Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the gardeners sweeping up the cherry blossom from the paths. Calm down, he told himself, don’t exaggerate. It was a few kisses, nothing more. If Eloise was happy to pretend they had been acting, why couldn’t he? His hands tightened on the balcony rails. Because he had not been acting. Because after two years, his body had decided to reassert its needs. Primal, that’s all his response had been. It wasn’t particularly that he wanted to make love to Eloise, it was simply that he wanted to make love.
The simple solution would be to do just that. Go out, find a willing woman, satisfy his urges and promptly forget about it. He had never done such a thing in his life. The very notion of doing it now filled him with repugnance. It was Eloise he desired. His persistent arousal told him so. Alexander cursed, drawing on his wide vocabulary of naval oaths, expending a great deal of energy and imagination, until finally he ran out of breath. It made no difference. So he tried a different tack.
‘Claudia.’ He said the name out loud, forcing himself to remember her. The glossy black hair she wore piled high on her head that magically unravelled with the removal of just two pins, to curl down her back. The way she had of looking demure and sultry at the same time. If only he’d ignored her that first night at the Embassy. If only she hadn’t sought him out the next day. If only he’d asked her to leave before they made love. But her pillow talk was too useful. Her body too alluring. And he’d thought himself one in a string of many lovers. A passing fancy for her, as she was for him. If only he’d realised how wrong he was sooner, he could have prevented the tragedy that had ensued.
‘Claudia,’ he said again, summoning up her ghost to exorcise his desire for his wife. It worked, too well. Staring out over the garden, Alexander felt sick to his stomach.
Chapter Seven
Alexander leapt to his feet as Eloise entered the drawing room. ‘You look absolutely magnificent!’
She performed an extravagant twirl to show off the layers of green underskirts which had turned out exactly as she had imagined them, the lace-trimmed silk rustling like leaves in an autumn breeze. ‘Thanks to Madame LeClerc.’
‘She assembled it, but you chose the silks and designed the dress.’ He took her hand. ‘You are both beautiful and talented, Lady Fearnoch. I am a very lucky man.’
Ah, so they were in character already? Probably a wise move with such a daunting ordeal ahead. Eloise dropped a curtsy, flicking out her fan as her new maid, Agnes, had taught her. ‘Thank you, my lord. You look particularly handsome tonight. You are not the only lucky one.’
She allowed herself to study her husband. His evening clothes were black and as ever beautifully fitted, highlighting the breadth of his shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, and the long, rangy lines of his legs. He was very handsome. It was perfectly natural that she should find him attractive. And so it followed that it was perfectly natural that she should have enjoyed kissing him, as one would enjoy, say, wearing a beautiful ball gown made from the most exquisite silk.
The emotions were not remotely comparable, she knew that. Aware of him watching her, she turned her attention to the room, though she and Mrs McGilvery had already meticulously checked it and every other room which would be in use tonight. From the cloakroom, to the ladies’ and gentlemen’s withdrawing rooms and the Grand Dining Room which would be used for suppers, everything was just so. The orchestra were setting up in the ballroom at this very moment. The carpet had been laid out on the steps outside the main entrance, the braziers lit. There was nothing for her to do now but wait. And try to avoid thinking about kissing her husband.
Pulling open the drawer of a side table, she stared down blankly at the array of spare candles. It was supposed to be an act, but when he had kissed her yesterday, she’d forgotten everything except the urge to kiss him back. And when he’d touched her—a frisson ran through her as she recalled that particular touch—she had never felt anything like that! She had crossed the line from pretending to experiencing at some stage, and it didn’t matter when—the point was that she had crossed it. She’d thought herself immune to the kind of feelings that Alexander had aroused when he kissed her, when he touched her, but on the contrary—she’d wanted more. Was that passion? No, it couldn’t be, for it had not transformed her in any way, shape or form. Was it possible to enjoy kissing, to enjoy lovemaking even, without being passionate about it, without it being profound?
