‘I should think not.’
Marianne leaned her chin on her fisted hand. ‘I have been reading about these things. About how to attract the attentions of a gentleman. Well, I have to learn somehow,’ she protested, when Louise elevated her brows. ‘It’s not as if I could ask Grandmamma. I don’t like to shock her.’
Louise laughed. ‘Grandmamma was young once.’
‘Yes, but that was a long time ago, I expect things are different now.’
Louise shook her head, holding back a smile at her sister’s naiveté. ‘Some things never change.’
‘Well, I didn’t ask her and I had no one else to turn to.’ She grinned. ‘So I scoured Grandmamma’s library. I had no idea that it covered such a wide range of subjects.’
Louise touched her sister’s hand. ‘I should have made more of an effort to be with you.’
‘It’s not your fault if I wasn’t wanted.’
‘Oh, Marianne…’
Louise felt guilt wash over her. Her sister had been treated shabbily by their father and neglected by Louise. The sisters had corresponded, but that was hardly the same thing. And yet Marianne seemed perfectly content—lively and inquisitive, with boundless energy and an innate sense of curiosity. She was obviously delighted to be reunited with Louise, and her generosity of spirit allowed no room for resentment.
‘When shall you return to London?’ Marianne asked.
‘Tired of my society already?’
‘Not in the least. I wish you would stay forever, but your life and your friends are all in the capital, and you will doubtless find us all as dull as ditch water.’
‘Would you like to come up next season?’
Louise didn’t know why she had issued the invitation when she was unsure if she would be there herself. A guilty conscience? A desire to overcompensate for their father’s unreasonable behaviour? An overriding need to protect her sister from the sorts of temptations that she herself had fallen victim to? Perhaps a combination of all three.
‘Our aunt would not welcome me.’ Marianne turned away and the gaiety left her expression. Her injured feelings, it seemed, were still close to the surface.
‘It is nothing to do with our aunt. The house is mine, and by next season I shall be of age and therefore free to do as I please.’ She squeezed Marianne’s arm. ‘And it just so happens that being with you pleases me very much indeed.’
‘Even so. Aunt Bess makes me uncomfortable. She has a very sharp tongue and makes little effort to disguise the fact that she dislikes me.’
‘Well, I do not dislike you. I am very pleased with you indeed.’
Marianne turned back to Louise, her smile it place once more. ‘Don’t worry. I never permit anything to get me down for long. It’s just the way I am. I suppose I take after Grandmamma. It stands to reason that I would. She is the only adult I have ever had daily contact with. She takes life as it comes and has always told me that it does no good to dwell upon things which cannot be altered.’
‘There will be alterations in your life soon enough. Papa left all of his fortune to me, as you know. That seems grossly unfair and I fully intend to settle a large portion of it on you.’
‘Oh, Louise!’ Marianne’s pretty face lit up with cautious pleasure. ‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘Perhaps not, but I want to. There is more than enough for us both, and if Papa had been a fair man he would have left us equal shares.’
Marianne squealed with delight and hugged Louise’s arm. ‘You are the best sister in the world!’ she cried.
Hardly, Louise thought, or she would not have neglected Marianne for so long.
‘Why did Papa want nothing to do with me?’ Marianne asked the question without rancour, but it was clearly one that had troubled her since infancy.
‘Because he was very narrow-minded, I suppose. Every time he looked at you he was reminded that Mama died giving birth to you. That was not your fault of course, but I think he loved her very much, and men in love don’t always think rationally.’
‘Yes, that’s what Grandmamma says whenever I raise the subject. I don’t very often because I can see that it upsets her. But it makes no sense. I’m told that I don’t look anything like Mama, whereas you are her image, yet Papa doted on you.’ Marianne shook her head. ‘I think there is more to it than that.’ She rolled her eyes in a dramatic fashion, reminding Louise of her innocence and her secluded upbringing. She swallowed, regretting the loss of her own innocence, and more especially the brutal fashion in which it had been stolen from her. ‘Perhaps there is some deep, dark, buried family secret that no one’s allowed to refer to,’ Marianne concluded.
