by Joan Smith
“Henderson,” Avondale repeated, as though he were storing up the name for some terrible retribution, as indeed he was. He placed Belle’s hand through the crook of his arm and turned away from Henderson. “You were kind enough to inquire—in a voice of doom, I might add—what I am doing here.”
Henderson, with a great sigh of relief, darted down the path to the stables. He didn’t know where he was going, but he knew Avondale and Belle would eventually enter the saloon, and he was not of a mind to be there when they did.
“What are you doing here?” Belle asked. “Lady Hathaway promised me you would not be here."
“And here I thought you didn’t care,” he answered in a tone of strong irony. The blood was already thudding heavily in his ears at catching her with Henderson. His mood was not improved at her obvious dread of meeting himself.
“I don’t care,” she flashed back.
“That would explain your confirming I would not be here, of course. In the same manner as all your other actions are explained. Unclearly. Very unclearly.”
“You can imagine what everyone will think!” she said, and was sorry she had blurted out that she had checked with Kay.
“I expect they are all as confounded as to what they should think as I am myself. But in any case, what people think is hardly the matter of paramount importance between you and me at this time.”
“There is only one matter between us at this time,” she flared back. “Are you to stay here for the party?”
“Certainly I am. It is why I am come.”
“Then I shall leave.” His fingers bit harder into her arm.
“You are very good at running away. It is probably your greatest accomplishment, but don’t flatter yourself I arranged this meeting.”
“I gave up flattering myself you cared for my company on the day we married. I am well aware this is as unpleasant for you as it is for me, and I can’t think why you should object to my leaving. And if you stay, I am leaving.”
“You will want to wait till my back is turned at least. That is your customary manner of running away, is it not? We certainly know what people will think if you bolt again in any case.”
“They will think I have grown very wise since I was fool enough to marry you.”
Her sharp words stung him. His pride and anger were inflamed, but he was disappointed too. In his dreams their eventual meeting had been quite different. He had pictured it occurring at Belwood. In the dream, she was to come to him, to throw herself on his mercy. “I beg to differ. They will think you as gauche and ill-mannered as ever, and as chicken-hearted.” He should be saying he forgave her, he understood, and a dozen other well-rehearsed kindnesses. What were these harsh words doing in his mouth? But the anger was licking higher, and even physical violence was not far from erupting.
“That’s all very well, but you know we can’t both stay here!”
“Why not? It’s a big house, and a big party. As the unfortunate incident has occurred, it is best to show the world we are both civilized adults. Try if you can act the part for a few days.”
She tugged her hand, trying to break free from his grasp, but he held it firmly. “There are likely a dozen pairs of eyes watching us. The puppy has had ample time to inform them of my untimely arrival,” Avondale said. Neither he nor Belle had seen the direction taken by Henderson.
“Arnold isn’t likely to set people to spying on me. He is not a member of the set you racket around with.”
“He’s that neighbor of yours from Amesbury—is that who he is?” he asked, trying to fit Henderson into a background.
“Yes, my neighbor and friend. He was kind enough to bring me here.”
“Yes, I remember him now. He is not a member of any set, is he? Or has the Duchess of Avondale set herself up a coterie in Amesbury?”
“Miss Anderson had one before she left, and it has returned to her.”
“Bravo for Amesbury. But we are at Ashbourne now, where quite a different set hangs out. When in Rome, you know . . .”
“I wish with all my heart I weren’t here.”
“Why are you?”
“Don’t think you have the world to yourself! If I want to go to Ashbourne I can, and if I want to go to London, I’ll go there too, so don’t think you’ve seen the last of me. You don’t own society.”
“No, I am only one of its rulers, and my wife must always be welcome wherever she chooses to go. And if it is your intention to return into society, I would recommend strongly you not act the hoyden in your initial venture. If you go beyond the precincts of Amesbury—I do stay away from there—you are liable to meet me. You might as well smile and pretend you can take it.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
He looked at her, surprised into momentary speechlessness. When he spoke he said in a dazed voice. “What a strange thing to say. Afraid of me!”
