“It is perfectly beautiful,” she said, and stood to place it about her shoulders. The colours suited her admirably, and he said so.
He opened his box of shirts, exclaiming suitably over them, admiring the neat stitches. He found also the neckcloths with his initials on them. Then he discovered the small velvet box wrapped in silver paper.
With a feeling akin to dismay, he slowly opened it. When he saw the ring inside, he stared at it almost with revulsion. She had given him so much — he was out of debt, with money in plenty, because of her. He had been feeling guilty about that — planning on returning to Daphne, to give gifts to that woman he could not forget…
And now in his hand was a delicately wrought ring of silver with an immense star sapphire set in it. A fortune in itself, he thought, turning cold. She was watching him eagerly, her hands clasped together.
“Your design? he said, turning it over. “How — very charming —” The sapphire was perfect, a huge misty blue, with a stunning crisscross of white lines in it. “It is — it looks a very — expensive jewel?”
A shadow crossed her face. “It is a fine gem,” she admitted, in a low tone. “When I saw it — I wanted it for you.”
He replaced it in the box. “I cannot accept it,” he said. He got up abruptly from his seat beside her. “It is too much. You should set it for yourself — it would look good on your hand,” he added.
She was looking stunned, her red mouth trembling before she compressed it firmly. “Do you — not like it — my lord?” she murmured.
He moved restlessly to pick up some silver wrap and fold it in his hands. “It is too fine for me,” he said.
Her head bent. He had hurt her deeply, he realized.
“There is something wrong — perhaps you do not care for star sapphires. Is there some custom, or superstition —”
“No, no, absolutely not,” he said hastily. He bit his lips. He was rejecting not only the ring but her artistry, for she had made the ring setting, he felt sure. He picked it up again, examined it carefully. “You have given me so much — I am overwhelmed, that is all,” he said, reluctantly.
“You do not like it,” she said flatly. The blush was gone, she seemed white and tired.
“I do. I have never seen such a splendid gem. But I cannot accept it, Sonia,” he added more quietly. He looked at her bent head. Damn it. Every gift was a fresh blow. She had carefully stitched his shirts and neckcloth, and now this… He felt such a cad, such a low worm.
“Is there — some other design — perhaps in gold?” she whispered.
“No. It is perfect.” He slipped it on his finger. He must give in, but it was difficult for him. His pride was taking a beating. “Look, Sonia, a perfect fit. How stunning it is. Arc you sure you want me to have it?” he said more lightly, with an effort.
Tears trembled on her dark lashes. She blinked them back with an intense effort. “Oh, Alastair, I wished to give it to you. When I first saw it, I knew it was — like your eyes,” she said very shyly. Her slim talented fingers twisted in her linen handkerchief with the lace borders, almost tearing the lace.
He was deeply touched. “Well, then, I must wear it, always, in memory of your kindness to me. It shall be a bond between us, eh?” He forced himself to say it, then bent, took her chin in his hand and raised her head.
He saw the tears that threatened in her grey eyes. Very carefully, he kissed each eyelid, then her red mouth.
“Sonia, you have a generous heart — it will get you into trouble,” he said with a sigh. “This is too good for me, yet I shall cherish and love it always. Now, smile for me, or I shall be very cross with myself for making you weep on Christmas!”
She managed a smile. He kissed her again and held her close to his heart. She was very vulnerable, he thought. He had not realized how much, for under her cloak of sophistication, he had not seen the shy heart concealed. She had given it to him, this beautiful gem, because it looked like his eyes! He could not refuse it… he must wear it for her.
The rest of the month, and into January, they were much together. Alastair made a determined effort to forget London, and to get the Cornwall estate into as good repair as possible. Sonia helped him eagerly, and he found himself turning over some of his arduous duties to her.
She not only managed the household and directed the housekeeper , but also helped with the estate books, for she had a good practical knowledge of bookkeeping. She suggested economies, and how to make the best use of the labourers, who would rather work summers and not in the cold winters. She suggested he hire more seasonal workers, and let the men off to go fishing when they chose, rather than remain close to the estate, whiling away idle hours.
They went for long walks when the January days turned cold but clear, enjoying the brisk winds against their faces. She wore her warm Scottish cloak of blue and green with a scarf over her head, while he put on his warmest wool suit and high boots. They could stroll along the country lanes, talk about the fruit trees, plan the year’s work. And he told her more of his worries about settling his sisters and his brother. They weighed much on his mind.
Sonia had brisk common sense, and he enjoyed talking to her. Some cold evenings, he would fill his pipe, and smoke contentedly beside the fire, while she read to him in her low clear voice from books of philosophy or poetry or drama. He felt unusually contented. It must pass, for he was not one to remain for ever in the country; but for now, it was good.
CHAPTER 8
February came, and Alastair decided they could return to London. He was eager to go, so eager he ordered his valet to pack a week before their departure. Sonia was more reluctant, taking long walks of farewell among the stark apple trees, the flower gardens.
Tears filled her eyes at the thought of leaving this place where she had been so happy. Alastair was so anxious to return to London, to see all his family and friends. Would he forget about her? Would she be expected to be stiff and formal again? Would the housekeeper and maids still resent her?
