Page 52 of The Twelve Days of Christmas

‘Oh, I rather think that you do,’ said Viscountess Pépin.

‘You did trip Rosalie. I might not have seen it, but like myself my daughter is no liar, and I trust her words over yours. I also understand that you were deliberately spiteful to my Louisa at Lady Warwick’s Midsummer Soirée.

In fact, you set about humiliating her and rejoiced in doing so!

Believe me, Miss Sharpe, if there had been a way to exclude you from the invitation extended to your brothers, I would have done it.

Still,’ she added in a more calculating tone, ‘I am glad you’re here, for if you had not been, I would never have made the connection. ’

Miss Sharpe paled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘The Pump Room in Bath, last summer. I saw there, in a darkened corner, the duke taking liberties with another lady. Tall and blonde she was, but I did not realise the lady was you until I overhead Mr Sharpe’s words to my Maria.’

At this revelation, the Falshaws departed, but Maria – who had observed the whole exchange in silent rapture – could not move a muscle.

Never had she seen her mother speak thus to another human being!

Never had any of the sisters seen her so angry!

Always they considered their mother such a kind and gentle woman, with not one bad word to say about anybody, but here she was giving Cordelia Sharpe and the Duke of Morley what-for, and Maria could barely conceal her glee.

‘Viscountess,’ said the Earl of Starling, with an apologetic half-bow.

‘The incident with your maid can be verified, I assume, but I must say that there are many ladies of Miss Sharpe’s colouring and stature in Bath.

To accuse her of such grievous conduct …

Well, her reputation is at stake. This is a very serious accusation. Are you quite sure it was her?’

‘I am,’ said the viscountess. ‘That lady wore the same comb in her hair. Tortoiseshell, adorned with a shooting star of cut steel. I should know it anywhere.’

‘But,’ flustered Miss Sharpe. ‘This comb belonged to my mother. It is one of a kind!’

Viscountess Pépin smiled.

‘Precisely.’

There was a shocked silence, and in the face of it Miss Sharpe appeared to realise what she had done.

Both she and the Duke of Morley froze, and there followed murmurs of such an appalled and scandalised nature that Bertram Sharpe – having recovered now from the shock of it all – was forced to address the matter.

‘Cordelia,’ he said, looking to Maria most authoritative, ‘ has this man been taking liberties with you?’ to which his sister trilled a shocked laugh.

‘Honestly, brother, this is very unfair.’

‘ Has he?’

Tarquin Sharpe, this, at which Miss Sharpe tweaked the cuff of her dress.

‘Really, I do object! How can you accuse me of such a thing?’

Humphrey Sharpe folded his arms. ‘Cordelia!’

Miss Sharpe stared at her brothers for a long moment. Then, to the astoundment of everybody in the room, most notably the Duke of Morley himself, she linked her arm possessively through his.

‘Yes,’ she said boldly. ‘He has.’

Such shouts of outrage that followed! The Sharpe brothers spoke furiously between themselves, the Busgroves looked positively delighted at being witness to such a delicious scandal, while the Marshchilds and the Earl of Starling attempted to maintain order as Maria, Rosalie and Louisa gathered about their mother, who held them close.

‘Well, Morley,’ said Bertram Sharpe when the ballroom had quietened once more. ‘You shall marry my sister.’

‘I shall not.’

The duke’s answer came like a shot, and held no hesitation whatsoever, to which Cordelia Sharpe released his arm.

‘What?’

Her voice was so sharp she fare sang the word, but he did not even flinch.

‘I will not marry you,’ said the Duke of Morley, in such firm tones that one could not mistake his resolve.

Maria stared at Sir Robert. However could she or any of her sisters have considered him a gentleman? How had they been so easily taken in?

‘By God, you have a nerve, Morley!’ Tarquin Sharpe cried. ‘Do you dare stand there and refuse to marry my sister?’

‘’Twas a kiss, nothing more.’

‘So says you! But from the sounds of it you have not acted honourably to any woman, so we can hardly be expected to believe you in this case. Was it just a kiss, Cordelia?’

‘No, it was not,’ swore the sister, looking at the duke accusingly. ‘It was far more besides. You must understand, brother. He made promises.’

The last was said innocently, but Maria did not miss the sly glint in Miss Sharpe’s fine eyes, nor the tweak of a muscle in Sir Robert’s jaw.

‘Why, you money-grabbing—’

‘Watch yourself, Morley,’ warned Bertram Sharpe, at which the duke turned on him.

‘Your sister lies,’ Sir Robert spat, his face growing red as puce. ‘I shall not deny the maid, nor shall I deny that I engaged in flirtations with the Pépin sisters, or with your sister. But nothing else happened, and certainly nothing she did not beg for.’

