"That is too much tragedy to endure at so young an age," said Beaumont. Small wonder the lady has such a sharp tongue, he added, privately. Jemima's surfeit of confidence was not exactly to most gentlemen’s taste. "Let us speak of happier things. Will you remain at Loxwell Park until Lady Cecily's marriage?"
"I thought I would," said Isabella. "But..." Her eyes drifted towards Hart again. "Well, Cecily has implored me to stay, and I cannot deny her.” She sipped her champagne a little too rapidly. Beaumont put a steadying hand on her elbow.
"You do not seem perfectly at ease, Lady Streatham. Please, let me know how I can help you."
Isabella smiled ruefully. "I fear there is nothing you can do to help me tonight. Tell me, is it true that Mr Gilbert Jackson has been invited? With.... with his fiancee?"
Beaumont was so unaccustomed to remembering that Anna was engaged that it took him a moment to remember who Isabella meant. "Anna Hawkins? But you are already acquainted with her, are you not?"
Isabella closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. "When we met, I knew she was engaged, of course. But I did not know who..." She swallowed. "The fact is that Mr Jackson and I are not perfect friends."
"Miss Hawkins is as kind as she is charming," said Beaumont, keen to avoid any unpleasantness for Anna. "She will not do anything to bring up unhappy memories for you – if she is even aware that they exist."
"I very much doubt that she is aware," said Isabella darkly. "And I agree that she is charming – and that makes it all the worse. Please, Beaumont, I must ask you a favour this evening. I cannot endure a conversation with Mr Jackson or with Lord Jonathan. Will you help me?"
"I will not leave your side until the evening is done," Beaumont promised. He did not speak entirely out of gallantry. His skin crawled at the thought of making polite conversation with the man Anna would marry. If Isabella wished to avoid him as well, that was all the better.
"Why, Your Grace!" came a piercing half-shriek from behind him. Beaumont recognised the voice too late, and had already turned around with a smile on his lips by the time he realised that it was the pernicious Miss Clayton – she who had pursued him with such dedication at the masked ball.
Miss Clayton interpreted his bow as an invitation, and placed herself firmly between Beaumont and Isabella. She was wearing an impossibly extravagant turban, with long, drooping ostrich feathers that completely obscured the short-statured Isabella from his view.
"Have you met Lady Streatham?" asked Beaumont, hoping that Isabella's title might instill Miss Clayton with a little more grace. As he introduced them, Miss Clayton looked Isabella over with the air of a chef about to pluck a chicken.
"You must be the Earl of Streatham's widow," she said. She did not seem at all pleased to find another unattached young woman in Beaumont's presence. "How sad your husband's illness was! Though, I suppose you must have expected it."
"And why is that?" asked Isabella, her face a mask of politeness.
"Because he was so very old, of course!" laughed Miss Clayton. "I must say that you did well for yourself to catch such a husband. Why, he didn't even trouble you with children before he wheezed his last and left you a fortune!" She slipped her hand through Beaumont's arm companionably. "I prefer my suitors younger, myself. Don't you agree, Your Grace?"
Beaumont sought desperately for a means of escape. He was perfectly within his rights, of course, to remove his hand from the lady's arm and give her a stern set-down. But that would be a breach of good manners, and, even if Miss Clayton deserved it, his hosts did not.
"Scarcliffe!" he called out, barely managing to drag Robert's attention from Cecily's adoring eyes. "It's bad enough that you ruined our bachelor's retreat by getting engaged, but is it simply unforgivable for you to monopolise Lady Cecily all evening."
Robert knew him well enough to take his meaning at once. He rose, offering his hand to Cecily, and accompanied her across to greet Miss Clayton. With the lady distracted, Beaumont could make a graceful escape.
The Duke and Duchess of Loxwell had just been announced, having followed behind their daughter in a separate carriage. Beaumont was leading Isabella across to speak with them when they were both brought to an abrupt halt by the footman’s announcement:
“Mr Gilbert Jackson and Miss Anna Hawkins."
Beaumont had no time to register Isabella's reaction. The sight of Anna overwhelmed his senses so completely that the rest of the room became no more than a hazy swirl of colours and lights.
