‘I know.’
The Ruby Drawing Room looked particularly dazzling that evening. The tall urns on either side of the mantelpiece had been piled high with gilded glass balls, blown fine as a lady’s silk stocking and wired into graceful sprays that shimmered and glimmered in the candlelight. More ornaments hung from the chandeliers and were draped in garlands at the window embrasures. Upon a pedestal-table, drawn up in the centre of the room, there had been placed a pyramid of small painted boxes. Each one was an exquisite work of art in its own right but, inside, there was a gift from the Duke for each of the ladies.
‘Oh, do look!’ exclaimed Mrs Forsyth, holding forth a pretty fan of painted silk with carved ivory sticks.
‘How exquisite!’ Minette responded admiringly.
‘Rochford always has a very nice discrimination,’ pronounced Lady Gatley, turning her gift, a charming Sèvres powder box, around in the candlelight.
Minette admired, smiled, and praised but, all the time, she was wondering why there was no box with her name upon it. Her grandmother was delighted with her ring, a ruby surrounded by brilliants that had once graced the finger of La Pompadour. Arabella exclaimed over her new diamond necklace and generously told Minette she no longer required to borrow hers, which was quite inferior. The two schoolgirls had received very pretty gold heart-shaped lockets, Selina’s had a pearl in the centre and Georgie’s an amethyst. Even Lady Talgarth had received a gift. She flushed when she opened her box and brought forth a pair of Chinese jade earrings. ‘Delightful’ she said shortly, biting her lip. Minette wondered at this ungracious reaction to what was surely a generous present but, when she thought about it, she realised the subtle insult conveyed in the gift. Jade for a Jade?
When the gentlemen presently appeared, they too had gifts to display. Snuffboxes, quizzing glasses and, for William, a silver inkstand and matching penknife from the workshop of Paul De Lamerie.
Happy, united, and rendered just a little tipsy by the Duke’s fine wines, the company made merry. Minette, having seen her guests supplied with milk punch and comfits, moved quietly to the furthest corner of the great room from the roaring fire and rested her head for a moment against her hands.
‘You have the headache, my love?’ Rochford had seen her retreat and followed her to her dark corner. ‘This day has been too much for you.’
If he but knew the day she had passed, he might well think it too much for anyone, she reflected. ‘Perhaps. I am a little tired, I must confess.’
They were interrupted—Arabella ran over to her brother shouting, ‘What have you given Minette for her Christmas present, Philip? We have not seen it yet.’
He smiled down at Minette. ‘I notice you have not asked where your gift might be. Did you think I had forgotten you?’
‘No, I thought you might give it to me in private,’ she acknowledged.
‘Not at all. It is not that kind of a gift.’ He raised his voice so that his guests might hear. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, may I invite you into the courtyard? I have something to show you.’
Nothing loth, the company followed him down the wide staircase and into the great hallway. The ancient oak door was flung open and, by the light of the flambeaux, they could see his Christmas gift to his Duchess.
It was a sleigh, all gilt and polished pine, cushioned in scarlet velvet. Harnessed to the sleigh was a dainty grey mare, beautifully formed, with rounded cheeks, satin-smooth nose, and tranquil brown eyes. Her harness was silver and scarlet, all hung with bells. There were red ribbons knotted in her mane and tail and, at her head, stood her driver. He wore a round fur hat, a scarlet greatcoat, and long leather boots.
‘This is Yuri, my love. He speaks no English, but he is, I am assured, the finest sleigh man in all Moscow. If you address him in French, he will understand you.’ He stepped out into the snow and lifted a sable cloak from the seat of the sleigh. ‘Come, my love, put this around you, and we will try her paces.’
‘Oh, she is so beautiful! She needs only a horn upon her forehead to be the perfect image of a unicorn. What is her name?’
‘What else but Désirée?’ He lifted her into the sleigh and climbed in after her. The servant placed fur rugs over their knees and about their shoulders. At a word from the Duke, he handed him the reigns with obvious reluctance. ‘He mistrusts me, but I hope the lessons I have received will stand me in good stead. I will not overturn you, I pledge you my word.’
