by Mary Balogh
Even last night, at Lady Sharp’s, during that terrible ordeal of knowing herself outcast, she had held on to her pride. She might have crept away or rushed away with James as soon as she had realized what was happening. But she had not done so. She had held her ground and would have continued to do so for another five or ten minutes before making as dignified a withdrawal as she could. It was true, of course, that she had not expected the duke’s snub. She was really not sure how she would eventually have reacted to that. She had not been given a chance to find out.
She had been touched and a little embarrassed by the approach of Lady Madeline Raine. She had recognized the girl’s motive and had honored her courage and kind heart. She could not agree with James that her motives had been calculated and self-serving.
But what of Lord Amberley? He had come gallantly to her rescue—again she could not doubt his motive—and completely destroyed all her newfound pride. At the time she had been grateful. The moment of triumph had been irresistibly sweet as she had watched all the cold, condemning faces turn to warmth and deference. She had held to his arm as if it were the only solid anchor in a sea of troubles.
It was only when it was too late that she had realized the implications of what had happened. For one thing, she was bound to marry him. There was no further choice. Even if Papa had not been quite so insistent, there was her own common sense. For a whole hour she had allowed the cream of the ton to believe that she was about to engage herself to the Earl of Amberley. And this when she was already in the thick of scandal. There was no possible way she could have refused his offer earlier that afternoon.
And for another thing, she had just lost again an independence, a control over her own affairs that she had had for only one brief moment. Her father had always controlled her. The Earl of Amberley had taken over that control the evening before. He had seen her in a difficult spot, and with that dreadful male arrogance that all men seemed to share, he had assumed that she could not possibly extricate herself without his assistance. She was once again the helpless female, in the hands of a new and totally unknown owner.
She tried not to hate him. Indeed, she did not do so. He had made a great sacrifice in order to come to her rescue. He had sacrificed his own freedom, his own future. And all without any real obligation to do so. He was not the one who had compromised her. And there was kindness in him. If his behavior of the night before had not proved that, his words of that afternoon certainly had. He had tried his best to assure her that life with him would not be intolerable.
And those parting words of his had been kindly meant too. He would never strike her or punish her, he had said. Indeed, he would never even demand her obedience. She was not sure how far she trusted his words. How could a man never demand obedience from his wife? What if she defied him every day of his life? But the words had been soothing, and had opened to her mind a seductive glimpse of heaven.
A wife is to be a man’s companion and lover, he had said. Strange, alien words! She knew very little about love apart from the deep bond of affection she shared with her brother. But the word “lover” seemed far more intimate than love. It brought to mind the strange feeling she had had the evening before with her hand on the earl’s arm and his hand covering hers. And it brought back the distinct physical shock she had felt that afternoon when he had touched her palm with his lips.
She found the Earl of Amberley rather frightening. Despite all his kindness and his meddling male ways, there was a raw masculinity about him that she had never encountered before and had no idea how to cope with. The thought of being this man’s property frankly terrified her. The thought that soon she must allow him marital intimacies threatened to rob her completely of breath. There was only panic to be gained from such a thought.
She resented such thoughts, such fears. Such dreadful helplessness! She deeply resented it. Though her rational mind, the more kindhearted and the fairer part of her mind, knew that Lord Amberley must be suffering from an equal feeling of frustration, she still resented him. She was betrothed to him, and there was nothing now she could do about that. When she married him, she would become his property to do with as he wished. She shivered. But he would not own her, for all that. She would see to it that he never owned anything more than her body.
He had a mistress. Albert had said he had a mistress. So she would be unimportant to him anyway. His life would not be utterly changed by this marriage as hers would be. He would still have his mistress. And he would still be a man—still essentially free.
A tap on the door of her bedchamber brought Alexandra out of her unwelcome reverie. James put his head around the door.
“He is here, Alex,” he said. “Did you know? I thought you might like to have an arm to lean on when you go downstairs.”
“Have I done the right thing?” she asked. “Did I have any choice? Oh, James, I am so frightened.”
“Then it will be our secret, as always,” he said. “Put your shoulders back and your chin up, Alex. That’s my girl. I don’t know if you are doing the right thing or not. I wish I did. I have always felt helpless where you are concerned. I want you to be happy more than I want anything else in the world. I don’t like Amberley or Eden or Lady Madeline, but who am I to judge? Perhaps they are what you need. And I really cannot see any alternative. If you go back home, Papa will completely destroy your spirit. It is a miracle that he has not already done so.”
“Oh, James.” she said, reaching out for his hands. “It is not as bad as that. Papa has only done what he thinks best for me.”
“He wants to make a slave of you!” her brother said viciously. The wayward lock of hair slid down across his brow.
“James!” Her tone was tender as she reached up to push back the hair. Her expression changed suddenly. “Is it true that Lord Amberley has a mistress?” she asked, flushing.
Her brother frowned. “Damn Albert!” he said. “Who knows if it is true? It means nothing anyway, Alex. Nine out of ten gentlemen you see around you have some female set up somewhere. Even Peterleigh, believe it or not. That paragon of virtue even has two children by his mistress. It is all something you need not know about. It is better that you do not know.”
