Her odd behavior had not attracted his notice at the time, but now he viewed it with great foreboding, for why would she display such disquiet lest she well knew what Château Follet was about?
He had not thought to hear its name again, though Diana had once teased him, suggesting that the four of them could have a ribald time there, but he had quickly quelled such a notion. Trudie was far from comfortable in the bedchamber. Their wedding night had been quite the disaster for both of them. He had been as gentle as he could, and she had tried to contain her cries, but it was evident to him that she took no pleasure in their congress. He had hoped, after the initial pain, that subsequent attempts would prove more agreeable to her, but she had looked ready to leap from the bed at his every touch.
She would never engage in any of the activities at the Château Follet. Surely Diana, one of her dearest friends, knew this? The two women talked often, and their sex had a habit of leaving no subject unturned.
But then why were they headed to Follet? What could Diana intend but to make cuckolds of him and Charles? He knew Diana to be discontented in her marriage, but would Trudie acquiesce to adultery? He would not have thought it possible, but as he reflected on the past sennight, she had been behaving with all the indications of a guilty conscience.
Granted, he himself had not been faithful in the last year, though he did not brandish his affairs as Charles did. He was not a poor husband, in that he never spoke a harsh word to Trudie and always treated her with courtesy and kindness. She knew as well as he that their marriage served to satisfy their families. Their mothers had crafted their engagement at their births. The Bonnevilles had wealth, and the Spencers had breeding. Both families benefited from the match.
The excitement of the crowd rose, with Charles cheering loudly, as the horses came into the final lap. Leopold glanced at Charles, wondering if he should inform his friend of the need to depart Berkshire immediately to rescue their wives. Charles would be livid and want to lock Diana in her chambers, perhaps more cross at being pulled away from the races than at his wife’s infidelity.
Leopold decided he could fetch the two women and bring them home himself. The responsibility to inform Charles would then rest appropriately with Diana.
It was a good day’s journey to Château Follet, but if he departed within the hour, he could arrive before the women had to spend the night.
Charles leaped in triumph as the horses crossed the finish line. “Damn me, the Turk won! He won!”
After celebrating with the fellow beside him, who had made the same fortunate bet, Charles turned back to Leopold. “Here now, I know your horse finished down the field, but you look as if you lost more than a hundred quid. The day is young. You may recoup your losses yet. Lest your wife overspends her allowance, eh? I know Diana will with hers.”
Leopold managed a grim smile. “I shall have to take my losses for the day. I fear I have neglected a matter that, upon reflection, requires some urgency to resolve.”
Charles stared at him. “Eh?”
“Make my bets for me while I am gone and keep the winnings if there are any to be had.”
Knowing this to be an offer Charles could not refuse, Leopold took his leave. He ought to trust that Trudie, once she realized what Château Follet was about, would turn upon her heel in an instant to seek safer shelter. Surely Marguerite Follet, the proprietress, would see that Trudie was not a suitable guest.
But he could not risk it. And, perhaps, locking one’s wife in her chambers might yet prove an appealing option.
CHAPTER TWO
LEOPOLD PACED THE ANTEROOM of Marguerite Follet’s boudoir. Little had changed since last he had stayed at the Château Follet some years ago. Despite a palpable nostalgia for the place, he was far from happy over the circumstances that currently compelled his presence. The roads to Château Follet had been favorable, and he had made good time, but throughout the journey he had felt the impending cuckoldry in the depths of his loins. Diana may not have provided specifics to her description of the château, but she could not have expected to conceal its purpose from Trudie. Given his wife’s recent behavior, it was more than likely she had agreed to the affair. Leopold had inventoried all the men Trudie knew. None appeared the obvious offender. If she had been unfaithful, she had hid it well, though he had never known her to be deceitful till now. He knew the hypocrisy of condemning Trudie for her faithlessness when he himself entertained a mistress, but her choice of the Château Follet for her tryst riled for reasons he could not name.
“She should not be here,” he insisted to Madame Follet after being admitted to her room.
The proprietress stood in her negligee while a chambermaid assisted with her toilette. Though his senior by many years, Madame Follet wore her age with grace and elegance, aided by eyes that sparkled with vigor, a smooth and pale complexion, and a trim figure. She narrowed her eyes at his hasty speech.
Recalling his manners, he quickly bowed and kissed her hand. “Your pardon, Madame. Comment allez-vous?”
“Leopold Spencer,” she remembered, her gaze sweeping over him with obvious appreciation of what she saw. “Je vais bien. Now, of whom do you speak?”
“My wife.”
She raised a brow. “You are not arrived together?”
“She came without my knowledge.”
“Lost the reins to your wife, have we, Lord Ramsay?”
He bristled.
“Rather a surprise,” she continued as she examined the different pairs of stockings offered by the maid. “I remember you as quite the dominant.”
He had fond memories of Château Follet but, for some reason, had not thought to bring his mistress here.
Marguerite lowered her lashes. “As you know, we’ve plenty of leashes here.”