Louise laughed. ‘That must be it. Anyway, I noticed a modiste’s establishment in the village,’ she said. ‘I doubt whether we shall find any answers within it but we could pay them a visit tomorrow and order you some new gowns if you’d like.’
‘Oh, can we?’ Marianne clapped her hands. ‘Some of mine are quite shockingly out of date. Grandmamma doesn’t notice and I don’t like to point out their shortcomings to her. She doesn’t have that much money, you see, and what she does have spare she always lavishes on me.’
Louise threw an arm around her sister’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. ‘Well, I shall lavish some of mine on you as well. You deserve to be spoiled.’
‘I agree with you, naturally! Thank you so very much.’
Louise took pleasure from her sister’s excitement as she basked in the affection of the only two people who really mattered to her. She must find a delicate way of asking her grandmother about the state of her finances. That was something she could—and would—rectify. She only gave a passing thought to exposing herself in the village and running the risk of encountering Cleethorp. She was not about to hide herself away and tremble at the sight of every passing stranger. Besides, if Cleethorp was in the district, it would be better to confront him, make it plain that she didn’t have the first intention of having anything further to do with him, and be done with it.
As she and Marianne wandered towards the terrace, from which their grandmother waved to them, she reminded herself that she had yet to broach the subject of Cleethorp with the old lady. She wouldn’t tell her the full story, of course, but would suggest that he’d made a nuisance of himself in London—that much was certainly true—and that she didn’t want to receive him here in the country. Then, if he had the temerity to call at the house, he would not be granted admission and afforded an opportunity to charm her grandmother.
‘There you are, my dears.’ Grandmamma greeted them with a smile, teapot poised. ‘Just in time for refreshments.’
Chapter Eight
Darius Cleethorp sat beside Felicity Brigstock in a first-class carriage on the train carrying them from London to Swindon. They had it to themselves.
‘It’s nice to get away from London,’ he said in an effort to make conversation.
‘It will make things harder for us to be together, my love. The country might seem quiet but there are eyes and ears everywhere, just as there are in London. But still, I have every confidence in your ability to talk the silly girl round. It shouldn’t take you long.’
‘Let’s hope you are right.’
‘She really doesn’t have any choice.’
Darius stared out the window and didn’t bother to respond. He had been swept off his feet by Felicity’s beauty and vibrancy when they had first been introduced over two years ago. She had been married at the time, but Darius sensed her discontent in a husband who was thirty years her senior and as dry as a bone. A husband whom it was generally supposed she had married for his money. He certainly had nothing else to recommend him.
Darius had learned through experience to recognise females who were dissatisfied with their marriages and on the prowl for a distraction. He’d been bedding disgruntled wives since his university days and had Felicity firmly in his sights as his next conquest. The prospect of the chase and her eventual surrender pushed aside his bor
edom. A boredom that he knew would reclaim him as soon as she allowed herself to be caught.
But she had proved annoyingly elusive. She readily admitted to being unhappy in her marriage, but claimed that her deep-seated religious beliefs prevented her from breaking her vows. She would remain faithful for as long as Brigstock breathed. Darius spent a year attempting to wear her resistance down. She was the most challenging and annoyingly provocative female he’d ever tangled with. The longer she held out against his charm offensive, the more determined Darius became to breach her defences. His dalliances had meant little to him in the past; never get emotionally involved had always been his mantra.
But no matter what he tried, Felicity wouldn’t let him past her bedroom door. In desperation, he had been reduced to actually talking to her, getting to know the real woman behind the attractive façade as he tried to identify her weaknesses. Much to his dismay, he had found himself falling in love with her. That was most definitely not supposed to happen. None of his relatives loved anyone other than themselves and Darius hadn’t thought himself capable of deep, emotional attachment. It was most disturbing to discover that he’d been wrong.