She repressed a deep sigh. This had been two months of heaven, and perhaps it would be all she would ever have. She would have the memory of the sweet days and nights alone with Alastair to comfort her in the hectic days of London. The memories of reading to him, stretching out her slim feet to the crackling fire, the smell of fresh apples in their bowl. A glass of wine on a cold night — and Alastair laughing at some tale he had told her, his blue eyes sparkling with delight. The friendliness of the country folk. The nights when he did come to her — holding her, making love with passion.
Mrs Pendennis wept when they left, her apron pressed to her eyes. Several small boys ran down the path alongside them, waving and waving until the horses picked up pace and the carriage outstripped them. Sonia leaned from the window, still waving back, until a turn in the road hid their cheerful grinning faces from sight.
She sank back into her place against the squabs, drawing the Scottish cloak more closely about her. Alastair was smiling indulgently.
“I am glad the manor house pleased you,” he said. “We may return for a couple of months in the summer.”
“That will be pleasant,” she said eagerly. She was wishing they could remain for the year, to watch the apple trees bud and flower, and fruit come red and ripe. To see the garden blooms, of roses and daffodils and crocus, and the lilac bushes bursting into fragrance in the corners of her favourite garden plot. However, Alastair longed for London, and the smart season was approaching. They must entertain and attend parties, and be seen. It was what he longed to do. She must stifle her sighs so he never heard them.
She was silent on the first day of their return trip , gazing with farewell looks at the knife-edged mountains, the snug cottages wreathed in vines, the rustic roads and evergreens, the golden Cotswold stone of a Gothic church glinting in the wintry sunlight. The sadness struck deep into her. Yet surely they would return again. Somehow she felt filled with apprehension about this return journey, as though she were going full-tilt toward
s trouble.
They stopped at a comfortable inn for the night, and the innkeeper ran about making everyone bustle for them. They ate hugely and hungrily of the platters of roast beef, hot vegetables, cold sliced lamb. For dessert there was rich apple trifle, smothered with thick clotted cream.
“Eat your fill of it, Sonia,” said Alastair happily. “We won’t have such in London! London — ah, we will be there in two days!” His cheeks were tanned from hours in the sun, he looked happier and healthier than when they had left London.
They arrived in London as dusk fell. The street lights were being lit by the lamplighters from the ends of long poles. The musical cries of sellers of lavender and fish and oranges filled the air. The horses slowed as they approached the sheltered secluded street of Alastair’s townhouse. They felt as reluctant as Sonia herself, she thought.
At the sound of the carriage, the great doors were flung open. The housekeeper and the butler stood there, waiting to receive them. They went in, and found a silent house. The young ladies and their brother were out at a soirée, said the butler gloomily. Alastair frowned, but said nothing at this slight.
Sonia was relieved. It would be tomorrow before she faced their cold looks again. She went right up to her room, with Leah supporting her. “There, it was a long nasty cold ride,” said her abigail, tenderly helping her remove cloak and bonnet.
“But we are home again,” said Sonia pointedly, sitting down to remove her lined boots. It felt good to slip into her soft sandals, to shake out her heavy length of hair. Leah went below stairs to fetch a tray of hot tea and a light supper for her charge.
It developed that Alastair had changed and gone out at once. Leah’s mouth compressed in anger, but she said nothing to Sonia about it. If Sonia thought her husband had gone straight to bed, it would be just as well.
Sonia knew he had not. She had heard the sounds next door, and had felt wounded. She knew why he was eager to go out. She ate a little, and retired early, to lie awake, bone-weary from the jolting of the coach.
He must have been very eager to see his friends again! Was it some particular friend, some woman, that he went to? She pressed her fist to her mouth, and shut her eyes. She must not think about it, she must not. Women did not protest, they endured.
She finally slept, uneasily, to waken when he returned rather drunkenly to his room. She heard a chair knocked over, and wakened to listen to the sounds. A clock chimed the hour — four o’clock. She turned over to sleep again.
Morning came, and she dressed and went downstairs. She was no coward, but it took courage in full store to face the housekeeper and maids and wait for the others to come down. After the friendly cheerfulness of Mrs Pendennis, it was doubly hard.
Nevertheless, she had always done her duty. She took over the reins of the household again, enquired into the accounts, spent hours at her desk in the room behind Alastair’s study to get all into order once more.
A great deal seemed to have been spent on exotic foods and more wines than could possibly be consumed in a year, even with the aid of dozens of guests. She questioned the bills, almost went to Alastair about them, then decided not to do so. He might say something contemptuous about her quiet life before her marriage, that she did not understand London Society, or some such rebuke. She could not face that.
She quietly transferred some funds of her own to the household accounts, and paid the tradesmen’s enormous bills without a word.
Alastair came into her office later in the week. “There are some bills here. Would you take care of sending drafts on my bank?” he asked. “My secretary has taken off to visit his sick mother, and I haven’t a clue about the bank books and all that,” he added rather impatiently.
She smiled. He was like a small boy at times, when faced with unpleasant, detailed tasks he did not enjoy. Outdoors, he was in his element. In his study, he paced like a frantic lithe panther in a cage.