There she was, in the centre of everything: an extraordinarily beautiful woman with her red hair pinned up to reveal a pale and slender neck. Her dress was a midnight blue, elegantly cut to fit every slight curve of her body. Beaumont's gaze fastened on the string of pearls at her neck. He imagined tracing his finger along the length of those pearls, gently grazing the skin beneath.
"Beaumont," murmured Isabella warningly. Whether she had noticed him staring, he could not say.
He could not bear to tear his gaze from Anna. The woman who outshone every other in the room. The woman he wanted more than he wanted his next breath.
The woman whose arm was firmly linked with the green velvet-clad arm of a slight, sandy-haired fellow with a supercilious expression.
Beaumont had spent his life in a state of general equanimity. He had never suffered any true misfortune, save the loss of his elderly father while he was still a young man. He had never fallen out with anybody, spoken cruel words to anybody, or exchanged blows outside a friendly boxing ring.
But now he saw Gilbert Jackson, and he hated him on sight.
18
Anna was familiar with the comfortable, everyday rooms of Scarcliffe Hall. The main receiving rooms, however, had always been closed to her. If she had been the sort to imagine the lives of the wealthy and glamorous – which she was not – she might have pictured Grecian columns, elaborately painted wallpaper, golden chandeliers to light the glittering throng.
Her imagination would have fallen short. The room was magnificent.
For the first time in a long while, she was glad of Gilbert's arm. She felt horribly nervous. Even Cecily's cry of joy on seeing her was not enough to dissipate her anxiety.
It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the size of the room and the opulence of its inhabitants. The very cream of the acquaintances of the Duke of Loxwell and the Marquess of Lilistone combined had been invited that evening, and they had dressed to match the occasion. Anna wondered rather dizzily whether even Gilbert's fortune was enough to make them welcome in such company.
"It's not as bad a crowd as I feared," Gilbert murmured, scanning the room with a proprietary air. "There's Miss Clayton, and her father's money is just as much from trade as mine. We shall do very well this evening, I think."
Anna hardly heard him. The moment Gilbert began speaking, her eyes had found the Duke of Beaumont.
He was staring at her like a man possessed. Anna wondered that the whole room did not ignite under the heat of his gaze. Her lips parted as though she could whisper to him across the space between them. She did not know whether she hoped he would come towards her, or dreaded it.
The Countess of Streatham was on his arm, and to Anna's relief, she pulled him sharply to one side to speak to the Duchess of Loxwell. Anna shot Isabella a brief look of thanks. To her shock, it was returned with a blank, chilly expression.
That was not what she expected from Isabella, who had been so warm and friendly that day by the lake! Was this how the ladies of Loxwell Park intended to treat her now that they had finer company?
Anna's fears were quickly dispatched by the warmth of Cecily's welcome. The Earl of Scarcliffe kissed her hand and clapped Gilbert warmly on the back.
"Mr Jackson! Your business exploits with my future father-in-law are very interesting. Cecily tells me I must take lessons from you in how to manage my affairs, as you do it so admirably."
"Really, Robert," sighed Cecily. "How boring to talk business at a party! Mr Jackson
will think us a dull-witted bunch if you do not immediately furnish him with a drink and come up with something more diverting."
Robert looked highly amused. He put his arm around Cecily's shoulders and gave her a fond squeeze. "Jackson and I will soon be married men, my darling. We can amuse each other with tales of our lovers' beauty, and outdo each other in gallantry until you are both sick of us."
"I trust that love has not made Mr Jackson as silly as it has made dear Robert," said Cecily, taking Anna's arm and smoothly extracting her from Gilbert's clutches. "We will leave the gentlemen to sing our praises in private, Anna. It is not at all the thing to spend the entire evening talking to one's fiancé!"
Anna was glad that Robert had taken Gilbert under his wing. While she knew that Gilbert did not lack self-confidence, she could not trust him to behave exactly as he should. Gilbert preferred to be in complete control of every situation, and liked to have his words attended to. In a room which contained some of the most powerful men in the country, he would never receive the attention he desired.
