‘What is the worst?’
Eugénie’s eyes sparkled, and she leant forward eagerly. ‘Have you heard of the Hellfire Club?’
‘Of course, but surely that was all years ago.’
‘Ah yes, but a group of young rakes had taken it up again, quite secretly, and Franklyn was one of the ringleaders. Well, about five years ago, there was a gathering at a disused chapel a few miles from the Castle. There was a village girl there, and goodness knows what went on—orgies, I expect—but the upshot was that Franklyn was driving her back to the village in his curricle when they overturned in the wet. When Franklyn came to himself, he made his way back to the Castle, bathed, ate a late supper, and slept. The next morning, he bethought himself that he had not been alone in the carriage and dispatched his groom to see if the girl were injured.’
‘And was she?’
‘Oh yes. In fact, she was dead. But the doctor was of the opinion that she would have lived if Franklyn had brought him to her at once. There was a lot of ill feeling about it in the village, I believe.’
‘I do not wonder. Had she been raped?’
‘Oh no! I mean, she had been lain with, of course, but there was no suggestion that she was not willing. She had that reputation. But, of course, the accident changed everything.’
‘He was a monster to have left her to die.’
‘As to that, he claimed he had no memory of the accident until hours later. No doubt, he was very drunk. I believe Rochford would have supported a prosecution; but Franklyn’s mama was alive then, and Rochford had a fondness for her, so it was hushed up.’
‘He told you that?’
‘Good Heavens, no! You do not seem to understand at all. My husband and I do not talk of any but the most trivial commonplaces. Even before—before that night—he was always quite aloof.’
‘Then, how do you know all this?’
‘Why, from Arabella, of course.’
‘Arabella?’
‘Oh, I forgot to mention her. She is his sister.’
Minette stared at Eugénie in utter dismay. ‘There is a sister? And you did not think to tell me before this!’
‘Do not be alarmed. She is at school in Bath. You will most probably never see her. It is not as though we are bosom friends, in any event. In fact, I think she dislikes me.’
‘Surely not,’ said Minette in a dry voice.
‘You see, she is another one who adores Rochford. I must say he is very indulgent towards her. For myself, I think she would benefit from a few weeks with Grandmère. She would not be so pert then, I think!’ She saw that her sister was looking troubled. ‘What is it, dearest?’
Minette lifted her head and smiled. ‘I was just wondering what other little details you might have forgotten to mention.’
But whatever Eugénie may have forgotten, it was now too late for Minette. The following morning, clad in the burgundy velvet, swathed in her borrowed sables, and pale as death, she stepped into a post chaise and set out for Camer Castle in the county of Kent, principal seat of the Most Noble George Carlton Philip Henry Clareville, tenth Duke of Rochford, Marquis of Welshpool, Baron Clareville of Dereham, and her sister’s husband.
It was a journey of some fifty miles; but the hired horses made short work of it, and it was just five o’clock on a cold and desolate afternoon that the team pulled off the high road and into a long winding drive. It was dark by this time, and the night was moonless. Minette could see nothing outside the carriage and was only aware that the jolting, swaying motion of the coach had eased. It was evident that the Duke took excellent care of the roads on his estate.
The carriage drew up, the door was opened, and the steps let down. The massive oak doors were open, and light flooded out into the courtyard. The elderly butler, who was holding an umbrella to shelter his mistress from a few drifting snowflakes, bowed with mournful dignity. ‘Welcome home, your Grace. We were sorry to hear that you have been unwell.’
‘Thank you—’ What was his name? Burroughs? No, that was the steward. It was best not to make a guess. ‘It was a sharp attack. Indeed, I am not quite recovered even yet.’
‘Aye, it’s a bad season for the influenza, your Grace. But we shall soon set you up again.’
He ushered her in through the great arched doorway and into a vast, tapestry-hung hall. Minette blinked in the light of a heavy crystal chandelier, surely worthy to hang in the drawing room, not an entrance hall. Such extravagance! There was a noble fire roaring in the ancient fireplace and, upon each side, were placed winged armchairs of great antiquity and beauty.