“Of what people will say, I mean,” she corrected, but she always had been a little afraid of his blighting stare, his aristocratic face, his jibes and sneers. Not physically afraid, of course, but afraid she appeared a fool to him.
“That’s not what you said. What have I ever done that you should be afraid of me? I have treated you in an exemplary manner from the day I met you. I gave you everything—”
“Give me peace then.”
“Ah, peace! Is it peace you seek? You have come to a strange place to look for it. Peace you must earn, milady. You won’t find it by running away every time you see me. Learn to live with the devil,” he advised, inclining his head closer to hers, and looking rather diabolic with the sarcastic curl to his lips.
“Why should I? I’m not planning to return to hell,” she answered sharply.
“By which you mean Avondale House, I gather.”
“By which I mean wherever you live. The devil takes hell with him.”
In his shock, Avondale let her arm fall, and stood dumbfounded at the vehemence of her charge. She hated him! Here was no minor misunderstanding, no bride piqued at a little negligence, but a woman outraged. He forgot his anger and pride, and stood gasping with his hands out, palms turned up. “What did I do? Belle, tell me! There is some misunderstanding. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” she said, her chin tilting up. “You didn’t hurt me at all, and you aren’t going to. I’ll stay. You’re right about that. It will look odd to everyone if I dash off. I’ll stay, and you may be seeing me here and there in the future, so we might as well come to terms.”
“That’s what I want to talk to you about. Belle, it’s foolish, this separation—”
“I didn’t mean those terms! We may as well get used to meeting each other is all I meant—in public. I am thinking of going up to London for the season.”
“I am just on my way there to get the house opened. We can go together.”
“You are being purposely obtuse. I will stay with my Aunt Rankin again, as I did last year. She has invited me, and I don’t see why I must stay at Easthill all my life.”
“You have a home in London. Why do you speak of staying with your aunt, as though you were still a deb?”
“No, Avondale, you have a home in London.”
“You’re my wife.”
“We’re separated. Legally separated, and I shall stay with Aunt Rankin. You can’t stop me.”
“I’m not trying to stop you. Come to London. Stay where you like. Belle . . .”
A desperate note sounded on the last word, and he looked at her, uncertain. She had never seen him uncertain of anything before. He was always cool, calm, so in possession of himself it angered her.
The library doors opened, and Lady Hathaway rushed out, in a state bordering on apoplexy. “Your valet told me you were here, Oliver,” she said, hurrying toward them. She then turned to Belle. “I know exactly what you are thinking, my dear, and you’re wrong. I didn’t do it for a little joke, or anything of the sort. I asked Oliver first, and he declined the invitation.”
“I didn’t mean to come to
London at once, but changed my mind,” he explained to his cousin.
“Well,” Kay went on, “when I got your refusal, I decided Belle might like to come, for it is a great shame the way she lives at Easthill, not seeing a soul.”
“I see all kinds of people,” Belle said at once, with an angry glance toward her husband.
“Yes, Belle, but I mean real people, not Arnold Henderson,” Kay went on heedlessly. Avondale bit back a smile and looked toward his wife, who decided her best course was to fail to hear this slur.
“No sooner had I assured you Oliver wasn’t coming than I had a note from him in the post that he was on his way. It was too late to let you know, for you were to leave the next day, and a letter wouldn’t have had time to reach you. I’ve been worried sick, but I don’t know how I could have prevented it. And the worst of it is Lady Dempster saw your curricle drive up, Oliver, and she came right in with Belle, so the story is as well as broadcast. They call her the London Intelligencer, you know. However, you must do as you think best. I can tell her you were only stopping to say hello, Ollie, if you wish to go on to London.” Kay knew she was safe to suggest he leave. Not one inch would he budge while Belle was here.
“No, I told them at Wimborne I was on my way here for your party,” he replied quickly. “Belle and I have been discussing it. She is going to London.”
