‘Philip – why are you marrying Isabel?’
The sapphire gaze rested on her in surprise.
‘You know why. It’s a suitable match and Uncle George arranged it.’
‘And is that the only reason?’
He shrugged. ‘What other would there be?’
Rosalind’s eyes grew troubled.
‘So it’s a marriage of convenience? One of those fashionable alliances where you are scrupulously polite to each other over the breakfast table and go your separate ways the rest of the time?’
Philip laughed. ‘And how much do you know of such marriages?’
‘Enough to name you several instances,’ came the disconcerting reply. ‘You form a liaison with some similarly-disposed married lady – and, after she’s presented you with an heir, Isabel is free to choose any rake in London as her lover. Is that what you want?’
‘No.’ He flushed. ‘And she’d better not!’
‘Meaning you can do as you please but she must do as you say?’
‘No! I never said that – or meant it! And you shouldn’t be speaking of such things,’ responded Philip, hard-pressed.
‘Why not? After all, if I married Lord Rayne it would be exactly the same for me, wouldn’t it? As I understand it, one is not required to be faithful – just well-mannered and discreet. Isn’t that right?’
‘Devil take it – no! And if Isabel thinks I’m going to let her carry on like that, she very much mistakes the matter,’ announced his single-minded lordship without stopping to wonder why the mere thought of it roused him to wrath. ‘I won’t have it!’
A glimmer of satisfaction gathered in Rosalind’s eyes.
‘I see. Then I suggest,’ she said pleasantly, ‘that you tell her so.’
~ * * * ~
TWELVE
Having finally made the decision to put his fortunes to the touch, Amberley discovered that there were unforeseen difficulties in its implementation and, during the first week in May, he had contrived to meet Rosalind only three times – and then, always in company. The first had been on the occasion of Davenant soirée when he had quite skilfully – or so he’d thought - removed her from Jack Ingram’s side and been foolishly heartened by a fleeting lapse in her usual composure. For the space of a heartbeat she had seemed absurdly pleased and yet shy; and when he had kissed her hand, her fingers had not been quite steady and she had undoubtedly coloured a little. But these signs of encouragement had been so short-lived that, in less than an hour, he was wondering if he had not imagined them; for though she had thanked him with obvious sincerity for the verses and been eager to discuss them with him, she had done so with easy unaffectedness and he was left with the depressing impression that he had failed to make any signal advance.
At the Grantham’s ball he had not even achieved a moment of semi-privacy – a fact that made him quite unreasonably annoyed and was directly responsible for goading him into his first visit to Jermyn Street. Unfortunately, this was similarly unproductive for he was not the only visitor and, instead of carrying Rosalind off for a drive in the park, he had been forced to watch Robert Dacre and two other young gentlemen making sheep’s eyes at her whilst he himself endured a half-hour of stilted conversation with Lord Philip – who had plainly not been pleased to see him.
The Lord Marquis retired to Hanover Square in a mood that no one in his household recognised and spent almost an hour contemplating the hitherto unsuspected advantages of abduction.
It is possible, though perhaps unlikely, that Amberley would have derived some small comfort from the knowledge that Nemesis did not tread solely in his footsteps; that she was also dogging those of the Honourable Mr Dacre and driving him at last to desperate measures.
For Robert was facing ruin. Incapable of reducing his extravagant rate of expenditure, prohibited from approaching Philip, refused by his similarly embarrassed father and by unpaid friends who were reluctant to throw good money after bad, he was left with a mountain of debts and no way of paying them. Even the money lenders had turned him away, knowing that – as he had no prospects of inheriting anything but an already grossly encumbered estate – he could only represent a loss. And by the time his tailor had disobligingly and none too politely, refused further credit until his account was settled, Robert was becoming very frightened indeed.