It was inevitable, Darius supposed, given that gentlemanly instincts had been drummed into him since he had been old enough to understand what was expected of a man in his position, that he would take up the cudgels on her behalf as soon as he learned what she’d had to endure. Felicity was reluctant to tell him anything about the reasons why she disliked her husband so much, but as he slowly won her trust, snippets about cruelty and neglect dribbled out.
After six months, during the course of which Darius had become increasingly frustrated, and infatuated, Felicity had finally allowed him to kiss her. To run his hands over her body. She touched him in return but refused to take the final, irrevocable step. It was a living nightmare and Darius struggled through his days and nights in a near-permanent state of frustration, frequently slacking his lust with an obliging housemaid in his brother’s residence.
He could tell that Felicity returned his feelings. She frequently assured him of it, and admitted that she was sorely tempted. But her religious indoctrination was too deeply ingrained for her to take matters between them to their natural conclusion. Would that she had, Darius thought now on a note of ill-usage as the train rattled along, the monotonous sound of its wheels chuntering over the rails mocking his stupidity. If…when her husband succumbed to his ailments, she repeatedly assured him, then they could be together in wealth and unconditional love. Brigstock was obscenely rich and growing older. It could only be a matter of time.
If she had given in to him at the outset, as Darius had fully expected her to, he would have moved on and forgotten all about her. But she kept him waiting for so long that he became too intimately involved with her to make that possible. She had snared him, turning the tables on him by using a combination of feminine fragility and calculation to the point that he would do whatever she asked of him without pausing to question the wisdom of his actions.
Six months after Felicity’s assurances, her husband obligingly fell from his horse and broke his neck. Darius took Felicity to bed the day after his funeral. They agreed that they would marry as soon as Felicity was officially out of mourning. Darius was no longer sure that he wanted to marry her, having caught occasional glimpses of the true personality that she kept well-hidden for the most part, but the thought of all that opulence won the day. He had worked damned hard to prove to his prig of a brother that he was more than capable of furrowing his own path.
Then her husband’s lawyers paid her a visit that came as an almighty shock. Brigstock’s wealth was all gone—lost in unwise investments made when he was half-senile and taken in by fraudsters.
Felicity cried for the next twenty-four hours. Then she came up with a scheme. Darius would just have to marry a wealthy female and set Felicity up in her own establishment, where Darius could visit as often as he liked. At the time it didn’t occur to Darius that the suggestion flew in the face of her earlier insistence that marriage was sacrosanct. She refused to tumble with him whilst Brigstock still breathed but saw nothing to offend her Christian morals in Darius not being faithful to his own wife.
Annoyingly, the idea of being true to Louise Pearson had become increasingly tempting since his failure to win her affection. It had rankled severely when she turned against him. He had been so close; convinced that she would accept his proposal. Then, without explanation, she went cold on him.
Felicity had been furious and it was at her urging that he’d forced himself on the girl. He regretted it almost immediately. It was low behaviour—even by his own questionable standards. He had never despoiled a virgin before and in retrospect it seemed like the worst possible way to make his case. But Felicity had been adamant that she would have to marry him once he’d acted or risk being ostracised when the truth emerged. She didn’t care if the marriage was brought about by rape, or that Louise would never look at him with anything other than hatred and contempt in her eyes. In fact, Felicity would probably prefer it that way. She disliked competition and probably sensed that Darius had become very fond of Louise, which is why she had suggested such drastic action to bring her to heel.
And Darius had allowed himself to be browbeaten into compliance. What sort of man did that make him? Certainly not one that he was especially anxious to see reflected back at him in the mirror.
The moment Felicity heard that Louise had left London, she insisted that he follow her to Wiltshire and press her to commit. She had decided to tag along to keep Darius, as she put it, from losing focus. She had an uncle and a sister in the district; the uncle being a familiar figure in local society and a man upon whose good opinion and open purse she depended.
