‘Who brought this?’ Richard asked blearily.
‘A groom, my lord.’ The porter was disapproving.
‘Whose groom?’
‘That I couldn’t say, my lord.’ The porter held his face aloof, expressing in no uncertain manner that Brown’s Hotel thought poorly of such early morning intrusions.
Richard pulled back the curtain better to read the note and groaned as the morning light flooded the room.
‘Get me some coffee, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Certainly my lord. Shall I tell the groom to wait?’
‘If he wants an answer. But get me that drink.’
He spread the crumpled note out and saw at once that it was from Domino. He knew almost without reading that it would be a plea to accompany her that morning to the Wivenhoes’ picnic. It seemed that her aunt was still not feeling well enough to undertake a long drive. And Domino wanted so much to see Richmond Park. Could Richard please come and this would be the very last time she would ask, she promised. Aunt Loretta had signalled her willingness for Richard to be her escort.
I have no doubt she has, he thought savagely. He hardly knew Domino’s aunt, but from his few meetings with her she seemed to be the sort of woman for whom ill health, as long as it were not too severe, was entirely beneficial.
In an hour he had washed, shaved and dressed, and presented himself in Curzon Street complete with hired curricle. Domino had evidently been watching at the window for she appeared almost immediately, tripping lightly down the front steps, her face glowing with pleasure. Her patent delight in going on the expedition almost reconciled him to the prospect of attending an event he’d hoped to escape.
For Christabel there was no escape: she would have to join the family party. She sat at the breakfast table, listlessly toying with a piece of toast and looking tired and pale in the harsh morning light. Her mother had accepted the Wivenhoes’ invitation on her behalf weeks ago and at the last moment her siblings had been hurriedly included. Her heart felt leaden. She was certain that Richard would be there, squiring his new love and flaunting his happiness. She would have to endure their close proximity for hours without giving the slightest hint of discomfort. It would be necessary to put on a guise not only for her fellows, but also for her family.
Her mother was worried, she knew. Late last night after Sophia had danced her fill at Almack’s and the two had returned home to Mount Street, Lady Harriet had tiptoed into the bedroom. Christabel had pretended sleep and not answered her mother’s anxious query. Instead she had lain silent and still, the tears pricking at her eyes and her heart a confusion of pain. She didn’t understand what Richard was doing nor even why she felt so deeply upset by his conduct. It was evident that he’d not forgiven the broken engagement. But surely his humiliation could not still be so raw that he needed to wage a war against her. Yet that was exactly what was happening. One minute he was angrily haranguing her for past crimes, the next he was caressing her—with his smile, his voice, even his body. When last night she’d danced with him so freely, she had been careless of gossip, careless of her reputation. She had given no thought to guarding her feelings and she’d allowed herself to desire. She’d allowed him to stir emotions within her that she’d schooled herself never to feel again and now today she would have to face him once more. She would have to put on the performance of her life.
‘Where’s the ham?’ Benedict demanded as he breezed into the breakfast room and searched the side table anxiously. He looked fresh and full of energy, despite having slept little.
‘Bel, where’s the ham? Sophy, you’ve eaten it all,’ he accused as his younger sister appeared in the doorway, elaborately dressed in a bright green-velvet spencer over daffodil-yellow silk.
‘I’ve had a great many things to do other than eating breakfast, you stupid boy. If you want ham, ring the bell for more.’
‘Who’s stupid? At least I don’t look like a parrot,’ he said, gesturing to Sophia’s preferred apparel for driving in Richmond Park.
‘Someone should have told you that making personal remarks is offensive.’
‘Someone should have told you that dressing like a pantomime is even more offensive.’
‘Do stop, both of you!’ Christabel’s quiet voice intervened, the steely tone surprising them into silence.
‘Hoity-toity,’ said Benedict half under his breath. ‘By the way,’ he offered as he sat down at the table, his plate groaning with devilled kidneys and a couple of eggs he’d unearthed, ‘d’you know what they’re saying in the clubs?’