They drove off to the sound of bells and the cries of admiration from their guests. The Duke’s gardeners had conscientiously cleared the snow from the castle driveway; but the remainder of the great park was thick with powdery snow, and the sleigh was soon flying away from the house and into the woods beyond. A winding path led through the trees and out again into a fine wide stretch of land. There was no sound but the harness bells; they might as well have been alone in the world.
‘Are you warm enough?’ he asked, glancing down.
‘Beautifully warm.’
The sleigh glanced against a hidden stone, lurched to the side, and Rochford’s foot, slipping, trod heavily upon hers. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Why?’
‘I trod on you.’
‘I did not feel anything.’
He drew the sleigh to a standstill. ‘Let me see your feet,’ he commanded peremptorily. With a smile, she turned in her seat and lifted her feet to rest upon his knee. He took the little satin slippers in his hands and exclaimed, ‘Good God, they are frozen! I am a fool. I should have had a hot brick for your feet.’ He began to chafe them briskly, and she uttered a little cry, as some of the feeling returned to them.
‘This will not do,’ he said frowning. A gleam came into his eye, and he smiled. ‘Do you know what they do for frostbite in Russia?’
She shook her head. ‘How should I?’
‘I will show you.’ He slipped off her shoes, swiftly unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat, then pulled his ruffled shirt out of his tight black-velvet knee breeches. He lifted her little feet in his hands and pressed the soles to the bare skin of his strongly muscled abdomen, pulling the fur rug over them both to prevent the heat from escaping. ‘Is that better?’
She was too shaken to answer. The intimacy of the gesture was such as she had never known. Formal and ceremonious, there had been no touching in the Marquise’s household, other than a hard peck upon the cheek or hand.
‘Minette? Have I distressed you in any way?’ His voice was low and very gentle. His concern shook her even more.
‘No, no, I—I do not know why I am being so foolish.’ She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. ‘You are so very kind and—’
‘And?’ he prompted.
‘And I am not used to kindness.’
There was silence for a moment, the space between them so dense that unspoken desires seemed almost to shimmer in the cold air. Then Désirée whickered and stamped restlessly. Minette, her whole being alive with scarcely understood emotion, barely noticed. But Rochford was too good a horseman to forget what was due to the mare. ‘I cannot keep her standing any longer. We must go back.’
‘Yes.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for warming me.’
He took her feet in his hands and, to her utter astonishment, he bent and carried first one, and then the other, to his lips and lingeringly kissed each pretty instep in turn. ‘I would warm you to better purpose than this, my little love. But not tonight. You are tired and overwrought.’ He covered them both once more with the rugs, and they drove back to the Castle with her half-reclining upon the seat, her head against a pillow of soft fur, and her skirts spread across his knees.
Sixteen
There was little sleep for Minette that night. Though he had said ‘not tonight,’ she lay awake waiting for him, hope and fear at war in her breast. He did not come but, as she tossed and turned, she came to a desperate resolution. She would take him into her bed. She would make love to him as such a man should be loved, with all the passion Eugénie had denied him and,
when this was over and her twin returned, she would tell him the truth and offer herself to him as his mistress. They would make up some tale; he need know nothing about the baby. It was a preposterous scheme but, in the dark watches of the night, it seemed to her to make a kind of sense and, with her decision made, she was able to drift into an uneasy sleep.
Boxing Day at Camer Castle was traditionally a day of festivities for the servants and cottagers on the estate. Extra workers were brought in from Tunbridge to give the household domestics a day of ease. There was to be a dinner laid out for them in the great hall and, when the boards were cleared, there would be dancing.
Becky’s only duty that day was to bring her mistress her morning chocolate, and she almost spilled it in her excitement. ‘Oh, beg pardon, Ma’am!’
‘It does not matter. Shall you go to the dance tonight?’
‘Oh yes. I went last year, too. It was a wonderful sight!’
Minette smiled. ‘And is there anyone you particularly hope to dance with?’
