To which David Plummy said, “Buck up, Pulver. He’ll be going to that other little house of his any night now. He’s a man who loves women, isn’t he? Isn’t he the firstborn of his parents? Isn’t he a satyr and thus must have infinite variety? With a man of his reputation, it shouldn’t be much longer now. There simply wasn’t a woman in the country that he wanted.”
That was hard to believe, surely.
But Pulver wasn’t so very certain about that assessment. He had seen the baron and baroness together. She wasn’t as beautiful as many of the women the baron had been seen with. She was pretty enough, but not dazzling, like, for instance, the baron’s mother. But there was a kindness in her, a quickness about her, a way of speaking, that had the baron laughing more than anyone had ever heard him laugh. The two of them also appeared to spend quite a bit of time in the baron’s bedchamber during the middle of the day.
It was a mystery to everyone.
As for the little girl, Marianne had decided that she fancied Pulver. It quite convulsed the poor man, sending him into the kitchen to hide.
“She’s a child,” he said to Tinker, his lordship’s valet, “a child, and yet he lets her sit on his lap, he lets her touch his face with those little fingers of hers that are always in her mouth. She shrieks—shrieks—with laughter and he appears to enjoy it. Sometimes she shrieks with a tantrum. The baron just kisses her and tells her to be quiet, and she does. It is amazing, Tinker. And now she fancies me. I cannot bear it, Tinker. It is not in my nature to abide a little child.”
But within a week, Pulver was quite delighted whenever Marianne touched her wet little fingers to his cheek. The first time she kissed him, he nearly swooned with delight. But whenever she stomped her foot and yowled, he was out of the room, calling for the baron. It was Toby, however, whom Pulver came to admire greatly, even though he was only a little boy. They read together and went to the British Museum together. Rohan remarked to Susannah that he had never before seen his cadaverous secretary so animated.
As for Susannah, she was scared to her toes every time they stepped into the house of another member of London Society for some sort of ball or soiree or card party. She knew that everyone believed the poor baron had made a grave error. She knew that everyone believed the poor baron had gravely compounded his error by suddenly producing this wife and little girl. She knew that everyone believed he would soon have her and Marianne gone again so he could resume his dissolute ways. It depressed her profoundly.
“Chin up,” Rohan always told her before he helped her out of the carriage. On this Wednesday night, at Almack’s on King Street, her chin was already so high he feared she would hit the top of her head on the carriage door frame. Rohan grinned at her as he clasped his hands around her waist and very slowly lifted her down, watching her eyes darken at the feel of him. He wanted to tell her that it made him feel like a bloody king when she looked at him like that, but he said instead aware that his voice sounded low and raw, “Did I tell you that you looked rather lovely this evening? I like your hair in that coronet with all the blue ribbons threaded through the braids.”
“Yes, but you didn’t really mean it. The ribbons match the blue in the gown. Ah, Rohan, you’re trying to build me up so I don’t run and hide in the ladies withdrawing room.”
“Found out,” he said and kissed her. “Who made you so cynical?”
“I am just a realist.”
“What you are is a ninny,” he said and kissed the tip of her nose.
This was observed from a short distance by Sinjun Kinross, Countess of Ashburnham, who showed no reticence at all. She yelled out, “Rohan! Is this your wife?”
“This, my love,” Rohan said to Susannah, who was staring at the beautiful young lady who was bearing quickly down on them, “is Sinjun Kinross. She is a favorite acquaintance of mine. That gentleman striding after her is Colin Kinross, her husband. I doubt he ever catches her unless she wants him to.” He grinned at Sinjun and released his wife. “Well, little one,” he called out to the very tall young lady, “you’re looking fit as ever. Colin, you still seem to be breathing evenly.”
“I shouldn’t let Sinjun near you,” Colin Kinross said, eyeing Susannah with interest. “But she said that since you’re married, she’s safe from all your amorous advances, not that she can ever recall you even attempting to advance, which disappointed her. She imagined herself ugly and uninteresting. It took me nearly a week to dissolve that silly notion.”