Dreadful visions of angry tradesmen demanding payment invaded his waking thoughts and his sleep was haunted by nightmares in which he was clapped up in the stinking squalor of Newgate or the Fleet. All day long he skulked in one or other of his clubs, too afraid now to indulge in the pastime of cards or dice, but even more afraid of an outside world that seemed to be peopled with his creditors. Each day brought more bills; from his boot-maker, his saddler and his increasingly importunate tailor; and every day Robert grew a little more desperate as he wondered how long he had before the axe fell. And, on top of it all, he owed a thousand guineas to the Duke of Rockliffe.
It had been, he now realised, the crowning folly to challenge Rockliffe to that race; but when he had beaten Lord Seaforth – even though it had been due to a lame off-leader - he had not been able to resist it; and his determination grew when he realised that the Duke did not want to oblige him. So Robert had publicly harrassed him until his Grace had finally given way and the stake had been fixed and the course agreed. Robert had been jubilant; and then the race was run and Rockliffe had beaten him by a margin that was little short of humiliating and left him with a new debt. A debt of honour.
A thousand guineas; just a thousand. Nothing to Rockliffe but everything to Robert and meaning that, in addition to avoiding an army of tradesmen, he had now to dodge the Duke as well. Two days after the race they had come face to face in the foyer at White’s and, for a moment before he made his escape, those cynical dark eyes had rested on him with smiling mockery. That single look stayed with Robert for a long time afterwards and told him many things he should have seen before; such as the fact that Rockliffe knew he could not pay and had used that knowledge quite deliberately – not out of any personal vindictiveness, but because he, Robert, had given him the opportunity on a plate. And Rockliffe was Amberley’s friend.
In Robert’s feverish mind all his troubles could be traced back to the Marquis – most notably that, because of him, it was impossible to try borrowing from Philip. Robert considered taking his woes to Isabel in the hope that she might waive his promise just this once, but was forced to conclude that it was unlikely. Isabel was not prone to changes of heart and she had, moreover, become deplorably friendly with the Marquis. One could no more trust her than one could trust Philip to keep quiet if one approached him without her knowledge. The situation was hopeless and Robert could think of only three ways out; theft, flight or marriage to a lady of means.
Each of these being equipped with its own drawback, he felt no decided preference for any of them. But since his chances of planning and executing the perfect robbery were more or less nil, he naturally opted for the lady of means and duly set out to engage her interest – aware all the time of a pressing need for haste. And when he received a politely-worded reminder from Rockliffe, he set off that evening for a Gala ridotto in Vauxhall Gardens in a mood of last-ditch determination, dangerously tinged with recklessness.
The party, hosted by Lord Philip and including, amongst others, Isabel and Rosalind, travelled to the Gardens by boat, then strolled down the lantern-lit walks to the gaily-hued booth which his lordship had reserved. And here, much to Robert’s disgust, the party largely stayed. It was not until close on midnight when, having consumed Lord Philip’s carefully chosen supper, everyone finally decided to saunter around the arbours or watch the Grand Firework display, that Robert’s chance came at last and he seized upon it eagerly.
It was a simple matter, once he had Rosalind’s hand on his arm, to fall a little way behind the others and then turn off in a different direction. Then he embarked on a passionate, low-voiced declaration – unaware that Mistress Vernon wasn’t
really listening.
It cannot be said that Rosalind was pleased to find herself walking à deux with Robert Dacre but she was resigned to making the best of it. At worst, it would be irritating – and that seemed a small price to pay for allowing Isabel and Philip a little time to themselves.
She was just wondering how long it would take her dear, dim-witted brother to realise that his marriage of convenience had gone sadly awry and how much longer after that before he could be brought to admit it even to himself, when she was jerked rudely back into the present by Robert’s hand grasping hers.
‘Say yes!’ he pleaded urgently. ‘Please say yes! You will, won’t you?’
Having no idea of what he had been saying, Rosalind was unable to comply with this request. She was also, she discovered, unable to withdraw her hand from his hot clasp.
‘I beg your pardon. I’m afraid I wasn’t attending,’ she said coolly. ‘What is it?’