“Oh my dear—is it true?” Kay asked, a radiant smile indicating as plain as day that she read more into the information than was intended to be conveyed.
“To stay with her aunt,” Oliver continued with a meaningful look to his cousin.
“Oh—with her aunt,” Kay said, and adjusted her face accordingly.
“Yes,” Oliver went on. “And as we will be bumping into each other there, we have decided it is nonsense for either one of us to bolt off as though he’d seen a devil. That is . . .” He looked to Belle apologetically. This too she failed to hear.
“I wanted to tell you the minute you got here, Belle, but with Lady Dempster at your elbow, you know, I dared not,” Kay explained.
“It’s quite all right. I understand,” her guest said magnanimously.
“I’ve got you at separate ends of the house,” Lady Hathaway assured them both. “And I’ll make sure you get at opposite ends of the table too, to minimize the embarrassment.”
“There is no embarrassment,” Oliver declared, as he had already begun to figure ways of maximizing the contacts with his wife.
This was too much philosophy for Belle. “Yes, there is,” she told him bluntly. “And I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Kay.”
“With Arnold here to partner you about, Belle, there is no—“
“Just a minute!” Avondale interrupted. “Nobody said anything about Henderson partnering my wife.”
“But she came with him,” Kay said, and realized immediately the words were out she shouldn’t have.
“You actually came here with that puppy?” Avondale turned a wrathful eye toward Belle.
She had already told him this, but he must have misunderstood. “Are you meeting your friend here?” Belle asked sweetly. Oh yes, she knew what went on at these little house parties. “Arnold is a neighbor, you recall, and it was redundant to bring two carriages when we were both coming the same place.”
“She wouldn’t have come at all otherwise, Oliver,” Kay told him openly.
He was beyond polite conversation. “It’s that damned jackanapes should be leaving!” he declared. Kay gave him a warning look, and he swallowed the rest of his spleen. It was a large and unappetizing mouthful.
Kay rattled on to ensure Oliver’s remaining silent till he cooled down. Dear, she’d never seen him so hot under the collar. “And after I told everyone Raffles would be here, he has gone and got the flu, the pest of a man. How he could spend over four years in Java as hale as a horse and then go and get sick in London beats me, but he’s done it. He’s awfully entertaining, you know. I met him at Castlereagh’s. Such a story he was telling us, all about a very secret letter he was having taken to the Susana—or was it the Susanan of Mataram—anyway he was trying to get this fellow to help the British, and the carriers never took the letter at all, but only let on they did and forged an answer. He is full of tales of intrigue and spying in foreign places. He ought to write a book, only he is writing one about flowers instead, I believe.”
“Ah, is Raffles not to be here? I looked forward to meeting him,” Oliver said. Belle had never heard of him, and wondered who the devil he could be.
“I got Signora Travalli to come instead,” Kay explained. “She is the new Italian singer, you know. Everyone is talking about her. They say she is very well built, and I daresay the gentlemen will like her well enough. I thought of you, Ollie, when I . . .” She happened to recall her other auditor, and kept right on talking, only altering the end of her speech. “. . . when I asked her, for I remember you always liked to hear a good soprano, and she’s a marvelous singer.”
“I look forward to hearing her,” he answered, unaware of the near fiasco.
“Yes, only it is always uncertain paying someone like her to come to a party. One never knows whether she is a guest or an employee. And if the gentlemen take a shine to her, they will expect to see her at the table, and in the saloon.”
“If you are paying her, then she is not a guest,” Oliver said simply. Much he knew about these things.
“Well, she is being talked up as one of the on dits of the season in any case, and I hope she is worth the price.” She rather thought this house party would be another on dit, and wondered whether it would be due to a pitched battle raged in public between the Avondales—they’d been at it hammer and tongs when she came out—or due to a reconciliation. She nurtured only the slenderest of hopes that Oliver would remain a gentleman for three days while his wife was courted by Arnold Henderson. Indeed, she even entertained a few fears for Mr. Henderson’s physical safety.