“Susannah,” Sinjun said after a moment, “this can’t be all that easy for you, particularly given Rohan’s reputation. I think that we should march right in this dismal place and take the dragons head on. What do you think of that?”
To Rohan’s delight, Sinjun Kinross took Susannah under her wing and led her about, as if she were a proud mother presenting her little chick.
Lady Sally Jersey, when presented to Susannah, said, “Tell me, my dear, have you yet met your incomparable mother-in-law?”
“Yes, ma’am. I am blessed. Charlotte is the sweetest, kindest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. She has been wonderful to both me and Marianne, our daughter.”
Lady Jersey obviously wasn’t expecting such an enthusiastic review. It somewhat curdled her smile. Charlotte wonderful? Sweet? Well, Charlotte was many things. Perhaps this was simply another side of the incredible woman. “Hmmm. Ah, but what does dear Charlotte think about being a grandmother?”
“She and Marianne—our daughter—are great friends.”
“Just imagine,” Lady Jersey said, “our dear boy a father. And he was just a very young boy when he married you and sired the child.”
“I was a younger girl than he was a young boy, ma’am,” Susannah said, her chin well up. “But I ask you,” Susannah continued, wearing a fat smile now, “who could turn down Rohan? He has a charming, wicked smile. I much enjoy being his wife and always have.”
Lady Drummond Burrell, another patroness at Almack’s, said, “Surely dear Charlotte wouldn’t allow herself to be dubbed a grandmother. She is far too beautiful, too accomplished, too—ah, there are so many things that Charlotte is. But a grandmother? That is difficult to comprehend. Surely she can’t accept it with equanimity.”
“Perhaps it is difficult for any lady to accept yet another generation. It means that we are all growing old, surely a disagreeable thought. Actually, ma’am, Marianne calls her Charlotte. It seems to suit both of them.” Susannah smiled with just a bit of effort at Lady Burrell, a very plain lady who had the tongue of an adder and all the warmth of a lizard and who, for some reason unknown to anyone, had managed to become one of the most powerful Society ladies in London.
“Your story is so very romantic,” Lady Jersey said, sitting forward, her eyes avidly fixed on Susannah’s face. “Here our dear baron was riding ventre a terre to visit you whenever he wasn’t visiting one of his many ladies here in London.”
Lady Burrell said in a clipped voice, “I imagine the dear baron would only ride ventre a terre for a month or so. This marriage has lasted close to five years. Surely his visits weren’t all that regular, particularly after the child was born. Gentlemen do not care for pregnant ladies or for infants.”
Rohan, bless him, seemed to know whenever Susannah was close to falling into a social abyss. He came to stand beside his wife now, saying easily, his charm so palpable that Susannah felt herself glowing, “With Susannah, it was always ventre a terre. It’s odd, but my horse Gulliver loves her as much as I do. I could have slept in the saddle, and he still would have run his hooves off to get to her.”
He smiled that wonderful smile of his at Mrs. Burrell. “Actually, when you meet my daughter, you will want to do nothing more than have her lay her wet little fingers—she sucks her fingers, you know—on your cheek. It is endearing.”
Even Mrs. Burrell smiled, an event, Roland later told Susannah, that should be recorded for posterity, since no one would believe it.
35
THE FOLLOWING MORNING TOBY
CAME INTO THE BREAKFAST room, carrying Susannah’s racing kitten, Gilly.
“Cook was feeding him little bites of roast pork,” Toby said. “I have told her that Gilly is a racing kitten and must be kept lean and tough, but she just laughs and says the little mite would race only if he could see food as a prize.”
“That isn’t a bad idea,” Rohan said, taking the kitten, who wasn’t so much of a kitten anymore. He held the cat up and looked him right in the eye. “Is this true? Will you run only for food?”
Gilly batted Rohan’s nose.
Toby said, “Gilly really should be in training, Susannah. He really should be taking classes with the Harker brothers. They both believe he has potential as a first-rate racer.”