Becky blushed. ‘Well, yes, there is. Tom Oake, the factor’s son is back from London and—’
‘And you must look your very best. I daresay you have a pretty gown to wear but, if you would like it, please choose one of mine as a Christmas gift.’
The girl’s mouth dropped open, and she clasped her hands before her ecstatically. ‘You mean it, Ma’am?’
‘Of course; you know my wardrobe quite as well as I do. Which one would you like?’
The girl answered without hesitation. ‘Oh, the white sarsenet with the gold spangles, if it please your Grace.’
‘It pleases me very well. Take it, it is yours.’ She sipped her chocolate, watching as Becky held the gown against her and viewed herself critically in the mirror. ‘Is Mr Oake your lover then, Becky?’
‘Not yet,’ laughed the girl, forgetful of her position in her excitement and pleasure. ‘But after tonight, I hope he may be.’
‘I hope so, too.’
‘And if he offers for to marry me, the Duke has said he will dower me handsome.’
‘Oh?’
‘’Tis only right he should, seeing as the old Duke it was that got my poor mother in the family way.’ She caught sight of Minette’s shocked face reflected in the mirror. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ma’am. I thought you knew.’
‘No, I had no idea. But that means you are the Duke’s half-sister. Why should you be a lady’s maid?’
Becky laughed. ‘Bless you, the Duke cannot keep an account of all his half–brothers and sisters, much less have ‘em in the family! Why, it is well known the old Duke couldn’t keep his hands off a pretty lass. They say, when he was on his deathbed, he had his hands in his nurse’s placket. There’s, I dunno, how many of the Duke’s blood in these parts. The oldest is nigh on fifty, and I’m the last. His Grace, he takes care of us. He’s a good man, he is, not like his father.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She cast aside the covers. ‘Just lace me into this gown, would you, and then you are free for the day.’
She went downstairs to breakfast and found Mrs Forsyth and Lady Gatley in the little parlour they used for family breakfast. It was one of the few rooms that were unadorned by the spoils of Rochford’s travels. Apart from some very pretty china, there had been no attempt to give the room any appearance other than that of a homelike, comfortable country house parlour. The curtains were of flowered chintz, and there were a few family portraits upon the walls, which were half-wainscoted.
‘We are serving ourselves this morning,’ remarked Mrs Forsyth. ‘May I pour you some coffee?’
‘Thank you.’ Minette helped herself to some cold sliced ham and bread and butter. ‘Have the gentlemen all breakfasted?’
‘Gone off for a morning’s shooting,’ interposed Lady Gatley. ‘Carrying their own guns, too. Rochford takes it too far, in my opinion, this holiday for the servants. He is merely spoiling them.’
Minette bridled. She found she resented criticism of her supposed husband. ‘From what I understand, many of them are more relations than domestics.’
To her surprise, Lady Gatley laughed. ‘True enough. And the sad thing is that, out of them all, the only two legitimate heirs are a sickly boy and a dissolute rascal.’
‘William would not be sickly if he could help it,’ said Mrs Forsyth in gentle reproof.
‘Aye, poor boy. But Franklyn is my brother all over again. Do not trust him, Eugénie.’
‘I thank you for your warning, Ma’am, but it is unnecessary. I am in no danger from Mr Clareville. I wish I could say as much for Arabella. She seems to have a very great fondness for him.’ She paused and then said, ‘I am not sure I quite understand his relation to the family. He is older than William; why then is he not the heir?’
‘Oh, Franklyn is the grandson of my grandfather’s younger brother.’
Minette sat for a moment working this out. ‘I see. And William is—?’
‘The only son of my cousin, Henry Clareville.’
‘Lady Talgarth was very much younger than her first husband,’ remarked Mrs Forsyth. ‘But I remember him. He was such a handsome creature. Charming, too.’
Lady Gatley nodded at her approvingly. ‘He was indeed. There were twenty years between them, but it was a love match, no doubt about that.’
Since the conversation had lighted, through no endeavour of hers, upon the very point upon which she most wished information, Minette asked in a studiously offhand voice, ‘Was not Lady Talgarth betrothed to—to—my husband before—?’