‘The rubbish that men bandy amongst themselves is of no interest to us,’ Sophia said haughtily.
‘It might be since it concerns a very close neighbour of ours.’
Both sisters looked at him, Christabel’s face devoid of expression, but even paler than before.
‘Rick Veryan, Richard. You saw him last night at Almack’s?’
‘Of course we saw him.’ Sophia was impatient.
‘He was with that pretty, dark-haired girl. She’s from Argentina.’
‘We know.’ Sophia’s tone was getting dangerous.
‘Bet you didn’t know that the odds are mounting on his marrying the girl within the year. Can’t be any earlier—he’s in mourning—bad ton.’
‘What do you know of bad ton?’
‘It might surprise you, Miss Superior, just how much I do know. Anyway a lot of money was changing hands last night, betting on the marriage. Lucky old Rick, eh? Comes back from some outlandish place and walks straight into a title and now a fortune.’
His sisters looked blankly at him.
‘Loaded,’ he said succinctly. ‘That’s the word. Full of juice and a good looker too. What more could a man ask? I talked to her myself last night. Introduced by the grande dame, Mrs Drummond-Burrell. I think she thought Domino—what a name—was in need of younger company.’
‘She certainly got it with you,’ Sophia said derisively.
‘And she enjoyed it, may I say.’ He ruminated for a while, chewing thoughtfully on the last kidney. ‘Taking little thing, I thought, though she never quite mastered the steps of the cotillion.’
‘And you, of course, are the supreme exponent of the dance.’
Christabel got up swiftly, unable to bear her siblings’ bickering a minute longer. Benedict’s words had washed away her earlier resolve. How could she possibly keep an impassive countenance when she knew for sure that Richard was planning to marry? She would make her excuses. The family must go without her.
‘What’s the matter, Christabel?’ It was Sophia stopping her at the door. ‘Can’t face seeing your old beau getting wed? Why should it matter to you? After all, aren’t you marrying Sir Julian?’
Benedict gaped. He knew little of the events of six years ago, having been away at school, and had not realised the effect his news might have. But it was Sophia’s words that cut Christabel most deeply. In her spite, her sister had arrowed straight to the question which was causing her such agitation. Why did it matter so much to her that Richard was to marry? She must prove that it did not. She must prove Sophia wrong. There would be no evasions—she would go to the picnic.
It seemed that the Wivenhoes could not have chosen a better day for their alfresco party. An almost cloudless sky and an unusually warm April sun enabled their guests to view the beauty of the park from open carriages. Herds of red and fallow deer grazed undisturbed in a pastoral landscape of rolling hills, grassy slopes and woodland gardens. The fresh untouched green of springtime already clad most of the ancient trees and beneath their light shade shimmered daffodil gold. The company drove leisurely through this sylvan setting before arriving at a central pagoda where they were to be served refreshments.
Christabel, her mother and sister were soon ensconced on its terrace, sitting comfortably on a padded chaise and gratefully sipping tea. Servants bustled to and fro, some bringing additional cushions and blankets for the older members of the group, and others plates of dainty sa
ndwiches and small iced cakes. Sophia made ready to plunder the dish of madeleines left temptingly on their table.
‘What a beautiful place,’ her mother murmured to her hostess as she passed by. ‘And such a wonderful day!’
‘Indeed—it seems that summer is already with us!’ Lady Wivenhoe happily mingled among the knot of people gathered on the terrace.