“Of course, Alastair, if you wish,” she said gently, pleased she could help him. “Do you have account books there? Shall I work in your study, and replace the books when I have done?”
“If you would be so kind,” he said. Taking her to his study, he showed her the neat files of his secretary. A number of ledgers were carefully arranged, but others — and some bank books — had been tossed into boxes and drawers.
She began to take them out and study them, a little bewildered. Alastair must have gone poking about, trying to find what he wanted. She felt sure his precise secretary never would have left them in such disarray.
Alastair went out to see to a horse he might purchase. Sonia was there in his study all the afternoon, trying to make order of the bills and cheque books.
As she worked, she began to feel rather ill. More and more ill as the afternoon hours wore on. For she found such huge sums in the account books, some marked PAID in great bold letters, others “Account taken care of by Meyer Goldfine” under the date of November, 1809.
Sonia pressed her hand to her forehead. Hundreds of pounds — thousands — even hundreds of thousands, according to a quick calculation. Hundreds of thousands of pounds! Some had been the debts of his father, some of Alastair — gambling debts, mortgages on Fairley, the cost of horses and stables, jewels sent to Mrs Daphne Porter, the rent of an apartment for Mrs Porter…
She felt dazed, bewildered. How could they have got into such debt? Still, he was a nobleman, he did have a townhouse, a country home, horses and stables…
And as for her — had he really married her for her money? None had been taken from her accounts; she checked them over herself every month, in Uncle Meyer’s counting house. No large sums had been deducted from her balance.
It was a terrible puzzle. Perhaps Uncle Meyer had paid a dowry to Alastair for her. Yet, this one was too great, he could never have paid such a dowry — not over three hundred thousand pounds. And for what? To pay such bills, such gaming debts, and for his mistress…?
Sonia fumbled over the books, putting them away with her mouth set. As she pushed them into one opening, she found they would not fit in. She pulled out the two books, and found a document crushed into the space where they should have fitted. Sonia drew it out, opened it innocently — and found her name on it.
She swallowed. She took in the words in one burning look. Then she began again at the beginning and read the several pages, sitting like a child in Alastair’s huge chair.
A marriage settlement, such as the Jewish people used — only it had not been read aloud at her ceremony, nor given to her for safekeeping, as was customary with Jewish brides. She read the terms and could not believe them.
A sound at the door interrupted her. Her eyes were great and sombre as she turned to the doorway. Alastair had come in and was striding towards her, his tanned face dark with anger.
“What are you doing? What have you found there?” Blood had rushed into his face, and his blue eyes glinted with passion and fury.
“The marriage settlement,” she whispered. “I found — the marriage settlement. Oh — Alastair —”
He snatched the document from her trembling hands, glanced down at it. “You didn’t know about it?” He seemed to be sneering at her. Sonia shook her head, closing her eyes. She felt faint. “Well, this was between your uncle and me. It is not your concern,” he said brutally, shoving the document back where it had been. “If you hadn’t gone poking about —”
“I found — papers,” she managed to say, opening her eyes and holding up her head with dignity. “I was trying to find the right books — to pay the accounts —”
“I’ll warrant!” he snapped, and sent the papers on the desk flying with his arm and fist. “Go away! I’ll take care of these! I should have known better than to trust you with the contents of my desk!”
She took a deep furious breath. “You asked me to pay your bills for you. I did not think to find such great debts. And the rent for Mrs Porter’s flat is two months behind!” she flared, flouncing up from the chair to glare at him,
her fists clenched.
Blood came up higher into his cheeks. He lifted one hand, and she thought he would strike her. She stared at him, unflinching. She would rather have been struck, she thought, than to find what she had found.
“Damn my secretary! He should not have left in such a hurry,” said Alastair, but he could not meet her eyes. He looked down at the desk top, and his shoulders, sagging, seemed to lose their proud carriage. “I didn’t mean for you to see these, Sonia, really —”
It was a kind of apology, but she was too hurt to accept it. “No? It was a secret between you and my uncle, then? The fact that you were so deeply in debt that you had to marry a Jewess for her money?” she flashed.
The words were out between them, the hateful words that could not be recalled.
He bit his full sensuous lips, and she could not keep from remembering how tender and passionate they had been on her lips, on her breasts…
“That is true,” he said flatly. His head came up, he still could not look at her. He stared at the crimson drapes at the windows. Outside the winter darkness had gathered in, and the wind gusted against the panes of glass. “My father — and I — there were such debts — there was no other way out. Now you know. I had to forget everything but my family, my responsibilities. I had to marry, to get out of debt and start again. I have my sisters to launch, my brother to settle. I cannot blame you if you hate me for it.”
Hate him? Tears blurred her eyes, and she turned away sharply. That was the trouble, she could not hate him. She loved him. She adored him. And he — he had married her, for the money alone…
He was putting the papers away, crushing them in any way into the drawers, locking them, slamming shut the doors of the cabinet behind the desk where the incriminating ledgers lay. The sounds were like so many blows at her heart. If she had only known — if she had only known…
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 10