“My marriage is not that sort of arrangement,” he said, though the thought of clapping a leash on Trudie was not wholly objectionable, especially if she were inclined to run off on wild and irresponsible ventures.
“How unfortunate. I know not your wife, but she must be the flaxen-haired young lady who arrived with your cousin?”
“Were they accompanied by anyone or did they rendezvous with another guest?”
“I am not aware of their plans, mon chéri.”
“I want them sent home.”
“Lord Ramsay, you may take up the mantle of master with your wife as it pleases you, but do not require my intervention.”
“They know not what they are about. This is no place for Trudie,” he maintained, and began to pace once more.
She looked at him sharply. “I invite all manner of women to enjoy themselves here.”
“I meant no offense, Madame, but I think my wife to be entirely naïve as to what transpires here. Château Follet is beyond her.”
Marguerite sat down at her vanity and began applying her powder. “A bold insistence by someone caught unawares of his wife’s whereabouts.”
“Trudie is the last person I would expect to find here.”
“It would seem that you do not completely know your wife.”
A muscle tightened along his jaw.
She looked at him through the mirror. “If you mean to rescue your wife from the treachery of Château Follet—”
“Madame, you must know I have only fond recollections of my time here, but Trudie is…inexperienced.”
“If you wish to claim her, I shall not prevent you. But the hour is late and you have but arrived. My groomsman Jacque is at your disposal, and there are many guest chambers available. I invite you to make yourself comfortable. You are welcome to stay the night—or two. I do believe Diana and your wife are staying at least two.”
At least two? he nearly bellowed. Instead, he said with comportment, “I am honored by your invitation but, regretfully, I cannot accept.”
“Are you so certain the women will go with you?”
“I cannot force Diana to leave with me, but I will take my wife.”
“And install her under lock and
key so that she never returns?”
Leopold squared his shoulders. He had not yet pondered that possibility. A proper scolding should dissuade Trudie from ever considering a second visit to Follet…but what if it did not?
“Madame, will you not explain to my wife—”
“Certainement no. You would ask me to criticize my own residence?”
“I beg your pardon! That is not what I intended. I only meant that you could, with your vast experience, dissuade Trudie and convince her that she would find Château Follet most unsuitable.”
“But I know not your wife. And I will say to you what I said to an overbearing marquess last week: that I find it rather selfish of you to deny her the pleasures that you have partaken readily of here at Château Follet.”
Her words jolted him, especially when he had considered himself quite magnanimous for not condemning his wife her infidelity. His intention in coming to the Château was to protect Trudie.
Marguerite softened her tone. “Given your absence from the Château, perhaps you should consider making up for lost time. It would please me much if you chose to stay.”
She held out her hand, a clear signal of dismissal. He pressed his lips to her hand. There was little to be done but accept her offer for the moment.
Ensconced in one of the guest chambers, he dismissed Jacque soon after the groomsman had assisted him out of his coat and boots. He went to the sideboard and poured a glass of brandy. He finished the beverage rather quickly, then poured himself another. He gazed at the painting on the opposite wall. Scantily clad nymphs, many with their nipples showing through their thin garments, danced with satyrs in a forest setting.
He settled into an armchair facing the four-post bed. His last time here, he had a lovely maiden tied between those posts, moaning and writhing with delight to his bedchamber skills. His surroundings and the brandy sank in, warming his blood. A shame he would not be able to partake in the events of the Château. But his mission was clear.
It was unfortunate that Marguerite was not willing to accommodate his request. Who better than the proprietress herself to convince Trudie of the inappropriateness of the Château? And she would have spared Trudie the embarrassment of facing her husband, though he took some gratification at the thought of witnessing his wife’s mortification. Surely she would think twice about deceiving him and running off to places such as the Château Follet!
Now he had no option but to remove Trudie from the château himself. If he marched himself into her chambers, she would be too surprised and shamefaced to protest. But, as he had voiced to Marguerite, there was no guarantee that Trudie would not simply return at a later time.
He glanced at the longcase clock opposite him. The hour was indeed late. He had no affinity for traveling at night, and it would be too dangerous for a woman. He could claim his wife now, before any of the evening’s activities took place, but he admitted a growing curiosity to know the extent of her infidelity and whether she would truly consent to the debauchery here. He could not imagine Trudie would tolerate the wanton exhibition and forays into debauchery when she could ill handle the overtures of her own husband, but it had been over a year since he had approached her. Perhaps it was best to keep a furtive profile and depart on the morrow. He could keep an eye on Trudie to ensure her safety and discern who her possible paramour might be.
He rose and went to the armoire. Opening its doors, he found a selection of face masks. He picked a simple half mask of black satin. A matching black banyan hung beside it. The lighting at the Château was always dim, but he chose a powdered wig to further disguise himself from recognition.
As he donned the articles, he felt a strange anticipation.
CHAPTER THREE
HIS WIFE WAS NOWHERE to be found.
“Are you quite certain she is not in her chambers?” Leopold inquired of the maidservant he had asked to search the rooms.