She closed her eyes. “But I do know,” she said quietly. “I do know, James. And how am I now to respect Lord Amberley?”
“We must not keep him waiting,” he said, reaching out an arm for her hand, “or Papa will have you on bread and water and down on your knees all day tomorrow…. Yes, that is good, Alex. You look as proud as a queen. Keep looking so. Keep all the hurt and the bewilderment and the fear inside you. It is better if no one ever knows. People will not try to hurt you if they think it cannot be done.”
“James,” she said. “Oh, dear James, I wish I could soothe away the hurt that is in you. Sometimes one feels so helpless.”
He laid a hand over hers as they left the room together, and smiled the smile that only she saw with any regularity. “If only you can escape from this web of our life,” he said, “you will make me very happy. It is too late for me, Alex. But not for you. You must take the chance to live if it is offered you. I hope I am mistaken in Amberley.”
His customary brooding mask descended on his face as they approached the drawing room. Alexandra, already straight-backed, lifted her chin an inch higher as a footman opened the double doors for them.
THEIR ARRIVAL AT the theater had proceeded without incident, Lord Amberley was relieved to find. They had not come face-to-face with anyone of consequence on the way in, but the theater had been more than half-full when he entered his box, and he had felt rather than seen eyes and lorgnettes and quizzing glasses turn their way. He had been too busy seating his betrothed, making sure that she was sitting in a position from which she might have a good view of the stage.
By the time he sat down beside her and looked around him, there was no visible sign that their entrance had caused any stir at all. He had been quite prepared to assume a haughty manner and to put his own q
uizzing glass to use if necessary. But it was not necessary.
He glanced with some admiration at the woman beside him. Her face was perfectly calm, her chin high, her shoulders back. She would not have crumbled, he felt, even if the audience had risen en masse and hissed her. She had a great deal of backbone, a great deal of presence.
Unfortunately, although disaster seemed to have been averted, it was not proving to be a comfortable evening. Lady Beckworth was gracious, though very grave. She rarely initiated conversation, though she would sustain it if someone else did so. James Purnell was taciturn, even morose. He spoke scarce a word. Miss Purnell was perfectly composed, quite distant, and almost silent. Lord Beckworth had declined to accompany the party to the theater, explaining that he disapproved of acting on the grounds that it was a form of lying, as was the writing of novels. He permitted his family to attend only because it was an acceptable pastime with the ton.
Altogether, then, the Earl of Amberley was feeling quite uncomfortable by the time the curtains came down to signal the end of the first half of the performance. He had tried repeatedly both before the performance and at appropriate moments during it to draw his betrothed into conversation. She looked encouragingly lovely in a gown more fashionable than any he had seen her wear and with her hair worn in a more becoming style than usual. But he distrusted her straight back and her lifted chin. They protected her against any snub she might receive from members of the audience around her. They also made her quite unapproachable.
“My mother and sister are in the box opposite,” he said. “May I have the honor of escorting you across there, Miss Purnell, and presenting you? My mother, I know, is eager to make your acquaintance.”
She turned her dark gaze on him, a look that always somewhat disconcerted him. Her eyes did not flutter over his face and neckcloth as the eyes of most females did. She always looked either deliberately away from him or so directly into his eyes that he had to restrain himself from pulling back so that she would not see into his very soul.
“Thank you,” she said, “I would like that.”
She was tall. He had noticed that before, of course. She had a good figure. One tended almost not to notice that fact, since the pride of her bearing took away something of her femininity. But the lower-than-usual neckline of her gown revealed the tops of well-formed breasts and the beginnings of the cleavage between. He knew that she had long, shapely legs. Her dark hair, in its severe chignon with the few ringlets as the only concession to the festive occasion, shone in the candlelight. He wondered if his memory of that hair all down about her face and shoulders exaggerated its almost voluptuous waviness.
She was a strange woman. She was obviously capable of exuding a breathtaking sexuality, and yet she walked beside him, her hand resting very lightly on his arm, her body not close enough to touch any part of his, controlled, withdrawn, sexless almost.
He touched her fingertips with his own and smiled down at her. “I have not had the opportunity to tell you how very lovely you look, my dear,” he said. “I like your hair that way.”
“Thank you,” she said, and then she blushed hotly as he drew her more closely against his side so that another couple might pass them in the corridor. She stiffened very noticeably, and put more distance between them than before as soon as she was able.
“I am sorry,” the Earl of Amberley murmured as he tapped on the door to the box where his mother was and handed his betrothed inside. He frowned slightly at her back. Was she frigid? Was he going to have to cope with that problem? He was not at all confident that he knew how.
Madeline jumped to her feet when they entered, abandoning two young men mid-sentence, it seemed. One of them was Sir Derek Peignton. She held out both hands to Alexandra and smiled brightly. “How delighted I am you have come,” she said. “I was about to persuade Sir Derek to accompany me to your box, but I saw that you had left already. Hello, Edmund. I am very pleased, Miss Purnell, very pleased that you are to be my sister.” She squeezed Alexandra’s hands.
