Chapter 23
Caroline dressed slowly in the gown her husband had ordered for her. Tabby stood by, ready with her sable wrap. That night everything had to be perfect. That night, Caroline would be presented to the Prince Regent and to the London ton.
Caroline wondered idly if she should be nervous. The people of Yorkshire thought little of the prince ever since he had usurped the old king’s place. They thought even less of the London elite. A bunch of fops and women of light virtue, her mother had said. No place for a real lady.
Caroline smiled at herself in the silvered mirror above her dressing table. It was a good thing she was no lady herself. No woman who rode a stallion on the moors, who fought with a dagger, who bested men at archery, could ever be considered a lady. And Caroline was glad of it.
She touched the reticule on her arm, a confection of gold and silver silk that closed with a drawstring. She was supposed to carry smelling salts in it and a handkerchief. Instead, her smallest dagger lay sheathed within. Caroline touched the bag, feeling for the smooth lines of her knife as if it were a talisman. Anthony claimed to have enemies among the men they would meet that night. If one tried to malign her, she would be ready.
Though no doubt Anthony would never let her out of his sight long enough for anyone to offer insult, much less injury. Caroline watched as Tabby wove a strand of diamonds through the curls of her golden hair. She had worn the same rope of diamonds to bed the two nights before, and nothing else.
She would be presented tonight as his wife, the Countess of Ravensbrook. The Season was about to begin. She would have to receive callers and make social calls of her own.
Anthony had put it about that their reticence to join Society had been because they were still honeymooning. Caroline gazed at her reflection in the full-length mirror. As of this night, their honeymoon was over.
***
The night of the Prince Regent’s ball found Anthony waiting for his wife at the foot of the staircase in his front hall. The clock on the landing chimed, reminding him of how late they were. One could never be late to a party thrown by the Prince Regent. Once again, Caroline refused to conform to convention.
He seemed unable to impress upon her the importance of this evening, of what it meant to her career in Society, of what it meant to him. She seemed completely uncaring of the ton and its expectations, even of the prince himself.
Another half hour crept by. Just as Anthony thought he would have to send someone to fetch her, Caroline appeared at the top of the stairs.
Her gossamer gown caught the light, throwing a sheen around her as she moved. Caroline’s hair was drawn up in a mass of curls, for she refused to cut one strand of it, fashion be damned. The rope of diamonds he had given her two nights before shone in the soft gold of her hair. She wore no other jewels, save for the alabaster pearl between her breasts.
Anthony fell back on the language of his youth, on what he had said to the first woman who had had him, an old duchess and friend of his mother’s, who had initiated him into the act of love when he was fifteen.
“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”
Anthony’s voice was hoarse and low, and at first he feared she would not hear him. Her eyes met his, their gazes catching with a sudden warmth that made him burn. Caroline gave him a slow, haunting smile he knew he would never forget, not if he lived forever.
“I thank you, my lord.”
She did not kiss him as she would have done on any other day but let him lead her by the hand out into the night. His lacquered coach waited for them, the closed carriage he used in town. His crest shone silver against the black, the knight’s helm and plumes catching the light of the lamps.
For the first time, his wife seemed to take notice of it. She stopped before the door of the carriage and stayed still even after the footman had opened it. She looked first at his crest and then at him. “I will make you proud, my lord.”
Anthony almost could not find his voice. For the second time that night, his throat seized, clenching as if he might never speak again. He swallowed hard, his emotions under control, but barely. “I am proud of you already.”
Caroline allowed him to help her into the carriage. As they left Grosvenor Square, headed for Carlton House, she did not let go of his hand. The leather of his glove met the kidskin of hers. She did not touch him in any other way, and he was grateful, for he knew he could not trust himself to touch her again until they returned home that night.
He wanted her, more than any other woman he had ever known. But Victor would be at the ball that night, lying in wait to do Anthony harm. And the Prince Regent would be there, waiting to be introduced to Caroline.
Anthony knew his duty and shouldered it easily, as he had all his life. But as the carriage turned onto The Mall, he wished fervently he might turn his back on his duty and keep Caroline only for himself.
Chapter 24
Carlton House, London
The Prince Regent’s palace was bathed in light. It glowed with torches and candles, its white magnificence shining like a beacon on the world. Caroline had never seen such a lovely place. The white portico rose far above her as she climbed out of the carriage, her husband’s hand on hers. For the first time she realized the beau monde was a place of beauty as well as debauchery. People who valued beauty surely could not be all bad.
Anthony’s hand stayed on hers, almost as if he would protect her from the very place he had brought her to. His gloves were leather and matched the black of his evening clothes and the deep black of his hair. His silver cross of the Order of the Garter gleamed in the torchlight. He stood proud, his shoulders back, and moved to lead her into the palace with the unconscious grace of a warrior. Caroline took in the sight of her beautiful husband, and smiled, grateful he was hers.
As if he could read her thoughts, Anthony kissed her. He pressed his lips to hers as he would have had they been alone in their bedroom, letting all the world know she was his. She was breathless when he pulled away.