‘We are bound to run into your tiresome little tease when we are out and about with my uncle,’ Felicity said for the tenth time as the train rumbled over the tracks and the scenery became increasingly rural. Darius hated the country. There was never enough to do. Good games of cards were hard to find and it was even more difficult to lose himself in a crowd.
‘Let me do this my way,’ Darius replied curtly.
He glanced at Felicity’s face and no longer felt quite so captivated by her beauty. Her reticence had been an elaborate hoax to ensure his devotion. He was seeing a very different side of her now, and was not nearly so fascinated by the view. But there could be no backing out for him at this late stage. He had gone that extra mile for her, done things he wasn’t proud of, and couldn’t risk her talking out of turn if he threw her over. She was, he knew, still very much infatuated with him and a woman scorned, in possession of sensitive information that could bring disgrace to the entire Cleethorp clan, was not to be trifled with.
It was the most dreadful bore. Such a shame that he didn’t have a pot to piss in, otherwise he would take himself off overseas for a while and leave Felicity to sink her attractive claws into a new victim.
‘The Earl of Swindon and his family are the principal aristocrats in the district,’ she said. ‘My uncle regularly socialises with them. Perhaps they will have seen your Louise.’
‘I know Swindon. We were at school together.’
‘Then you have an excuse to call on him.’
‘Why? Don’t see the need myself. Besides, we were never close. He probably wouldn’t receive me. And we’d have nothing to say to one another even if he did. I knew Hardwick rather better for a while, but he was close to Swindon and we drifted apart. Besides, Hardwick’s dead.’
‘The Marquess of Felsham’s heir?’ Felicity asked.
‘Yes.’
She appeared amused. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’
Darius smiled. ‘I attended his funeral. Saw his coffin lowered into the ground myself.’
‘You saw a coffin. My friend Magda Simpson—you are acquainted with her. I introduced you.’
Darius smothered a smile. They were a little more than acquaintances, or had been before Darius met Felicity, but she
didn’t need to know that. ‘I vaguely recall her.’
‘No one forgets Magda. She’s is exquisite.’
‘Not compared to you, my love.’
Felicity preened. ‘Well anyway, Magda and Hardwick were romantically involved, which is how he supposedly died. He fell from her window and broke his back; or so everyone assumed. Simpson was out for satisfaction but it was denied him when Hardwick was pronounced dead. Then, out of the blue, a crippled French nephew of Felsham’s appears on the scene ten years later. Convenient timing, given that Felsham’s health is failing and he needs an heir to take over the reins.’
‘A coincidence,’ Darius said with a shrug.
‘Magda is convinced otherwise. She tried to call at Felsham Hall but was not granted entry. She is biding her time until the old marquess dies. She tells me it won’t be long. He’s ailing. Then she will find a way to get to the man she is convinced is Archie Hardwick. He was the love of her life, but she felt his passions cooling.’ Felicity sent Darius a significant look. ‘She senses a second opportunity, which she is determined not to squander. She and I are two of a kind. Neither of us take rejection well. Perhaps now you understand why I wouldn’t let you into my bed while Brigstock was alive, tempted though I was. I learned my lesson from Magda. You are too precious to me to risk your being hurt. Or worse.’
‘I didn’t think it had much to do with your Christian beliefs,’ Darius responded mildly.
‘Yes well, appearances are important. We are close to achieving our hearts’ desire, my love.’ Felicity leaned her head on his shoulder and grasped his bicep—a stark reminder that she held the power to destroy him. ‘I just know it. If all else fails, abduct the silly girl, then everyone will think that she chose to elope with you and will have no choice but to marry you.’
Darius wondered about that. Louise Pearson had more strength of character than he had originally given her credit for. She also had considerable wealth, which gave her the freedom to do as she pleased. She could disappear for a while until the scandal blew over and her fortune would persuade people to overlook her transgression. He sighed, wishing heartily that he had never been taken in by Felicity’s wild schemes.
A Sense of Injustice (Perceptions Book 4) Page 12