Christabel hardly heard them. The cream muslin gown she wore, trimmed with delicate chartreuse lace, might pay homage to the season, but her spirits remained locked in winter. She felt frozen in time, yet her mind was never still, never at peace. She thought she might be going mad. For the hundredth time she tried to understand why in that faraway summer she’d acted as she had. Richard had meant so much to her and yet, with hardly a thought, it seemed, she’d returned his ring and thrown herself at a man who even then she’d suspected was not to be trusted. Why, oh, why had she done that? Only the intoxication of first sexual awakening could explain the wilful breaking into pieces of the jigsaw of her life. But it was not quite the first awakening, was it? There was that evening in Cornwall when she and Richard had thrown themselves into the sea together. They’d been just a little crazy and the swim had sparked something deep and elemental between them, or so she’d thought. But almost immediately he’d turned away. He’d not wanted that intimate bond and she’d been left bewildered, ashamed of the physical ache that had taken hold of her. And then the trip to London with all its glamour, all its glories, had pushed everything else out of her mind. Joshua had swum into her presence, a man who was more than willing to set her body alight. She had loved him dreadfully. No, she corrected herself, she had lusted for him dreadfully. And lust had its own shameful penance. She thought she’d paid that price, but now, it seemed, she must continue to pay.
In the distance she could see Domino laughing and prattling with Richard. On occasions he responded in a similar vein, but there was a serious expression on his face which seemed at odds with the frolicking of his younger companion. At length the girl seemed to grow tired of entertaining him and turned to Benedict, who had just then emerged at her side and was making ready to reintroduce himself. When the two young people began to stroll together across the greensward towards King Henry’s mound, the highest point of the park, Christabel thought that Richard looked almost relieved. How strange. But she’d probably imagined it.
Sophia, meanwhile, was maintaining a critical commentary on her fellow guests as they strolled along the intersecting pathways which met at the pagoda.
As each new costume passed beneath the balcony, it duly received the full force of her disapproval. Her own ensemble had attracted a mixed response and she was still smarting from some of the remarks she’d overheard. Her mother, anxious to restore her to good spirits, extended a comforting arm but in doing so caught her hand in the intricate pattern of the lace tablecloth and spilled the contents of her teacup on to the disputed outfit.
‘Mama, just look what you’ve done—how clumsy!’
‘I am sorry for the accident, Sophia, but your rudeness does you no credit,’ her mother reproved.
For once Sophia looked abashed. Her nerves were on end. She had dreamed of making her mark in ton society, but so far society had shown an entire lack of interest. This morning she had tried particularly hard with her toilette, but it appeared that this effort was still not enough. To add to her misery her elder sister sat next to her, seemingly serene and unruffled, but looking effortlessly lovely and attracting frequent glances of open admiration from the other guests.
‘Come with me,’ Lady Tallis urged, making for the small cloakroom at the rear of the pagoda, ‘we must sponge your dress immediately.’
Sophia trailed miserably behind her and Christabel was left alone with her thoughts. But not for long. The sound of firm footsteps on the stairway leading to the balcony made her look up.
‘I trust I see you well, Miss Tallis.’
‘Thank you, Lord Veryan, I am most well,’ she answered curtly.
‘And how are you enjoying Richmond Park?’ he pursued.
‘It is very beautiful.’
‘You have seen it only by carriage? It is even better viewed at close quarters.’
She nodded briefly, but said nothing, averting her glance. His shapely legs encased in well-fitting breeches and riding boots of dazzling gloss were an unnecessary distraction.
‘If you would care to take a stroll, I would be happy to escort you.’ He was smiling and for once the grey eyes smiled with him.
‘Thank you, but I have already walked a distance around the park,’ she lied.
‘Then you are before me.’ A slight flush crept into his lean cheek as he recognised the snub.
‘It would appear so.’
He had been studying her from a distance, seen the sadness in her face and felt his determination waver. But her flagrant rejection of courtesies hardened his heart again and spurred him once more into attack.
‘I’m surprised by your energy. I would have thought you had little left after last night’s magnificent display of dancing.’
‘I am not such a poor creature.’ And the flash in the emerald eyes was unmistakable. He remembered well that indomitable spirit and once more his heart softened a little.
‘You were never a poor creature, Miss Tallis,’ he said quietly. ‘Far from it, as I recall. I still have the scars to prove it!’
She looked at him, surprised.
‘I spent my childhood following you,’ he offered. ‘Jumping rocks, climbing trees, hacking my way through woods. It was a tough training.’
Her face broke into the shadow of a smile, the troubles of the present for the moment cast aside.
‘And were you always the follower?’