Caroline would ask him to keep those leather gloves on once they were home again, with their bedroom door locked behind them.
They stepped into the entrance hall, and once more Caroline was moved by the beauty of the palace. The hall was bare almost to plainness, but its white walls stretched far above her head, the ceiling held high by gilded columns.
She had no more time to time to look around, for his friends surrounded them. Introduced to one member of Parliament after another, she barely took in each silk gown as a dozen ladies of the Carlton House set were presented to her, or she to them.
The women eyed her warily, some with condescension, a few with jealousy, but none with kindness. She knew then that the people of the ton looked down on her; they considered her a country girl from the wilds of the North and beneath them. It meant nothing to them that her father was a baron in his own right who had served the crown for years in the war against Bonaparte.
She almost laughed in their faces at the absurdity of it, that lecherous and weak-minded people would have the audacity to look down on her. But she held her tongue for Anthony’s sake and kept her contempt hidden behind a benign smile, the very smile her mother had drilled into her.
She allowed her husband to lead her deeper into the palace, their way long and slow. For he knew many people, and it seemed every person he knew stopped him so they might greet him and be introduced to his wife. There was one man who did not approach, who stayed back in the doorway, surrounded by women.
Viscount Carlyle did not come near, and her husband did not acknowledge him. Victor caught her glance as she passed and gave her a wry smile, the first smile she had received that did not contain lust or veiled scorn. Caroline nodded to him, offering him a genuine smile in return.
Pembroke appeared at her side, blocking Carlyle from view. She let the thought of Victor pass, for no doubt she would have a chance to say hello to him inside. Lord Pembroke’s boisterous voice buoyed her up as he drew her up t
he grand staircase, Anthony at her other side.
The marble of the staircase, smooth under the soft leather of her slippers, gleamed like the pearl she wore between her breasts. Candles lit every surface, and the high ceilings shone with light from the chandeliers. Caroline caught her breath as she glanced up. Never had she seen anything so beautiful as the glass creations reflecting the candlelight.
She did not look long, though, for she was conscious of being watched. She would not show these people she was from deep in the country, that she had never before been in a palace like this one. Pembroke turned from her husband and kissed her hand, her kid glove slippery in his palm.
“My lady, I have never seen you look so beautiful.”
Anthony’s hand tightened on her arm, and she wondered if he was jealous of the dearest friend he had in the world. As they entered the grand ballroom, Anthony did not look at her or at Pembroke but froze in place as if a witch had cast a spell on him.
There was no witch present, but perhaps he had been enchanted. For Caroline caught him staring at a beautiful woman with curling hair of midnight black. The woman’s brocade gown shone black and silver in the candlelight. If Caroline had not known better, she would have sworn the gown had been made to match Anthony’s dark evening dress and the silver Star of the Garter he wore on his left breast.
Anthony bowed stiffly as the woman passed, his face a blank mask. Caroline felt a sharp prick of jealousy, and when she pressed her hand to his arm, he would not meet her gaze. He simply led her farther into the ballroom, his eyes scanning the crowd.
Caroline allowed herself to be soothed by her husband’s hand on her arm. Before she could ask Anthony who that woman was, Pembroke pressed a glass of wine into her hand, spinning some long tale of how his mare had foaled and almost lost the stripling before it was barely an hour old.
Caroline listened with half an ear, searching for the mysterious woman in the crowd. But the lady in silver and black had disappeared into the crush of nobles in their silk gowns and glittering jewels. So Caroline swallowed her unease and the jealousy that had left a sour taste in her mouth. There were beautiful women everywhere. She could not be jealous of every one of them. She turned back to Pembroke and his talk of horses.
Pembroke soon had Anthony laughing, but she could still feel her husband coiled like a spring, his arm tense under her hand. Now that the woman was out of her sight, she wondered what the lady might have done to offend him.
Though she watched him closely, she saw no evidence of disquiet on his face as Anthony smiled down on her, leading her out among the dancers. Then Caroline was in her husband’s arms as he guided her through the steps of the waltz.
The black-and-white parquet floor seemed to melt away under her feet as they danced. As always, when Anthony touched her, the rest of the world fell away. Viscount Carlyle, Lord Pembroke, the rude gentlemen and their ladies, even the woman in black and silver faded from her mind like mirages in a desert. There was only Anthony, holding her too close for propriety as they danced. The velvet of his sleeve was soft beneath her gloved fingers. His dark hair was tossed back from his face, his chestnut eyes on hers as they moved among the dancers. She let herself forget everything but his beauty and the way it felt to move in his arms.
The music stopped much sooner than Caroline would have wished. Anthony took her hand in his and led her from the dance floor. People moved out of their way as a matter of course, their eyes devouring her and her husband, the women whispering behind their fans.
Caroline thought the members of the beau monde odd, but did not any longer feel dislike as they stared at her. The people of Society now seemed more curious than anything else, as if she were a captured beast in a menagerie.
Caroline kept a benign smile on her face, revealing nothing of her true self. She pressed her hand to the reticule at her wrist. Her knife was still sheathed there, ready if she were to need it. The touch of that blade, even through silk and leather, made her feel more at ease.