“Yes, m’lord,” the woman replied.
“But her effects are still there? She has not departed?”
“Her portmanteau remains unpacked.”
Leopold returned downstairs to the assembly room, where the pairing ritual was held for guests to claim their partners. He saw Diana upon the lap of a handsome rogue, and thought of Charles joyfully watching the races, oblivious to his wife’s infidelity. Engrossed in murmuring into her paramour’s ear, she took no notice of Leopold. Even if she had, she would likely not have recognized him behind his mask and wig. He was tempted to ask Diana, who ought to have, as she had brought Trudie here, looked after her friend.
“Was she here?” Leopold asked of Madame Follet, who sat with her legs stretched upon a sofa while a young man several years her junior held a glass of wine to her lips.
“I’ve not seen the baroness since supper,” she replied after a sip. “I do hope she is well and can partake a little of the pleasures of the night. I would have tended to her more, but since you are here, I thought it unnecessary.”
“Are all your guests accounted for here?”
She looked about the room. “I think a few have left to begin the true start of their evenings.”
Leopold knew not how to receive the information. When first he had entered the assembly room earlier to see with whom Trudie might engage in criminal congress, he had been relieved to find her absent. Perhaps she had come to her senses and had chosen instead to retire for the evening. That she was not in her chambers left open the possibility that she might have gone off with one of the guests. It concerned him. She could not possibly fathom what transpired here at Château Follet, even if Diana had provided the most detailed of descriptions. Hearing of the activities was not the same as experiencing them.
And what of the man who would claim her? Would he be kind and gentle? Would he perceive her awkwardness and how easily she could be discomfited?
Leaving the assembly room, Leopold renewed his urgency to find Trudie. As he went through empty room after empty room on the first floor of the château, he began to consider how he might search the bedchambers upstairs without bursting in upon unsuspecting guests, but there was no way to prevent such an event if he was to be thorough in his search. And he would not rest until he had found Trudie.
After he discovered her safe and unharmed, he would be tempted to give her the proper scolding she deserved. It mattered not if she had come to Château Follet at Diana’s urging. In coming, Trudie had acquiesced to committing adultery. She had acquiesced to making him a cuckold.
His anger should be tempered, he knew, by guilt over his own infidelity, but wives could not be made cuckolds. He had done his duty in marrying Trudie, had treated her with nothing but kindness, had seen that she had more than enough in the way of pin money and had never denied her anything of consequence. That he did not often visit her bed was likely a relief for her. And she would repay all this by making him a cuckold.
As he allowed his anger to stew, he heard music coming from behind the partially closed doors of a drawing room. Looking through the opening, he beheld a woman seated at a pianoforte, her back to him. Like him, she wore the fashion of the prior century. Her satin dress of dark indigo had petticoats that made her full hips appear even more ample. Her hair was done in a powdered coiffure, but he recognized her figure.
Entering, he stood at the threshold and listened. A skilled pianiste, Trudie often liked to challenge herself with difficult pieces. At present, she played the “Sonata in E-flat Major” by Joseph Haydn. The large composition reflected much of the composer’s late complexities and sophistication. At the instrument, she commanded a passion that did not appear in her demeanor. Or perhaps he had simply not noticed it before.
She finished the final notes with flourish. Having been engrossed in the music, she nearly fell off the bench at the sound of him clapping. She scrambled to her feet and nearly knocked the bench over. She steadied the seat before standing behind the far end of the bench. Though she wore a Venetian mask over her eyes, he knew by her movements that it was Trudi
e.
“You’re an accomplished player,” he remarked in low, hushed tones to disguise his voice.
“Th-Thank you,” she replied. She pulled at the sleeve of her gown, where layers of lace descended from the elbow. Knowing his wife, she could not be comfortable in such a garment. She adjusted the mask as she cleared her throat.
“Do you await someone here?” he asked.
“No, I—I passed by the room quite by accident and saw this instrument, a Broadwood, and I could not resist.”
He eyed the beautifully grained rosewood and mahogany beside her. In addition to its stately harpsichord case, the instrument produced more resonance than the Viennese she had at home.
“The other guests are gathered in the assembly room,” he said.
“Yes, I know.”
“If you are alone at the château, you may acquire a partner there.”
She drew in a sharp breath and nodded.
“But you must hurry,” he added. “Some of the guests have dispersed already.”
“Thank you, but I think—I think I shall retire for the evening.”
He was relieved but raised his brows. Could she possibly have come for no reason other than to keep Diana company? “Retire? The night is young yet.”
“Yes, well, I had a rather long day of travel.”
She scratched at her hair, and he imagined the powder to itch considerably. It would have been no easy task to outfit herself in the fashion of Marie Antoinette. Why undertake all that effort for naught?
“Nevertheless,” he replied, “one does not venture to Château Follet to rest.”
His comment must have made her uneasy. She seemed not to know where to look.
“I did not think I would feel as fatigued as I do,” she answered at last. He could tell she was perturbed by his prodding but was too polite to call out his impertinence.
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