Robert stifled a curse and simultaneously experienced a strong desire to shake her. Then, glancing around, he saw a secluded bench almost completely screened by the trailing fronds of a willow and, pulling Rosalind towards it, did what he realised he ought to have done in the first place.
‘Sit down,’ he said curtly. And then, belatedly, ‘Please.’
Rosalind sat, though not from choice and felt him imprison her other hand as well; but before she could open her mouth to demand its release, he was speaking again.
‘You must – you shall listen to me. I will not be put off!’
‘No,’ she agreed dryly. ‘Even I can see that. But for heaven’s sake, let go of my hands and stop play-acting. Just say what you have to say.’
Far from setting her free, Robert’s hands tightened convulsively. His face was white with anger but he managed to keep his voice reasonably level.
‘Very well. I have been asking you to marry me.’
The violet eyes widened and then became quite blank.
‘My goodness – have you? Why?’
Having already exhausted his meagre supply of lover-like ardour, Robert had as little ability as he had desire to give a repeat performance. But the devil was driving and so he did his best. ‘I love you. You are so beautiful – so completely and utterly perfect – I can’t live without you!’ And that, at least, was true.
‘Nonsense,’ said Rosalind composedly. ‘And though I’m very sorry to have to say it, I don’t think you’ve ever loved anyone in your whole life.’
The words hit him like an icy douche and successfully reminded him that this was his one and only chance to win free from the pit into which he was being sucked. He gazed helplessly around their romantic setting, silently damning the fact that Rosalind was immune to it and said sulkily, ‘You don’t believe me. What else can I say?’
‘Well, you might try telling me the truth.’
‘But this is the truth – I need you!’ Just for an instant, conviction throbbed in his voice. ‘If you won’t marry me, I might as well put a pistol to my head.’
She frowned. ‘Robert, I don’t wish to be unkind but I can’t and won’t tolerate that sort of folly. You know as well as I do that you’ve no such intention – which is just as well since I’ve no intention of marrying you.’
Robert felt slightly sick. The last shreds of his temper deserted him and, with them, his veneer of beseeching persuasion.
‘Why not?’ he said nastily. ‘You’ve got to marry someone, after all – and it isn’t every man who’d want a blind wife.’
Rosalind flinched and then, with a sudden unexpected movement, tore her hands free and stood up.
‘I think,’ she said bitingly, ‘that you’ve said more than enough, don’t you?’
‘Well it’s your own fault. You should have believed me.’
‘No. I may be blind but voices are my speciality – and yours has been lying to me.’ She pulled the folds of her scarlet domino more closely around her. ‘And now we’d better re-join the others before I’m tempted to tell you a few home truths. Shall we go?’
Robert remained seated, his hands opening and closing mechanically.
‘Find your own way.’
‘As you are perfectly aware,’ she said stonily, ‘I can’t.’
He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile and his voice matched it as he said, ‘Then you’ll just have to stay here with me, won’t you?’
Rosalind was suddenly visited by an overwhelming gust of wrath and she said unsteadily, ‘I’d rather be shut in a cage full of snakes.’ And with more spirit than wisdom, she stalked off in the direction in which she thought – and hoped – they had come.
It was odd how the ground, which had seemed quite smooth while she had an arm to guide her, was suddenly pitted and uneven. She stumbled a little, heard Robert snigger and moderated her pace; she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fall. Indeed, she must not fall – for the ground was as distant now as it had been twelve years ago when she had taken her first dark steps. ‘No, Uncle George – please, I’ll fall. I can’t see the floor … it’s so far away. I can’t walk – I’ll fall.’
Vivid recollection of that feeling – a feeling that she had believed overcome long ago – made her nerves jump sickeningly. Sustaining rage fell away to be replaced by the first tingle of fear and it was only pride that prevented her calling to Robert for help; pride and the thought that he would probably refuse. Then her outstretched hand encountered the roughness of bark and she stopped abruptly, uncertain of whether to turn aside from it or hope to use the trees and shrubs to guide her along the path. She chose the latter and moved cautiously on towards the muted sounds of the orchestra.