The dinner gong sounded, and the beau monde paired off to find their places in the dining room. Caroline moved to follow them but was detained by Anthony’s hand on her arm.
“Before we dine, my love, I must present you to the Prince Regent. I would have done so before now, but I found I did not want to share you.”
Caroline spoke low, so he had to lean down to hear her. “I do not want to share you, either, my lord.”
She thought in that moment that Anthony might kiss her again. He must have felt the weight of the eyes of the company on them, for he did not. Instead, he pressed one hand over hers where it rested on his arm and led her to the dais where the Prince Regent stood.
The prince looked to be at least ten years older than Anthony, his great jowls trapped on either side by a high, starched collar. He was dressed in fine black evening clothes, his silver star over his left breast, along with a midnight-blue sash that covered his paunch. His hair was raised with pomade in the most fashionable style, a style her husband avoided.
The prince stood with one foot forward, taking in the sight of her face and form as they approached. She saw the light of lust in his eyes, but for some reason, she was not offended. There was an easiness to the prince’s manner, a warmth that reminded her at once of Pembroke.
She curtsied low, as her mother had taught her, knowing full well the prince was taking that opportunity to look down the bodice of her dress. She met his eyes as she stood, and the intelligence behind his light brown gaze made her smile. Her husband loved this man, and as she looked into his face, she began to see why.
“Anthony, you bring us your beautiful wife.”
“I do, Your Royal Highness. She is honored to be in your presence.”
The prince beckoned her closer, that he might take her gloved hand in his. He did not release her at once but kept her in his grasp.
“Is that true, Lady Ravensbrook? Are you honored?”
Caroline heard the clumsy trap set to spring and felt all eyes on her. She did not shrink from the prince but smiled directly into his face.
“I am new to London, Your Highness. You honor me with your invitation, and by accepting me as one of your own.”
“You became one of us when you married, my lady.”
“I became a Ravensbrook, Your Highness. I think I must serve longer and serve well in order to become a true member of your court.” She curtsied again, conscious of the fact that all the hangers-on around the prince had stopped to listen to her words. They watched her with interest, no longer dismissing her completely.
“Well said, Lady Ravensbrook. Well said.”
The Prince Regent raised one hand and helped her rise to the applause of those surrounding them. Caroline could feel jealous daggers in her back as the Prince Regent led the company into dinner.
The room buzzed with speculation as the ton followed in his wake, everyone wondering if perhaps the prince sought to make this new woman from Yorkshire his mistress. Caroline almost laughed when she caught wind of that. She turned to her left to share the ridiculousness of the idea with Anthony, only to find Pembroke at her side, offering his arm to lead her to the table. He sat with her, for it seemed the beau monde preferred not to sit with their spouses. She looked behind her, but she could not find Anthony anywhere.
Pembroke smiled at her, but for once she was not charmed. “Where is Anthony?” she asked under her breath.
“Smile, Lady Ravensbrook, or they will think we have quarreled.”
“Where is he?” she asked again, careful not to let her anxiety show. She began to unbutton the wrists of her gloves so she might draw them back in order to eat.
“Not to worry, my lady. He was called away to discuss an upcoming vote in the House of Lords, business that would not wait.”
Caroline did not believe him, but the first course had been served, and she began to eat. She enjoyed the meal because it was delicious and varied, as one might expect when dining at the Prince Regent’s table.
&nb
sp; She kept her eye on the door to the ballroom, but she did not see Anthony emerge. She sat surrounded by the ton, their eyes glittering as they laughed, their teeth sharp and gleaming in the candlelight. Even with Pembroke beside her, on the back of her neck Caroline felt an unwelcome chill.
Chapter 25
“Why are you wearing that gown?”
Anthony’s voice was a hiss as he drew Angelique out of the ballroom. The Blue Velvet room lay on the same corridor, empty until he brought his mistress into it. He knew he was adding grist to the rumor mill by slipping away with Angelique, but he had to deal with her now. He had let this loose strand of his past dangle too long already.
“Why? Do you not like it, Anthony? You always love it when I wear your family crest, your mistress wearing your livery.”
Anthony stared into her eyes, this woman who was the last vestige of his old life.
“I always wear clothes to match your own at the Prince Regent’s ball. I saw no reason why this year should be any different,” Angelique said.
“I have a wife.”
“And I have a new maid. What does that matter, after ten years between us?”
“It matters,” Anthony said. “It matters to me.”
They stood together in the soft light of the Blue Velvet room. The beauty of the setting seemed to enhance Angelique’s loveliness without eclipsing it, the way a mahogany case might hold a single, brilliant jewel.
“You love that girl,” Angelique said.
Her voice held no self-pity. As he looked at Angelique in the candlelight, her strength was as clear as the sorrow in the deep blue of her eyes. He did not answer her.
Angelique bowed her head, her long curls falling like a veil before her face, a curtain of darkness he had so often sought to hide himself in. When she raised her head, her eyes were clear but for a sheen of tears that might have been a trick of the light.
How to Tame a Willful Wife Page 18