“What do you think, Rohan?”
“I would just as soon return to Mountvale House. We’ve been in London a good two weeks. It grows wearing. We can return to the country for a month or so, give our Gilly all the racing instruction he needs, visit a few cat races, perhaps do some sailing, go on some picnics.”
“What about me, Rohan? I just got a letter from Mr. Byam yesterday. He says I need to resume my instruction as well if I’m to go to Eton soon.”
“I believe the decision is made. We will leave on Friday.”
The future champion of racing-cat history meowed loudly and dug his claws into Rohan’s britched leg.
The baron had finally left without his wife. Pulver was relieved that things were returning to normal, yet at the same time, he was disappointed. Very disappointed.
The baron was a married man. He had a child. He had a brother-in-law who was a brilliant little chap. The baron shouldn’t be visiting one of his many women. But he was gone, just after dining with the baroness and his brother-in-law, playing for half an hour with his daughter.
Pulver went to the baron’s study and pulled out some accounts, but his study of the figures was cursory. He was distracted. He wondered what the poor baroness was doing, what she was thinking. Finally, he couldn’t bear it.
He walked out of the estate room, bound for the drawing room to console the poor wife, when he heard a sweet laugh. He turned to see the baroness skipping down the stairs, wearing a cloak, obviously preparing to leave herself.
Had his lordship indeed married himself to a lady like his own dear mother? Could she be leaving to meet a lover? He felt himself swell with pride. No, not yet. She had not yet borne The Heir. Surely she knew that.
“Ah, Pulver. Marianne is sound asleep. Toby is reading. I am going out, as you can see. But I will return, as I’m sure the baron will as well.”
With those few words, she was gone.
The coachman pulled up in front of the charming Georgian house on Grace Street, not more than four streets from Cavendish Square. Susannah’s eyes glittered. She looked down at the slip of foolscap in her hand. The coachman obviously knew this house.
She had no idea what she would find. Her husband had left the note for her on her dressing table, telling her to come to this address. Surely he wouldn’t have a mistress here, would he? Yet it was a charming house—a second house—and what man needed another house unless it was to keep a mistress in? Still, she was smiling when she lightly tapped on the brass knocker on the front door.
He himself opened the door. “Good evening, my dear. I’m delighted you found my note and hied yourself here.”
“Hello, my lord. Is there a naked woman in the bedchamber? Or is she in the drawing room, posed seductively on a settee? Or perhaps in the kitchen sprawled out on a table?”
He struck a pose, looking very disappointed. “There wasn’t even a single woman anywhere the last time I looked.” He kissed her lightly, then removed her cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair in the small entrance hall.
“Come, Susannah.”
He held her hand, drawing her into the cozy drawing room that was lit by myriad branches of candles. The room was dominated by a large desk that was piled with papers. There were also papers on the floor all around the desk.
There was no naked mistress displayed on the settee.
There wasn’t even a portrait of a naked woman over the Italian marble fireplace. The wallpaper was a pale blue, not a vulgar scarlet.
“I decided to show you rather than tell you.”
“Show me what? Tell me what?”
Rohan looked strangely embarrassed. “Actually,” he said slowly, “it’s time I told you the truth. Phillip was berating me, told me it was time, but I wanted to wait until the moment was right.”
What was going on here with her utterly perfect husband? “Well, you know, I have found that the truth is usually exactly the right thing, at least most of the time.”
He drew a deep breath. He was having difficulty continuing.
She said nothing, merely smiled up at him, waiting. Finally, she said, “Do you know that you are more handsome right this moment than you were just two hours ago at dinner?”
“You won’t make this easy, will you, Susannah?”
“Certainly. I wouldn’t want you to think me a difficult, uncooperative wife. Now, husband, why the devil do you have this charming little house? You have no need of a second house only four blocks from your town house. Why do you have that big desk in the drawing room? What are all those papers?”
