The Noble Satyr

©Lucinda Brant 1998 & 2003

 Paris, 1745: At the Parisian mansion owned by the Duke of Roxton, Antonia celebrates her birthday with the Duke, the Duke's sister Madame Estée d'Montbrail, and the Duke's best friend Lucian Lord Vallentine…

When the Duke escorted Antonia through to the vast dining room she found Madame and Lord Vallentine already standing behind their respective chairs. The long mahogany table had had two leaves removed to make the meal a more intimate affair. It was set with the best Dresden china and gold plate. Both crystal chandeliers were polished to dazzling brilliance and blazed with light. On the polished table crystal bowls brimming with freshly cut flowers mingled with dome-covered silver dishes of various shapes and sizes. Duvalier and four liveried footmen stood by the sideboard in attendance and awaited the Duke’s pleasure. Antonia hesitated.
    “Why isn’t Madame at her usual place at the foot of the table?” she asked.
    “Tonight you are to sit there,” answered Estée with a bright smile.
    Antonia looked to the Duke for confirmation and when he nodded she went to her place, a footman quick to draw out her chair. “You’ve put the best service out tonight and there are—Eh bien!” She saw the wrapped packages tied up with ribbons and her eyes widened. “I thought you had—I didn’t expect you would know—” She glanced up at the others who had sat down and gave an embarrassed laugh. “You knew it was my birthday all along!”
   “Well, sit down and open your gifts,” demanded his lordship. “Mine’s the one with the big red bow.”
   Antonia obediently spread out her petticoats and sat down, her embarrassment disappearing at the prospect of opening her gifts. She held up a long flat box tied up with red ribbon and shook it. “There is nothing in this one.”
   “Hey!” demanded Vallentine. “Have a care!”
   She laughed and put the parcel back on the table. “Mayhap I will unwrap that one last.” When Vallentine frowned she untied the red bow with a tug. “No, I will unwrap M’sieur le Duc’s gifts last and yours first, Vallentine.” Inside the parcel was a delicate fan of painted chicken-skin, the sticks of silver, and with a pearl and silver-thread tassel. “It is very beautiful, Vallentine, thank you. I have never had a fan of such—quality and—taste.” She opened it with an expert flick of the wrist and fluttered it playfully as she had seen many a lady do at court. “This is how I shall use my lord’s fan when I go to Operas and balls. I hold it just like a great lady, do I not, Monseigneur?”
   “Just so, mignonne.”
   Vallentine laughed. “A great lady, eh? You’ll be that and much more one day, chit! Open Estée’s gift. I’m anxious.”
   Antonia put aside the fan and picked up a rather large soft package and felt its contents cautiously. “What can this be? Do you wish to hazard a guess, Vallentine?”
   “Not necessary. I know what’s in that one. Open it.”
   “You’re extremely anxious, is he not, M’sieur le Duc? Mayhap I will open the rest of my gifts after we dine.”
   “If you wish.”
   “Don’t encourage her, Roxton,” snapped Vallentine. “You’re goading me, minx! I want you to hurry with   Estée’s gift so we can see what Roxton has for you. He’s been damned secretive, I can tell you. Haven’t been able to prise it out of him.”
   “Thank you so much, Lucian,” sulked Estée, feigning hurt feelings.
   “Damme! I didn’t mean anything by it,” apologised Vallentine. “It’s just—well aren’t you curious to know what your brother got the chit?”
   The ladies laughed at him and he grumbled something about a female conspiracy and fell silent.
   Madame de Montbrail had given Antonia a pair of lavender kid gloves and a ball mask of peacock feathers. She tried on her new gloves and held the mask up by its painted handle and cooed with delight.
   “This is a proper mask. Thank you, Madame. Do you think Grandmother Strathsay might hold a masked ball in my honor, M’sieur le Duc?”
   “Undoubtedly, once she has seen your mask. How could she refuse you?”
   “I have never had such a delightful birthday as this!”
   “There are two more parcels to unwrap,” Vallentine reminded her as casually as he could manage.
   Antonia dutifully put away the mask and new gloves and gave her full attention to the remaining gifts. Each was wrapped in silver tissue and tied up with black ribbons. She chose the larger of the two. “It is a book.”
   “How d’you know that?” asked Vallentine. “It ain’t unwrapped yet.”
   It was a book, a slim volume of poetry, and she opened the cover and found the Duke had inscribed it for her. Before Madame could ask to see it she covered it in tissue paper and set it aside.
   “I hope it is a fit and proper book for the girl,” Madame said primly.
