Exit Lady Masham by Louis Auchincloss Read Free Book Online

advances. And now I had arrived at the age of seven and twenty, when a woman may be deemed to have resigned herself to the single life. The reader may not believe it when I say that there had never once been a mutual attraction between myself and a man, but it is true. Love for me had been only daydreams. I have already spoken of my sentiment for Lord Marlborough; it was as close to a "love affair" as I had ever come.
    And so I proved an easy prey for Samuel Masham. It seemed to me a simple miracle that this handsome beau should feel, or even pretend to feel, an amorous inclination for red-nosed Abigail. All the fellow had to do was push, and down I went! He did not even have to convince me that his professed passion was genuine; he merely had to state it. He may even have winked as he did so; I was a disgrace to my sex.
    I wish I could say in my own defense that I had been deceived. The sorry thing is that I saw him from the beginning as he was. The person who seduced me was myself.
    But let me describe him. Although he was already showing signs of the fleshiness that has since overtaken him, he was still a fine physical specimen, thick-shouldered, stocky and well-coordinated. He had strong, regular features in a square, blunt face, but his eyes, large and gray-blue, had appeal and humor and even a hint of sensitivity. What attracted me most was my sense of the strong animal behind the mocking mincingness of his affectations. We were in an era famous for the exaggerated airs of its beaux. They liked to strut and saunter, showing off their fine muscles and limbs. It was their mode to underscore their masculine appeal by stressing its very opposite: by the elaborate ritual of raising snuff to the nostrils, or of contorting their features into theatrical expressions of woe and disgust, or of giggling like silly girls. Ours was a society in which it was considered a fine thing, in a duel of rapiers, to kill an opponent without drawing a bead of sweat.
    I saw that Masham was trying his hardest to be this type, and this is not hindsight. I knew, after all, a good deal about him. He was a groom of Prince George and a captain who had never seen field service. He was the heir of a baronet with a small estate, which was no great thing in court. But he was personable, merry, up-to-date in his gossip and very determined to make a good impression. I see him now, as he first appeared to me, in yellow satin knee breeches with a skirted scarlet coat wired to make its ends flare away from his thighs, a ruffled lace shirt and high red heels. His hat was of black felt with a gold band, and his sword hilt was studded with aquamarines. He carried a muff, from which he occasionally extracted a perfume bottle, and he wore a full-bottomed wig with curls to cover what I later discovered was a fine crop of curly blond hair. Oh, yes, I took in every detail!
    At Windsor, where members of the household in clement weather strolled at noon on the great terrace, Masham sometimes joined me. I thought little at first of his compliments, routine tributes to any person known to be in the least favored by royalty. But one morning I thought he seemed inclined to be more serious.
    "Mistress Hill, I am afraid you find me but a light fellow."
    "I find you charming to Her Majesty's women, Captain. His Royal Highness could ask no more of his grooms."
    "You think it merely a duty?"
    "Merely? What is better than duty handsomely performed?"
    "I am obliged! But I assure you that it is far more than a duty."
    "I am happy, anyway, that you do not find it an onerous one, sir."
    I still thought we were engaged only in Windsor persiflage. But now he sounded a more personal note. "We have something in common that you do not suspect, Mistress Hill. A love of letters. You have, I know, a taste for fine writing. And a high style of your own."
    Had he told me that my nose was white, I could not have been more surprised. I liked to flatter myself that my correspondence could boast