Alexandra smiled back. Lord Amberley watched with interest. She had lovely even white teeth. It was the first time he had seen her smile.
Lady Amberley was more restrained than her daughter in her greeting. She turned away from Sir Cedric Harvey, with whom she had been in conversation, and indicated an empty chair next to her own.
“How do you do, Miss Purnell?” she said. “Do have a seat. Yes, yes, Edmund, I realize this must be Miss Purnell, so I think we can dispense with the formalities. Let me look at you, my dear, and do you take a good look at me. Let us frankly size up each other.”
Alexandra took the chair. Her composure seemed not to be affected by the countess’s forthright manner. Lord Amberley took up his position behind his betrothed’s chair and looked around him, one hand playing with the ribbon of his quizzing glass. He intercepted several interested and curious glances from the occupants of the other boxes.
“My younger son has treated you quite abominably, albeit quite unintentionally so,” his mother was saying. “I am deeply shamed, my dear. I was more relieved than I can say when Edmund called on me this afternoon to tell me that you had honored him by accepting his hand. You must be quite apprehensive, Miss Purnell, and quite unsure that you have done the right thing. You may take my word for it that there is no more honorable gentleman in England than Edmund. I am partial, of course.” She smiled and reached across to squeeze Alexandra’s arm above the wrist.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Alexandra said. “The honor is all mine, I assure you. I shall do my best to make Lord Amberley a dutiful and obedient wife.”
“Gracious, child!” Lady Amberley leaned back in her chair. “You must do no such thing. It will only go to his head if you do so, and he will go around expecting it as his due from every female under his influence.”
Lord Amberley watched the shoulders of his betrothed straighten. She made no reply.
“Let me present you to Sir Cedric Harvey,” the countess said. “He is a dear friend of our family, and you will have to become acquainted with him if you are to be Edmund’s wife.”
Alexandra inclined her head as the older man stood and bowed to her in an old-fashioned courtly manner.
“Sir Cedric is an important person in my life, Miss Purnell,” Lord Amberley said with a smile. “When I assumed my present title quite suddenly at the age of nineteen, he was there to save me from collapsing under the shock and strain.”
Sir Cedric laughed heartily. “Even at that age you had a deal of sense, Edmund,” he said. “Can’t see that you would have fared much worse than you have even if I had not been available to help.”
Lord Amberley touched the shoulders of his betrothed lightly and felt her stiffen again. He felt annoyance flare in him for a moment.
“Perhaps we should return to my box,” he said. “It must be almost time for the play to resume.”
“Edmund must bring you to call one afternoon, Miss Purnell,” Lady Amberley said as Alexandra got to her feet. “And he told me this afternoon that he is going to organize a garden party in order to present you to the fashionable world as his future countess. I am delighted. We must get to know each other better, my dear, before we all retire to the country and are thrown into one another’s company for almost every moment of the day.”
As Lord Amberley and Alexandra left Sir Cedric’s box, they almost collided with Lord Eden, who was on his way in.
“I say,” he said, “are you leaving already? I saw you up here from the pit and came to pay my respects. How do you do, Miss Purnell?” He flushed quite noticeably as he bowed to her.
She curtsied. “I am quite well, I thank you, my lord,” she said.
“Are you…?” he asked. “Is it true…?” He looked up at his brother. “Do I understand that congratulations are in order?”
Lord Amberley smiled. “I hope so,” he said. “Miss Purnell has consented to be my wife, Dom.”
Lord Eden looked back down at her, his flush deepening. “Ma
y I wish you happy, ma’am?” he said. “I mean…”
Lord Amberley was surprised to see his betrothed reach out a hand and touch his brother’s sleeve for a brief moment. “Thank you,” she said. And she smiled again, a smile that reached all the way to her eyes for a moment as brief as that during which her hand had lain on his arm.
“Edmund is a lucky dog,” Lord Eden surprised his older brother by saying. “You will be wishing to return to your box. The play is about to resume, I believe. I shall see you later, Edmund?”
Lord Amberley raised his eyebrows. He was usually long abed by the time his brother came home, except on those now-ended occasions when he had spent many hours of certain nights in Eunice’s bed.
“Later,” he agreed.
LORD AMBERLEY WAS SITTING in his library several hours later, slouched down in a worn leather chair, a glass of brandy dangling from the hand that lay draped over the arm. He wondered if he should wait up for Dominic much longer. He yawned.
He was missing Eunice. He would give almost anything at the moment to be sitting with her in her parlor, just talking and talking. Why was it, he thought, that some of the profoundest truths one’s mind was capable of grasping came to one during late-night conversations? His mind was always stimulated by Eunice. She was perhaps the most intelligent woman he had ever known. He needed a little of her sanity now.
He wanted to blank his mind to his own unenviable position. There was nothing he could do to change matters. Especially now, when his second offer had been made and accepted. The thought of marrying Miss Purnell was singularly unappealing, far more so tonight than it had appeared during the afternoon. He and she were universes apart. He could see no point of likeness at all.