   “Would I give her any other kind, Estée?” answered her brother and sipped at the claret in his crystal glass.
   With the last gift Antonia was very deliberate. When she had finally removed the outer wrappings she held in her hand a long slim case covered in black velvet. She did not immediately open it but set it before her and stared at it with knitted brows.
   “For pity’s sake, Antonia!” pleaded Lord Vallentine, all self-control lost. “I can’t bear this procrastination a minute longer. The damned thing can’t open itself!”
   She grabbed up the case and hastily prised it open with a laugh. What she saw inside made her instantly snap shut the lid and push it from her. She looked up at the Duke and found it very difficult to speak.
   “M’sieur le Duc, are—are you sure this is for me?”
   Roxton’s dark eyes held hers and he smiled thinly. “To match your eyes, mignonne.”
   “I’ve had enough of this!” declared Vallentine and leapt out of his chair to snatch up the case.
   “No!” commanded Antonia and ran with the case down the length of the table. She held it out to the Duke with a shy smile. “You will put it on me please?”
   He put down his glass and beckoned her closer. “Turn about and stand still,” he ordered softly. “And be good enough to hold that unruly mop of curls off your neck.”
   From the velvet case the Duke produced the most exquisite emerald and diamond choker Estée had ever set eyes on; each emerald the size of her brother’s smallest finger-nail and divided one from the other by a sparkling diamond. She stared open-mouthed as he slipped the heavy string about Antonia’s throat and deftly twisted the diamond clasp into place. The precious stones were indeed the color of the girl’s eyes.
Antonia felt for the jewelled collar and fingered it gently. “I cannot see it. I must—find a looking glass,” she murmured and fled the room.
   Lord Vallentine was as struck dumb as his betrothed and they stared at one another across the table with wide eyes and parted lips.
   The Duke signalled for Duvalier to start serving dinner, saying over his shoulder, “No claret for Mademoiselle Moran. Barbados will suffice.”
   “I should have guessed!” his sister said with a brittle laugh, finally overcoming her amazement. “When I suggested you give the girl a collar I didn’t mean for you to take me literally.”
   “But how perceptive was your jest, my dear,” answered Roxton. He held up his quizzing-glass to the dish of prepared oysters being offered him and waved them aside. “I can only guess by the swing of your jaw, Vallentine, that you wish to say something to me?”
   “I want to know what you’ve got planned for Antonia,” he said. “It’s been worrying me for weeks.”
   “Planned? I never make plans.”
   “Don’t be damned difficult! This is serious. Salvan’s got a letter from Lady Strathsay saying she don’t care a whit if the girl is married off to that demented boy or not!”
   “I know, my dear,” said the Duke. “Calm yourself. I suggest we not mention this—er—distasteful topic this evening. Allow Antonia a pleasant birthday party at least.”
   “I’ll not argue with that,” agreed Vallentine. “What I’m worried about is her birthdays to come.”
   “Roxton,” said Estée putting down silver knife and fork, “you must know she has put great store in your ability to protect her from the Salvans and their intentions. If you break her heart I’ll never forgive you!”
   The Duke regarded his sister with a bland expression. “Then let me alleviate some of your fears by telling you that our dear cousin will be unexpectedly recalled to Court tonight by l’Majesty and will be—er—unavoidably detained there for the next seven days.”
   “You did that?” asked Vallentine and grinned when his friend inclined his head. “I don’t know how you managed it, but I’m just damned glad you did!”
   The Duke sipped from his glass with a small smile of satisfaction. “As master of the bedchamber my dear friend Richelieu is very close to his royal master. I merely called in a favor.”
   “I am very pleased to hear it,” his sister said with a smile of relief, yet she was not satisfied, “but seven days or seven weeks, Salvan he will return for the little one as soon as may be. There must’ve have been something more you could’ve contrived to ensure our cousin cannot come back at all!”
   “Now, listen, love, your brother has managed this much,” lectured his lordship when the Duke merely rolled his eyes to the ceiling but said nothing. “Have a little more faith, for I’m sure he’s got more up his sleeve that he ain’t tellin’ us just yet.”
   Madame opened her painted mouth, not at all satisfied with this response, yet quickly shut it again when his lordship hissed out a warning, a nod to the doorway. Antonia had come back into the dining room…