For a minute or two, it seemed to work and then something tugged sharply at her and she heard the dry sound of tearing silk. She stopped again, tried to disentangle herself and pricked her fingers on the thorns which had snared her. Somewhere aware to her right she heard Robert laugh again and was disconcerted, less by the sound, than by its location; then she realised that he must have moved and, gritting her teeth, tried to concentrate on freeing her domino from the sharp prickles. But they did not wish to release her and her unsteady hands only made matters worse whilst being stabbed and scratched. Stupidly, the incident contrived to heighten the fear she had been attempting to suppress and her heart began to beat unpleasantly fast. Then, just as she was about to give up and slip the domino from her shoulders, she heard footsteps close by.
‘Robert?’ she asked uncertainly.
‘Wha’s this?’ said an unknown and extremely slurred voice. ‘Beauty in dishtress, by God. Well, well … just you be shtill, m’dear. Soon have you free.’
‘Oh thank you,’ said Rosalind with real gratitude. And then, ‘Do I know you, sir?’
She heard a long, wheezing laugh and then a pair of hot, clumsy hands settled heavily on her shoulders.
‘Don’t need to,’ came the reply on a gust of wine-laden breath. ‘I know you. You’re Venus … or … Di-Diana. One of ‘em, anyway. You just give me a kiss, my pretty – and then I’ll – ‘
‘No! Let me go!’
But he didn’t let her go and suddenly all her apprehensions fused into a single, escalating terror and she was struggling wildly against unseen hands that stroked and pawed and tried to hold her; against sour breath and avid, searching lips that pressed themselves to her neck, her cheeks, her hair, as they sought her mouth. A great retching sob rose in her throat. She struck out desperately with one arm and felt it connect with something; there was a grunt of pain and the grip on her relaxed. Wrenching her domino free of the thorns, she turned and fled heedlessly back the way she had come.
This, then, was the nightmare; her own special nightmare that she’d had so often in the early days after the accident. She was running, running, alone in a place she did not know and it was dark; she was no longer frightened of falling – only of that terrible, all-enveloping blackness and the unspeakable horrors that inhabited it.
‘Mama, help me! I can’t bear to live in
the dark. I’m afraid of it.’
Something snatched at her hair. It was only a twig but she stopped dead like a cornered animal, her pulse racing and her breath coming in uneven gasps. Then she heard a rustle of movement behind her and she swung round to face it, alert but helpless and almost despairing.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Robert maliciously. ‘Can’t you find your way?’
Rosalind fought down an hysterical laugh.
‘You know I c-can’t,’ she said, her voice seeming to come from a long way off. ‘And now you’ve p-proved your point, will you please t-take me back?’
‘Say you’ll marry me and I’ll do anything you like.’
He took her hand and she wrenched it away from him.
‘Stop playing games – it isn’t f-funny and never was. Just take me back to Philip.’
Robert merely laughed and slid an arm round her waist; and because his voice and touch were both things of the darkness, Rosalind was engulfed once more in a rising tide of panic. She pushed him away and ran.
‘Dear God – this isn’t happening. Why am I running? Where am I running?’
And then there were cool hands closing hard on her forearms and a faint scent of ambergris.
‘No! Let me go – don’t touch me!’ She twisted violently and then was suddenly still as, through the fear, came recognition. ‘It’s you! Oh – thank God,’ she sobbed. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
The Marquis of Amberley stared down into wide, terrified eyes, enormous in her paper-white face and answered without thinking. ‘Yes, my darling. Hush … you’re quite safe now.’ And wrapped her close in his arms as she subsided thankfully against his chest.
~ * * * ~
THIRTEEN
Over Rosalind’s head, the Marquis directed a flint-like stare at the Honourable Robert.
‘Of course, it would be you,’ said Robert sarcastically as he moved forward a little way.
Parfit Knight Page 16