‘Always. I rarely saw more than a tangle of red curls in the distance.’
Her smile broadened. ‘I was always that far ahead?’
He looked quizzically at her. ‘There were times when I got to see the back of two skinny brown legs, but never much more.’
‘Why did you follow me if it meant suffering scars?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? Life was a daily adventure and the scars were simple ones. Childhood was the easy part. It was growing up that was difficult.’
Her smile vanished. ‘How sad it is that we cannot stay children,’ she almost blurted out.
‘Unfortunately we cannot. Nor can we undo life.’
‘But surely we can start again.’ Their reminiscence had emboldened her and her voice now held a definite plea.
‘I fear not,’ he said sternly. ‘We are prisoners of the life we make and we must live with that knowledge.’ His face had entirely lost its earlier warmth.
‘I cannot agree,’ she said vehemently. ‘That would be to underestimate the human spirit and its capacity for change.’
‘I have never underestimated you, Miss Tallis.’
His words were oblique, but she knew well their meaning. Nothing had altered and she felt sick to her stomach. He was still her implacable enemy.
‘Nor I you, Lord Veryan,’ she managed at last.
‘It seems that we are agreed on one thing at least.’
‘It matters not to me whether we agree or disagree. If you will excuse me…’
And with that she rose in one fluid movement, pushed back her chair and was tripping down the steps before he realised her intention. The breeze caught her mane of red curls and tangled them wildly into a fiery haze. He felt a momentary madness to rush after her and take hold of that hair, smooth it, caress it, cover it in kisses. It deserved to be worshipped.
‘Richard? I thought it must be you. I am very pleased to see you again. You were at Almack’s last night, I believe, but there was no opportunity to speak to you.’
Lady Tallis had appeared from the rear of the pagoda and was now standing beside him looking, despite her words, not at all pleased. She had glimpsed the figure of Christabel in the distance walking rapidly away towards the lake and drawn her own conclusions. In
her short absence the sky had begun to cloud alarmingly.
‘Lady Harriet! How good to see such an old friend.’ Richard felt genuine pleasure at meeting the woman who for much of his life had been a second mother to him.
‘I have to admit some surprise at seeing you in London,’ Lady Tallis returned. ‘I had no idea you were in the country.’ Her tone verged on reproof. ‘But naturally I am delighted that you have returned safely. I make no doubt that the voyage was a testing one. Your mother must be overjoyed.’
He looked a little self-conscious, but felt there was no point in dissembling.
‘She will have learned only recently that I landed safely.’
Lady Tallis raised her eyebrows. ‘Forgive me, but should you not have apprised her of that fact immediately?’
‘I’ve been a little delayed in London, but intend to leave for Cornwall within the week. By now she will have had my letter telling her to expect me shortly.’
‘I see,’ she said thoughtfully, though in truth she did not. Whatever could have kept him in London? She had heard gossip about a young woman from Buenos Aires, someone he had supposedly escorted to England, but that surely would not have prevented him making for home as soon as he was able.
She fixed him with a severe expression. ‘Anne will be waiting in some anxiety for you.’
She felt strongly that he should be with his mother in Cornwall and almost as strongly that he should not be in London upsetting Christabel. Particularly not at this delicate moment when she was poised to accept Sir Julian.
A sudden clap of thunder shook the pagoda roof and in seconds shattered the gentleness of the April morning. A moment later shards of rain were beating on the woodwork and bouncing off the grass. The party on the balcony hastily decamped to the back of the pagoda for shelter, but Lady Tallis bethought herself of Christabel, under the open skies and without protection.
Richard was before her. He grabbed one of the umbrellas presciently provided by Lady Wivenhoe for her guests and ran down the steps, striding rapidly in the direction he had last seen Christabel heading. On the way he passed a furious Benedict and a joyful Domino. The rain had obliterated Benedict’s carefully crafted hair style a la Brutus to the huge amusement of his companion. Despite being severely buffeted by the sudden tempest, her peals of laughter rang out across the park.
The Earl Plays With Fire Page 7