‘I daresay you will wish to go to your room and rest before dinner, your Grace. The Duke’s compliments, and he will do himself the honour of dining with you at eight o’clock.’
‘The Duke? He is here?’
‘Oh yes. He came down yesterday to make sure all was in readiness for your arrival. He is in the library now, but he said he would not disturb you. His Grace asked me to say he will not change into evening attire, as you will be fatigued after your journey. You have your rest, and you will feel more relish for your dinner.’
So much for Eugénie’s airy assurances that the Duke avoided his bride. Almost, she turned tail and ran from the house, but the thought of what Grandmère would say to such cowardice stiffened her spine. She must go through with it. She found she could not remember where her bedchamber was located.
‘I am feeling a little faint,’ she said, and indeed she had gone very white. ‘I fancy I will need some assistance to reach my room.’
‘John,’ called the butler to a waiting footman. ‘Give her Grace your arm.’
‘Aye, Mr Sturridge.’
Well, that was one mystery solved. ‘Thank you, Sturridge.’ She took John’s arm and was quite grateful for the support, for she found her legs would hardly carry her. She had hoped against hope for some time to accustom herself before she had to face the Duke. This had been granted her, but she could have wished for more than a few hours in which to brace herself for the encounter.
When she crossed the threshold into Eugénie’s bedchamber, she halted and drew in a quick intake of breath. Never had she seen such a room. Eugénie had mentioned that her husband collected beautiful things, but Minette had paid little attention until now, when she saw the fruits of his obsession. The room was not overfull, but everything in it was exquisite, costly, and chosen to complement every other object.
The walls were papered in pale pink Chinese wallpaper with a pattern of highly stylised blossoms, and the colour was reflected both in the bed curtains of pink and green brocade and the oriental silk carpet. Laid out upon the brocade coverlet was a dressing gown of pale green satin. A small gilt table stood at the foot of the bed, upon which had been placed a bowl of hot-house roses. On the mantelpiece, above the glowing coals, there were placed two ancient Chinese vases and a candelabra. A singularly beautiful walnut bureau was graced by the figurine of a Chinese lady in long robes and billowing scarf carved in white jade. She wore her hair in a chignon and held a peony in one delicate hand. It was quite the loveliest thing Minette had ever seen.
‘Shall I send Becky to you, your Grace?’ asked John from the doorway.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Becky was, she knew, her abigail but so new to her post that Eugénie had dismissed any danger she might represent. ‘Besides, who would believe her?’ she reasoned, unanswerably.
In the event, Becky and she exchanged only a few words before Minette lay down upon the bed and, contrary to her expectation, almost immediately fell into a heavy sleep.
She awoke with a raging headache, to discover that she had only half-an-hour to prepare for dinner.
‘I didn’t like to wake you, Ma’am, you looked so worn,’ explained the little abigail. ‘An’ His Grace said not to dress.’
‘Yes, I know, but I must wash and arrange myself a little.’ It occurred to her that she had no idea what clothes were at her disposal. ‘Just put out something suitable, would you, please?’
/> It was just on eight o’clock when, elegantly attired in a morning gown of ivory silk, made high at the neck with a little ruff and long sleeves tightly buttoned from wrist to elbow, she walked into the salon where her sister’s husband awaited her.
Three
Her first thought was that there had been some mistake. This could not be the Duke. The gentleman who stood gazing into the depths of the burning logs in the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantelpiece, was quite the handsomest she had ever seen. His profile might have graced a Roman coin, with its high bridged, aquiline nose, firm lips, and chiselled jaw. His hair, fashionably tousled, fell across his forehead, just clear of the well-shaped dark brow. Then he turned towards her, and her heart twisted painfully within her breast as she caught sight of his ruined face.
