself another brandy.

He said over his shoulder, "I fully intend to beat you, Diana."