Enough! She closed the drawer. She checked the clock on the mantel, one of the few which she had not allowed to run down. Fearnoch House no longer sounded like a school for campanologists when the hour struck. What to do with the vast collection of redundant timepieces—that was one of many items on her list for after the ball.
‘In half an hour our guests will start to arrive,’ Alexander said. ‘Are you looking forward to it?’
‘I’m excited and nervous in equal measures. If there is anything I’ve forgotten to organise it’s too late now. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’
‘Not quite.’
The leather case he handed her was slim, fastened with a gold clasp. She opened the case to reveal a collar of diamonds with a large teardrop stone at the centre. There were two matching bracelets and diamond teardrop earrings.
‘I had originally planned to give you emeralds, but I was fairly sure you’d be wearing green and so...’
She touched the jewels reverently. ‘They are magnificent, so beautiful, but it is too much. I can’t possibly accept these.’
Alexander took the jewellery case from her. ‘Turn around.’
The stones felt cool on the skin of her neck. Eloise held out her arm, allowing him to fasten the bracelets. He produced a mirror with a flourish, allowing her to fix the earrings. She gazed, rapt at the dazzling effect. ‘I did not expect—these are absolutely—I will be very careful with them, I promise.’
‘They are yours. There’s a chest of family jewels in a bank vault, but I thought you’d prefer something of your own, for your debut.’
‘I do. I—I love them, Alexander.’
‘Well, then, there’s no need to cry.’
‘I’m not. I’m touched. It was very, very thoughtful, and you’re quite right, I wouldn’t want...’ To wear his mother’s jewellery. She bit her lip. She did not want to let his mother intrude on this special moment. ‘I couldn’t imagine anything more perfect to set off this gown.’
She put the mirror down. ‘And now, I have something for you. A very modest present by comparison.’ She retrieved the parcel from its hiding place. ‘Happy birthday.’
‘I wasn’t expecting a gift. You shouldn’t have.’
‘Open it,’ she said, suddenly nervous. It had seemed such a good idea, she had spent so many hours working on it alone in her bedchamber when the rest of the household was asleep. ‘It’s not—oh, goodness, please just say if you don’t like it, I promise you I won’t be at all offended.’
Alexander set the parcel on to a table and untied the string carefully. The layers of tissue were folded back with equal care. When her gift was revealed, he stared at it for such a long time, his face quite inscrutable, that she was convinced he was desperately trying to work up a delighted smile.
He picked up the waistcoat, taking it over to the candelabra on the mantelpiece to get a better look, holding it up to study the anchors she had so painstakingly embroidered in gold thread on the black silk. He could have no idea how tricky it was to work with gold thread. He probably didn’t even realise that the embroidery was her own work. She wouldn’t tell him. She didn’t want to make him feel guilty.
He was studying the lining now, which was gold to match the embroidery and the plain buttons. Still he said nothing. He had discovered the tiny insect she had embroidered, concealed under the pocket flap. He stared at it for a very long time. ‘A weevil,’ he said. ‘How on earth did you know?’
‘There was a book in the
library. An illustrated guide to insects, termites and parasites. I have no idea why anyone would wish to own such a thing—indeed, it was so covered in dust that I doubt it has even been consulted—but anyway there was a drawing of a weevil.’
‘And you embroidered it on my waistcoat, burrowing its way into the pocket.’
‘Yes.’ He understood her little joke. That was something.
Alexander set the waistcoat down carefully and began to pull off his evening coat. He unbuttoned his plain grey waistcoat, casting it carelessly aside, and then picked up her work again, slipping his arms into it before doing up the buttons. ‘It’s a perfect fit.’
‘I used one of your own waistcoats as a template, I hope you don’t mind. I’m sorry...’
‘Eloise.’ He stroked the waistcoat, pulling up the pocket flap, smiling as the weevil was revealed again. ‘I don’t like it. I am quite lost for words to describe what I feel for this. It is utterly—it is the most thoughtful, most original present anyone has ever given me.’
‘Oh.’ A lump rose in her throat ‘Truly?’
‘Truly. The hours you must have spent on this...’