“Shall we all go in?” Belle asked, and with a straightening of three pairs of shoulders to confront this little corner of the world, they all went in together, a lady on either of Avondale’s arms.
Chapter Five
You could have heard a feather drop when the trio entered the green saloon. The buzz of conversation came to a haltering stop as the three were seen and recognized and the significance of the two of them being together was hastily considered. Glasses stopped tinkling, gowns stopped rustling, chairs ceased scraping, and the only sound in the large room was the steady ticking of the long-case clock in the corner. Tick-tock, tick-tock.
Without realizing she did it, Belle gripped Oliver’s arm a little more tightly and slowed her pace. He turned to her. “Buck up, old girl,” he said in a low but kindly voice. “The quizzes are all alert to see if you bolt.”
She took a deep breath and smiled up at him, a determined, steely smile he had not seen before. “I said I’d stay, and I’ll stay.”
Talk was resumed, on every subject under the sun except the item of interest approaching through the doorway, who continued walking as though there were nothing unusual in the duchess hanging on her husband’s arm and smiling at him. The first group reached was composed of youngish married couples, friends of Belle’s from London who had been invited with her pleasure in mind. They were of course known to Oliver as well, and welcomed both the Avondales warmly. Too warmly, they both realized at once, due to the mistaken assumption that this joint appearance was in the nature of a reconciliation.
“Belle, and Oliver—how nice to see you!” Mrs. Delford said, and might as well have added “together,” for it was implied very clearly in her voice and smile.
Kay, the compleat hostess, rushed in to correct this misapprehension and to get it started circulating about the room that the meeting was accidental, to save her guests embarrassment. Guests ought not to be humiliated under one’s roof. “Yes, such a coincidence,” she said. “Belle was invited, and Oliver just came barging in unannounced. He is on his way to London. Oliver is my
cousin, you must know, and makes himself free of my house in the most brazen-faced way imaginable. I never know when he will pop in, but I am always happy to see him."
“Oh, then you’re not . . .” Mrs. Delford stopped, as her husband lightly nudged her elbow to silence her.
“No, Marnie, we’re not,” Belle told her, and smiled mischievously, to show no offense was taken. She was glad this was the first group to be confronted. She had always liked the Delfords, Marnie and Ed, but especially Marnie. She was the closest thing to a real friend she had made in the city.
Mrs. Delford was a country-bred girl like herself, and like herself had married a town buck ten years her senior. Ed was not a nobleman, but a wealthy gentleman of fashion, and she thought Marnie Delford’s problems must have been similar to her own, with the difference that these two got on famously. It was pleasant to be in company with a young couple who didn’t consider marriage either a joke or a bore.
Unfortunately, they had not been part of Oliver’s set. She met them only infrequently, and when she wished to secure their company it was necessary for her to go without Oliver. She had felt out of place, hard as they tried to make her not feel that way. But in the Delfords’ circle, five or six young couples like themselves, the husband and wife did things together, went for drives and rides, and on such outings as balloon ascents and picnics, as well as to concerts and balls. A spare wife could not but be a nuisance.
Still, she was glad to see them here, the Delfords and Sloanes. They would be her allies for the ordeal ahead. Kay had them asked because of herself—how thoughtful of her. After a little chatter the Avondales were moved along to say hello to other more elderly friends of Kay’s, a member of Parliament and a cabinet minister, the Traywards, cousins of Kay and Oliver vaguely remembered from the wedding, and then it was Lady Dempster, with her lorgnette raised. She was shortsighted, and didn’t like to miss a thing. She was fairly panting with anticipation.
“Hello, Lady Dempster,” Oliver said, and from the sound of his voice Belle assumed a setdown was to be forthcoming, before ever the lady opened her mouth. Oliver was not frequently rude, but if there was one thing that annoyed him, it was a gossip.