He drew that deep breath again. “I hope you will not be disappointed, Susannah, but the truth of it is that I’m not a womanizer. I’m not a philanderer. I haven’t a single rake’s bone in my body. I haven’t bedded every lady in London. My wild oats could fit into my coffee cup.”
Now this was a kicker. She just stared up at him. “But a man of your reputation—”
“Exactly,” Rohan said. “It’s my reputation, not me.”
“But why? Why this pretense? Why make everyone believe you’re a satyr, a rake, a—, a—”
“Run out of words? There are more, but perhaps you can forget even those you’ve already spoken.” Rohan leaned down, kissed her quickly, then took her hand.
“It’s very simple, really. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents. They desperately wanted me to be just like them. And believe me, there was no deception involved in their respective reputations. I knew soon enough that Tibolt and George weren’t going to follow in their footsteps. That left me. But you see, it just wasn’t me—not the real me.”
“But you make love to me like you’ve done it more times than a man should be entitled to make . . . oh, dear.” She stared up at him, chagrined at what had spilled out of her mouth.
“Well, yes, but that’s different. I told you the truth about that. My father did turn me over to one of his mistresses when I was fourteen. I girded my loins and did my best. Actually, truth be told, I quite enjoyed myself. But I have never had the compulsion to bed every woman I laid eyes on. Just you. Every time I look at you I want to throw you over my shoulder and haul you off to my bed. But only you, Susannah, only you.”
To his worried eye, she looked unhappy, as if she’d expected mutton for dinner and gotten trout instead.
“Oh, damn, I’m sorry if I’ve disappointed you. I’m sorry if you wanted to satyr, Susannah. I’m sorry if you regarded me as a challenge.”
She gave him a radiant smile. “Oh no, Rohan, you have made me the happiest woman in Britain. But you know, I’m not surprised. You have simply never behaved as a man of your reputation should. I love you, all of you, no matter who or what exactly you are.”
“Show her your bloody drawings, Rohan. Then in the morning if there is no blasted rain, take her about and show her all the gardens you’ve designed.”
Susannah turned to see a plump, very pretty woman standing in the doorway. The woman gave her a smile and a curtsey, “I’m Lily, his lordship’s housekeeper. I keep his little house here all neat and tidy.”
Susannah decided at that moment that nothing more would surprise her. “Hello, Lily. I’m Susannah Carrington.”
“Yes, I know well enough who you are. Well, at last, Rohan, you’re confessi
ng all your lack of sin. Not one sinning bone in his entire body, my dear. Now, would the two of you care for some tea?”
While Lily was fetching the tea, Rohan showed Susannah the drawings on the big desk. “This garden will be for Lord Dackery, for his house in Somerset. You see that it won’t be terraced like our garden at Mountvale House. It will be sprawled out, with high hedges separating the various different aspects of the garden. There will be a pond here, a rather large one, I’m planning, with all sorts of lily pads and water reeds around it, to make it look natural. Lord Dackery is a lover of roses, so I’ve planned many rose bowers—see here, one just here, one some twenty feet away from it, a bit larger, with a lovely bench and several chairs beneath it. It would get the benefit of the afternoon sun. It’s also on a slight incline facing west. There is also a delightful breeze many spring and summer days from this vantage point. What do you think?”
She was just staring at him. “You have visited Lord Dackery’s estate?”
“Certainly. We will begin work in a couple of weeks.”
She threw her arms around him. She nuzzled his neck. “Oh, I love you. You were made for me, just me. I should love to be involved. You know that I am very good with plants and flowers, that they grow wildly for me because I have my mother’s affinity for plants. Oh, please let me—”
He was laughing, then hugging her tightly against him. “What if I hadn’t found you?” He kissed her ear, the line of her smooth jaw, then her mouth. “Do you know that you were made for me as well?”
Lily cleared her throat from the door.
“A man of your reputation, my lord, shouldn’t be showing so much affection to his wife. It would give your poor mother a spasm.”
“My mother, as you well know, Lily, is made of stern stuff. She turned only a bit pale when she first found out she had a granddaughter.”
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