Cordelia Sharpe’s green eyes filled with tears, but to Maria they shone like a crocodile’s.

‘Bertram,’ she cried. ‘The duke is lying!’

‘I am not!’

‘Then,’ declared Humphrey Sharpe, stepping forwards most forcefully, ‘I call you out. Swords at dawn! There is nothing else for it – it’s the only honourable way.’

‘On no, it isn’t,’ interceded Sir Victor. ‘I am ——shire’s magistrate, so unless you both wish to spend Twelfth Night in gaol, I suggest you think of another solution.’

‘What on earth is going on?’

The commanding voice made her jump; Maria turned, and so too did the others in the room.

At the threshold of the ballroom stood her sister Juliette on the arm of Nicolas Toussaint, together with Lord Heysten, his little sister, Faith (who held in her hand three leads to which were attached Monsieur Beno?t’s clucking hens), and Charlotte, on the arm of their father, Viscount Pépin.

All six of them looked upon the scene before them with expressions of complete bemusement.

‘I ask again,’ said Nicolas. ‘What is going on?’

It was rare for Juliette’s new husband to speak forcefully. He was always so soft in his addresses, so courteous and polite. It was why, Maria knew, her elder sister liked him so very much.

‘Nic, old boy,’ exclaimed the Duke of Morley in tones of deep relief. ‘Do help out a friend – I have been unfairly maligned. If you had only heard—’

‘I did hear,’ came Nicolas’ reply. ‘At least, a part of it. What is it you lie about? Why is there talk of a duel?’

There was much chatter then from all sides, in which the whole situation was explained, and Lord Heysten cleared his throat.

‘Though I am inclined to agree my cousin is no angel, it seems there can be no doubt upon the matter, Morley. This is a lady’s word against yours.’

Sir Robert sniffed. ‘Which counts for nothing, I assume? I am a duke after all.’

‘I couldn’t give a damn if you were the Archbishop of Canterbury. If you have compromised Cordelia, then it is your duty to marry her.’

Beside him, Nicolas sighed.

‘He cannot marry her.’

Lord Heysten frowned. ‘Why not?’ asked he, and as if in answer one of the hens clucked at his feet.

‘Because,’ said Nicolas, with a reproachful look at the duke, ‘Sir Robert is already married.’

What loud silence followed! Shock was writ clearly upon the faces of everyone in the room but for Nicolas Toussaint and the Duke of Morley, and Cordelia Sharpe turned on the latter like a whip.

‘ What? ’

‘To an actress. In London.’

‘An actress ?’

‘Nicolas,’ breathed Juliette, ‘you didn’t tell me,’ and Sir Robert cleared his throat.

‘You must not blame your husband, seigneuresse. I swore him to secrecy, and being such a soft cull, he agreed. I was in my altitudes you see when I married her, and if my father found out …’

‘You fiend, Morley,’ the Earl of Starling spluttered. ‘How could you abuse poor Miss Sharpe’s honour? How could you promise her marriage when you already had a wife?’

‘But I didn’t promise her marriage,’ the Duke of Morley glowered. ‘Besides, I was rather hoping I could get my marriage annulled before anyone discovered it. But now that’s all for naught, for the secret is out. What a grave disappointment you are to me, Toussaint.’

Oh, Maria thought, this was all too glorious!

It was as if she were witnessing a Covent Garden play.

Indeed, she was not the only one to think it either for the three Busgroves had long since taken seats upon the chairs set about the periphery of the ballroom floor, and little Faith Heysten sat cross-legged on the polished hardwood with the three hens collected about her, all of them watching the back and forth as if it were a game of shuttlecock.

If it had not been for the look of mortification set upon each of the Sharpe brothers’ faces, and the clear upset shewn by her brother-in-law, Maria would have laughed heartily.

Viscountess Pépin, however, was not the least bit amused.

‘Your grace,’ said she, in such a dangerously low cadence that even the viscount looked surprised. ‘You are a worse scoundrel than I thought. I am glad I was able to warn you away from my daughters before you could do further damage.’

‘ Maman? ’

This came from Rosalie, and was echoed in turn by Louisa and Maria herself. Was their mother, then, responsible for Sir Robert avoiding them these past few days? But then, before Maria could broach the question, Viscount Pépin at last made himself heard.

‘It seems,’ said he, in a voice most grave, ‘there is much that has been kept from me. Pray, dearest, would you care to explain?’

So it was that Viscountess Pépin divulged to her husband (and a very rapt audience) all that had occurred since the duke arrived in Merrywake, after which the viscount stared aghast.