Cecily sat Anna down besides Jemima and Lord Jonathan, who immediately begged Anna to call him Hart.
"You are marrying a man I hold in high esteem," he said, nodding across the room towards Gilbert. "I hope we will all become good friends."
Anna was surprised. Gilbert had never mentioned a connection with the Hartleys.
"I am glad to hear it," she said.
"As if Anna needs your opinion on Mr Jackson, Hart!" laughed Jemima. “I’m sure she has already formed her own.”
"I never said she did," he retorted. "I am well aware that I am the last person on earth who ought to give advice on matrimony."
He glanced up, and Anna saw the colour drain from his face. Curious, she turned around to see what had alarmed him.
A short distance away, Robert and Gilbert were approaching the Duke of Beaumont and Isabella. Just before they met, Beaumont took up Isabella's arm and turned her away, inadvertently moving her towards Lord Jonathan. Isabella took a step forwards and hesitated, glancing up at Beaumont with an expression of fear.
Hart jumped to his feet and muttered something about speaking to Lord Sotheby. Once he left the three girls, Isabella moved to sit with them.
Anna knew that there was no great friendship between Isabella and Hart, but why the countess wanted to avoid Robert, she had no idea. Unless... No, it was too ridiculous to think that it was Gilbert who had dismayed her. He had never mentioned knowing Isabella.
Anna resolved to ask Beaumont for an explanation of the little mystery as soon as she could catch him in a private corner. Then she realised she was making plans to speak to him alone, and chastised herself severely.
"Anna, I am so glad to see you again," said Jemima. "The Duke of Beaumont has been talking of nothing but your goodness since his return to Scarcliffe Hall, and I was half-convinced that you had become some sort of angel since our last meeting!"
Anna did not know what to say. She was deeply gratified that Beaumont had spoken of her, but knowing that she was just as much in his thoughts as he was in hers threw her into a state of confusion.
"Oh, Beaumont talks nonsense about everyone," said Cecily, noticing her discomfort. "He is a flirt and a flatterer, and we would all do well to ignore him. It will be good for him to be ignored a little."
"I quite agree," said Anna, allowing a secret smile to cross her face.
"I cannot say I blame him for flirting with you," said Jemima. "You are quite a beauty. Don't you agree, Isabella?"
The warmth which Anna expected from the Countess of Streatham was still notably absent. "Quite," was all she said, and fixed Anna with a gaze so solemn that it made Anna quite uneasy.
She was saved from Isabella's coldness by the dinner gong. The Marchioness of Lilistone was a consummate hostess, and everyone was soon organised according to their rank. When they were all seated at the table, Anna found herself at the opposite end from the Duke of Beaumont, and some way down even from Jemima. The lady opposite her introduced herself as Miss Clayton, and seemed extremely interested in Anna until she mentioned that her father was the local doctor.
"How fascinating," said Miss Clayton, wrinkling her nose as though she had caught a bad smell. "I'm sure it's a very noble trade." She turned to her left and began speaking earnestly to the gentleman beside her, a Mr Clarkson.
Anna would have been mortified if it were not for the look of horror on Mr Clarkson's face. A doctor, even a country doctor, was a gentleman and not a tradesman. Anna did not usually give the distinction a moment's thought, but Miss Clayton's dismissal infuriated her on her father's behalf. She could not bear to glance at Gilbert, who sat on Miss Clayton's right, to see what he made of her comment about trade.
Fortunately, the dinner passed without further incident. Anna was certainly seated at the less lively end of the table. While the dukes and lords made merry, the mere Honourable Gentlemen minded their manners and conversed politely about the weather.
Anna had long ago realised that her notions of proper behaviour for the aristocracy were very far from the truth, but only now did she begin to understand why. A man who was only respectable had to guard that respectability with his life, lest he lose all his social standing. A man who had true power might behave as he pleased.
A man as powerful as the Duke of Beaumont might kiss a woman, might boldly gaze at her across a crowded room, might steal her heart away on the eve of her wedding... and would suffer no consequences for it.