She had thought the skin would be tight, puckered and shiny, and indeed there was a patch of damaged skin above his brow and one about the size of a sovereign upon his jaw, which slightly dragged down the corner of his mouth. But it was not principally the fire that had scarred him. To her horror, she saw there was a criss-cross of ragged lines, white against his lean cheek. It looked as though a claw had been torn across his face, first in one direction, then the other. He wore a black leather patch over the empty eye socket; his remaining eye was a cold, hard grey. As Sturridge had informed her would be the case, he had not changed into evening dress but was very correctly attired for the country in a long-tailed coat of olive green superfine and pantaloons. He affected none of the eccentricities of the dandy set, but his modest cravat was neatly tied, his linen starched, and his boots highly polished. He came forward unhurriedly and bowed to his Duchess. ‘I trust you are recovered from the journey. Sturridge reported that you were much fatigued.’ His voice was mellow and pleasing, but his tone was indifferent.
‘Thank you, yes.’ She stood by the door, her hand to her throat, suddenly breathless. Now that she was here, confronting the man her sister had married, she realised how woefully inadequate her week of instruction had been. She, who could describe with accuracy the layout of the kitchen gardens, had not the slightest idea how her sister commonly addressed the Duke her husband. In conversations with Minette, Eugénie had referred to him as Rochford, but how was it Minette had never thought to ask how to address him in private? She resolved to take her tone from him.
‘It was good of you to come down. Sturridge told me you wished to ensure all was ready to receive me.’
His lip curled. ‘Sturridge has grown sentimental in his old age. The fact is I had business here. Your wellbeing, I regret to say, had nothing to do with my arrival.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘Indeed, in consideration of your words at our last meeting, I am constrained to believe that my presence at Camer will rather impede than expedite your recovery.’
Her eyes flew to his face in alarm. ‘What—? What can you mean?’
‘Merely you informed me that I made you—er—nervous, I think, was the word you used.’
‘Oh? I had forgotten.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘What a very convenient memory you have, my love. Indeed, I have noted it before. Now I, on the other hand, have a most inconvenient memory. Indeed, I have a recollection, which I cannot expunge, of your standing at my side promising to love, honour, and obey my unworthy self. And, as you have never made the slightest attempt to fulfil any of those pledges, I can only believe that these, too, have slipped from your memory.’
These reproaches were so much worse than anything she had anticipated that she could not answer him. She merely cast down her eyes and clenched her fingers tightly together, furious that Génie had not prepared her. But, of course, Génie would not. No woman in her senses would have agreed to the imposture had she been told how things really stood between the Duke and his Duchess.
Her silence appeared to mollify Rochford slightly. His face lost its rigidity, and his voice was kinder when he said, ‘I see you are still very much pulled down. You have lost something of your bloom. Your gown quite hangs upon you, I fear.’
It seemed that not much escaped the Duke’s one, penetrating, eye. ‘Perhaps,’ she conceded. ‘I could not eat very much. My old nurse is a great believer in starving a fever.’
For the first time, a slight smile lightened his countenance. ‘So, too, was mine.’
A shiver ran through her, and his expression changed to one of polite concern. ‘You are cold. Come sit by the fire.’ He offered her his hand, and she took it, glad of the support. He led her to a chair and drew it out for her courteously. When she was seated, he said, ‘I understand you took the infection from your grandmother?’
She shook her head, smiling. ‘No, Grandmère never succumbs to seasonal infections. She considers it a weakness to be ill.’
He looked a little taken aback. ‘But, surely, it was to attend her sickbed that you journeyed into Sussex.’
She gave a little gasp. She had barely entered the house, and already she had made an obvious slip. ‘Oh—yes—but it was not the influenza. Grandmère suffered a very bad fall. Naturally, because of her age, we were all most concerned—but it was much less serious than at first thought.’
‘I see.’ At that moment, Sturridge entered to announce dinner, and the Duke punctiliously offered Minette his arm. ‘Shall we go in?’