The older woman snorted so hard her cap slipped forward. ‘Who has been filling your head with that foolishness? There was some sort of understanding between them when they were children. They swore to marry when they grew up and cut each other’s fingers to mingle the blood. Silly childish games. But when Caroline Faversham met my cousin, that all came to an end.’
‘Then it was not because of the accident. I mean to his face.’
‘I know very well what you mean. Of course, that is what was said at the time and, no doubt, that is what Rochford believes. But my cousin confided in me that Caroline had already accepted his proposal when the fire occurred. The timing was unfortunate, to say the least.’ She sighed gustily. ‘But, poor girl, she had little enough time with him. William was only a year old when Henry died.’
The two older ladies shook their heads and sighed in unison. Just then, there came the sound of voices raised in some alarm or agitation. Dogs barked but, through all, Minette could discern Rochford’s calm voice: ‘There is no necessity for all this furore. I am perfectly well, it is nothing.’
She flew to the door and opened it wide to see Rochford, a makeshift bandage around his head and dried blood upon his forehead and cheek, patiently accepting the attentions of a crowd of gentlemen and servants. When Sir Richard proposed sending for the doctor, however, he said with some exasperation, ‘Good God, man, it is nothing more than a scratch.’ He glanced up and saw Minette, framed in the doorway, her hand to her breast. ‘My apologies for this untoward homecoming, my dear.’
She moved forward, and the gentlemen parted to allow her to come close to Rochford. She lifted a hand to his brow and said in a low, level voice that imperfectly disguised her distress, ‘You are hurt. How did it happen?’
‘Oh, merely some stray shot. It happens.’ He bent down to caress a spaniel, who wriggled under his hand in an ecstasy of adoration. ‘It is thanks to Beauty here that I was not killed.’
She swallowed and said, still in the calm little voice that did not seem to be her own, ‘How was that?’
He laughed. ‘Only that she, woman-like, demanded a little of my attention, and I bent to pat her just as the shot whistled over my head. A few fragments caught me. But for her I think I should have received it full in the face.’
‘How fortunate.’ She smiled at the other members of the shooting party. ‘Luncheon will be served in the dining room at noon, but I shall ask Sturridge to provide some ale and sandwiches for your refreshment t
o sustain you until then. But now, if you would excuse us, I must dress my husband’s wounds.’
Rochford laughed. ‘I should hardly call them wounds. But far be it from me to object if you wish to play ministering angel, my love. Indeed, I shall enjoy it!’
She led the way up the great staircase and into her bedchamber. He looked around appreciatively. ‘I had forgotten.’ He crossed to the dresser and picked up the jade lady. ‘This is a superb piece.’ He glanced across the room to where Minette stood by the washstand, pouring water from the ewer into the bowl. ‘Are you seriously proposing to dress these few miserable scratches?’ He saw her face quiver, and the laughter died out of his face. ‘My sweet, pray, do not distress yourself; it is nothing. I barely feel it.’
‘You could have been killed,’ she said with a sob.
‘We can all be killed every day of our lives.’ He took her hand and kissed it. ‘Do not imagine I disapprove of this wifely concern, however. It rather warms my heart.’ He reached into his pocket. ‘By the way, you reported that your brooch was missing. I made enquiries and am able to return it to you.’
She took it and looked up into his face, puzzled by his tone. ‘Thank you. Where was it found?’
‘In my cousin Franklyn’s bedchamber.’
‘Good Heavens, how in the world did it come to be there?’
‘The inference is that you dropped it there.’
‘But that is impossible. I have never set foot in his room. I do not even know where it is.’
He was watching her narrowly. ‘Either you are telling the truth or you are a greater actress than Siddons. You really do not know how it came there, do you?’
‘Surely you did not think—? No, it is too base!’
He pressed her hand. ‘Not for a moment. Well, perhaps a very short moment.’ He was not looking at her when he said, ‘I believe that someone would very much like to drive a wedge between us. He should have known I would not play Othello to his Iago.’
Magical Masquerade: A Regency Masquerade Page 11