‘It was nothing,’ she said, blinking furiously. ‘Really, compared to what you have given me...’
‘Nothing compares to this.’ He put his arms on her shoulders and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you.’
She touched his cheek. His skin was smooth, fresh-shaved. She pressed a kiss to his lips. ‘No, thank you.’
His breath caught. Their gazes snagged. He dipped his head. Their lips touched again. There was an instant when they hesitated, when they could have pulled apart, but they did not. This kiss was different from their first kiss on the balcony of the ballroom, different from yesterday’s passionate kisses after their dancing practice. It was gentle. Sweet. Like molten sugar. Bone-melting. Now she understood that phrase. That’s what this kiss did, it made her bones melt.
The clock on the mantel chimed. They did not spring apart, but the kiss slowed, and then it ended, and they gazed at each other, dazed. Alexander took her hand in his. And they made their way out of the drawing room, her arm on his, to the top of the grand staircase.
The double doors in the reception hall below were open. Wiggins stood waiting for the first arrivals, flanked by four footmen. Eloise had butterflies. She felt as if she was dreaming. She touched the teardrop diamond nestling on her breast. She looked at the man by her side, wearing the waistcoat she had embroidered for him. He smiled down at her. Alexander, Earl of Fearnoch. Her husband.
‘Time to greet our guests, Lady Fearnoch,’ he said. And Eloise smiled back. She was ready.
* * *
‘My Lord and Lady Rasenby, welcome. May I present my wife, Eloise, Lady Fearnoch?’
‘Mr Barrington, it is a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Sir Edward, I am so glad you could join us to celebrate our recent nuptials.’
‘Lady Teasborough, Miss Teasborough, may I introduce...?’
‘Monsieur and Madame Bauduin, if I may be permitted...?’
‘My Lord Alchester. Sir, it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you...’
For almost two hours Eloise stood by Alexander’s side to welcome the constant flow of guests. Judging by the numbers, it seemed that every person on Mr Robertson’s carefully prepared and vetted list had accepted their invitation. She recognised a number of names, having inscribed them herself on the cards, but she knew not a soul. Fortunately each guest was announced by Wiggins as they arrived at the top of the stairs, allowing her to greet them by name, and even more fortunately, Alexander either knew enough or had gleaned enough of each to whisper cryptic reminders in her ear, sufficient to allow her to elevate her conversation above the bland.
‘Second cousin. Collects snuff boxes and wives—this is his third.’ ‘Abolitionist and tea connoisseur. Astonishingly sees no conflict of interest.’ ‘Breeds lap dogs and children, both in vast quantities.’ ‘Reformist. Librettist. Gourmand, as you will easily have deduced for yourself,’ he whispered as a rotund man in extremely creaky corsets, who smelled disconcertingly of lamb, bowed low over Eloise’s hand.
‘I’ve heard of mutton chop whiskers, but mutton chop cologne is a new development,’ she whispered back, after he had moved on. Alexander’s witty comments were intended to keep her at ease as well as inform, and it was working. She forgot her nerves within five minutes. The ordeal which she had been secretly dreading became an amusing game. Though several people did enquire after the Dowager, they seemed to accept readily enough the story that Lady Constance’s health did not allow her to leave the country for the metropolis and merely asked for their compliments to be passed on.
‘Sir Marcus,’ Alexander said, stepping forward to greet the tall, elegant man who had just reached the top of the stairs and pre-empting Wiggins’s announcement. ‘I did not dare hope you would honour us with your presence. My love,’ he said, turning to Eloise, ‘this is Sir Marcus Denby, my most esteemed colleague from the Admiralty.’
‘And, I hope, his friend too. How do you do, Lady Fearnoch,’ Sir Marcus said, saluting her hand with a courtly kiss. ‘Now that I have met you, I can readily understand why Alex was so eager to embrace matrimony.’
‘How do you do, Sir Marcus. It is a pleasure to meet one of my husband’s colleagues.’ The first and only one as far as she could recall, in fact. And there hadn’t been another guest who counted Alexander as a friend either.