Minette had no eyes for the beauty of the dining room, although it was well worth studying. Beyond a confused impression of oak wainscoting, silver, crystal, and a profusion of flowers, she noticed nothing. Her thoughts were too chaotic to enable her to do more than pick at the courses offered to her and answer the various unexceptionable remarks made by her dining companion.
‘I have had a letter from Arabella,’ he remarked presently, picking up a peach and slicing it carefully into quarters. ‘She still begs to be taken away from school and, really, I believe she is wasting her time there. Should you object to having her to live with us permanently?’
‘Object? Why should I?’
He raised an eyebrow and said, ‘I did not form the impression that you—er—took to her—exactly.’
She shrugged, quite in Eugénie’s manner. ‘I barely know her. But, of course, this is her home. I am sure we shall become the best of friends.’
‘I am glad you are sure. I confess it would make life easier. Do you intend to remain at the Castle, or will you return with me to Town?’
‘Whichever you prefer, of course.’
‘You are very amenable all of a sudden. I thought you could not support the country at this time of the year?’
‘Did I say that? I do not recall exactly—’
‘Oh, that memory of yours! It was upon the occasion of my last inviting you to accompany me here.’
She met his hard gaze with a wavering smile. ‘I had many engagements—I could not—that is—’
He took a walnut and cracked it between his fingers without recourse to the silver nutcrackers. ‘I formed the impression that the country was insupportable only while I was—how shall I put it— pervading it.’
How much more had Genie kept hidden from her? The room was suddenly too hot, and she lifted her wineglass to her lips with a shaking hand. A little of the liquid spilled onto her lap, making a dark stain on the pale silk. ‘I do not know how you should have taken up that idea. It was merely that—’
‘I took up the idea because, when I returned to Town, you quite suddenly left to visit your Grandmother—who lives, I must point out, in the country.’ He picked the meat from inside the nut and offered it to her. ‘It seems clear to me that my person is insupportable to you, whether in the town or the country.’
‘No, no, you quite mistake!’
‘I think not. You have a speaking countenance, my dear. Your feelings upon the occasion of our one, rather brief, amorous encounter were perfectly evident.’
Quite suddenly, it was all too much. His cool, indifferent voice, the heat, the unacknowledged hurt at the way Grandmère and Eugénie had thrust her into this sit
uation—all contributed to the sudden dizziness that overcame her. She felt herself slipping from her chair and knew nothing more until she found herself lying on a sofa in the drawing room.
‘Drink this, my dear,’ came Rochford’s voice, gentler now. He held a glass to her lips and forced her to swallow some fine old cognac. She spluttered and coughed but, presently, was able to sit up and put a dazed hand to her forehead.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon. That was stupid,’ she said with attempted calm. But, even as she spoke, tears came to her eyes and spilled over onto her cheeks.
‘It is unnecessary to apologise to me. You are still unwell, and I should have refrained from importuning you with past grievances. You must forgive me.’
She glanced up quickly. He was regarding her quite coolly, not at all as though he were really remorseful for his words. ‘No, no. It is just the influenza. One is always low after a bout, you know. Really, if you do not object, I think it would be better if I were to stay here quietly.’
‘As you wish. No doubt, there will be arrangements to be made for Christmas. I will give you a list of the guests I wish to invite and, when you are feeling more the thing, perhaps you will have the goodness to send out your cards?’
‘Yes, of course. I forget now, just how many guests did you anticipate?’ He lifted an eyebrow but refrained from commenting upon this, yet another, memory lapse. She bit her lip and reflected that very soon something would arise that she could not possibly have forgotten.
‘Not above a dozen. Just the family and a few old friends.’
‘That will be very pleasant, no doubt.’
‘It will be a damned bore. However, we must do our duty, and it is only once a year.’ He stood watching her with a puzzled air. ‘There is something different about you tonight, Eugénie.’
She lifted her hand to her brow and sighed. ‘I am very dull, I know.’
‘No, I was actually thinking you are more beautiful than I have ever seen you.’
Her eyes widened in shocked surprise. Whatever else she had expected, it was not this. He misinterpreted her expression.
Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade Page 2