At long last, the dinner was over and the marchioness rose from the table, inviting the ladies to join her in the drawing room while the gentlemen enjoyed their brandy and cigars. The older women immediately gathered around the card table, while the younger ladies grouped together to choose a raucous parlour game
Now that the strict social hierarchy of the dinner table was behind them, Anna found Isabella at her arm.
"Miss Hawkins," she murmured, "I wonder if I might have a quiet word?"
Anna let Isabella lead her into a corner. "Are you quite well?" she asked. Isabella's face was tense and pale, as though she were in great pain.
"It is nothing," said Isabella. "At least, nothing your father's care could cure. I am suffering a moral dilemma, and I do not know what I should do."
She gripped Anna's arm so fiercely that Anna wondered whether she was about to hear another confession in the vein of Holly Thatcher's.
"Confide in me," she said. "I promise I will not be shocked. And I will never tell a soul what I know."
"It is not that I do not trust you," said Isabella. "I admire you very much, in fact. And that is why... oh!" She brought her handkerchief to her mouth to hide her trembling lip. "No, I must speak of it. I must."
Anna led her to a chair, half-afraid that Isabella would faint. "Take a deep breath," she said. "Something has happened this evening to make you unhappy, that much is clear."
"Not this evening," said Isabella, with a wry smile. "Five years ago. Miss Hawkins, I do not know if Mr Jackson has told you that we were once well-acquainted?"
"He has not," said Anna. That was strange in itself. Gilbert loved to brag about his lofty friends.
"We both grew up in Surrey," said Isabella. "Long before he made his fortune, and long before I was ever a countess. We were good friends. At least, that is what I thought."
"Has he done something to hurt you?" asked Anna, remembering Isabella's look of horror when she saw Gilbert.
Isabella hesitated. "I did not expect you to suspect him so quickly. I take it that yours is not a love match?"
Anna glanced up to make doubly sure that no-one was listening, and shook her head. "Not on my side," she said.
"I am glad of it," said Isabella. "I am so glad! I was afraid you were in love with him and would not listen to me."
"I hope I would listen to your advice whether I loved him or not," said Anna. "But if you have something to say, please say it."
Isabella took a moment to compose herself bef
ore she began. "I'm sure you have noticed that Lord Jonathan Hartley and I do not enjoy each other's company."
Anna nodded. "I'm afraid it could hardly escape my attention."
Isabella looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. "I have known the Hartley brothers since I was very young. At one time, we were extremely close. I think it is right to say that Jonathan and I were very much in love. I was expecting his proposal on my eighteenth birthday..." She paused, and gave her head a little shake. "Don't be upset on my behalf! I assure you, the memory no longer pains me at all. The fact is that Jonathan did not propose. He received information that I had been untrue. It was a lie, of course, but Jonathan chose to believe his friend over me."
"How awful!" gasped Anna. "I do not blame you if you have not forgiven him."
"Forgiveness does not come into it," said Isabella, with half a shrug. "It was most illuminating for me to realise that Jonathan did not trust me as I trusted him. But that is beside the point. I wanted to tell you that the friend who lied about me to Jonathan was your Mr Gilbert Jackson."
"No!" Anna clapped a hand over her mouth, realising she had spoken much too loudly. She and Isabella waited to check that the party guests were making too much noise among themselves to notice anything amiss. The gentlemen had just entered the room, and were joining in the ladies’ lively parlour game. Anna found herself searching among them for Beaumont, but he did not appear.
"Why would Gilbert lie about you?" asked Anna quietly. Isabella raised an eyebrow.
"Considering that he made an offer for me himself at the height of my despair, I think his motive is plain. I was fortunate that my parents did not force me to accept him. Anna, I would hate to see you suffer the fate I escaped. Mr Jackson is not a worthy husband for any woman."
"I hardly know what to think," said Anna. At that moment, Gilbert's braying laughter filled the air. Anna and Isabella glanced up to find that in the course of the game he had managed to pull Miss Clayton onto his lap. Gilbert was examining Miss Clayton's figure with what could only be described as a leer, while the lady herself, unperturbed, continued to make eyes at the nobler gentlemen around her.
The Duke's Hidden Desire (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 2) Page 11