‘Well now, it seems I am the last to arrive,’ Sir Marcus was saying, casting a glance behind him at the empty staircase. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll spirit your new bride away for just a moment, before you get embroiled in the festivities.’
Before either of them could protest, Sir Marcus had taken her arm, leaving Eloise no option but to follow him. He did not make for the open doors of the ballroom, but instead led her into one of the anterooms, informing her that they could have a moment’s respite here before she threw herself into the throng.
‘Sit down, sit down, my dear, I promise I won’t bite.’
‘I can stay only a moment, Sir Marcus. Alexander’s cousin has not yet arrived, and...’
‘Raymond Sinclair!’ Sir Marcus sat down on the chair opposite her, crossing his ankles neatly. ‘I take it you know the man has been blackening your name all over town ever since the announcement of your wedding went to press? No? So Alex has decided to keep that to himself, has he?’
‘Alexander knew about it?’
‘Of course he did. London may not be your husband’s usual habitat, but he keeps his ear to the ground here none the less. And even if he hadn’t heard, I would have informed him immediately.’
‘Forgive me, Sir Marcus, but I am not sure I understand...’
‘What the devil I’m playing at, dragging you away from your husband before you’ve even had your first dance together?’ He smiled. ‘I have known Alex since he first joined the Admiralty at sixteen. I was already established in the same line of business as he is now. I recognised straight away that he was well-suited to the work and would make a fine recruit. I suppose you could say I was his mentor. He was reckless as a lad, and not one who liked to play by the rules. Not that much has changed.’ Sir Marcus’s brow clouded momentarily. ‘However,’ he continued bracingly, ‘one thing I will say for your husband, he never makes the same mistake twice.’
‘No, of course not,’ Eloise said, because he seemed to be expecting her to say something. ‘I know how important my husband’s work at the Admiralty is to him.’
‘Your husband is one of our greatest assets, Lady Fearnoch. He has a very sharp mind and an excellent ear for foreign languages, that goes without saying, but it is his independent streak we value most at the Admiralty. Alex’s upbringing was not the most conventional, but it made him the man he is. Self-reliant. Keeps a very cool head in a crisis. A man with few ties, and who is content to keep it
that way. I should tell you, unless Alex already has, that it is highly unusual for a man in his position to be married. It may seem extreme to an outsider, but we require our men’s loyalty to be first and foremost to their country. Nothing, or no one, must be allowed to interfere with that. I made an exception for Alex only because the circumstances were exceptional.’
Eloise raised her brows quizzically. ‘That takes the notion of serving one’s country to extraordinary lengths.’
‘As I said, it’s difficult for those outside the service to understand. Fortunately, it is in my gift to be able to bend the rules just a little, when I deem it necessary.’
‘So you know, then, the full circumstances of our—our arrangement?’
Sir Marcus laughed indulgently. ‘There is certainly no need to recount the touching little tale the pair of you have concocted between you. Though I must say, it’s a good one. Inventive, yet with sufficient grains of truth in it to be believable. And no one, meeting you, could question his ardour, Lady Fearnoch. You are not at all as I imagined you.’
‘No? It seems I am destined to confound expectations,’ Eloise said, becoming exasperated. The man seemed to speak in non sequiturs. ‘Alexander expected me to be older, fiercer and with spectacles.’
Sir Marcus gazed at her over his steepled hands, treating her to another bland smile. His eyes were very blue. He must be nearly fifty, but he looked no more than forty. Lean, like Alexander, and fit. The Admiralty must keep their men on their toes. ‘As I said, Lady Fearnoch, no one, having met you, would question the tale you are putting about, of a love match.’
The Admiralty also trained their men in how to avoid answering questions, Eloise thought. ‘I am not sure whether you consider that a good thing or a bad thing,’ she said, ‘but if you are concerned that I will distract my husband from his duties, then let me assure you, I have no such intention.’
The Earl's Countess 0f Convenience (Penniless Brides 0f Convenience Book 1) Page 13