by Stella Riley
He swallowed and forced himself to say flatly, ‘I don’t deserve that you should even speak to me again. It appears that … that I’ve deceived you.’
The beautiful eyes, filled with innocent enquiry, rose to meet his.
‘Deceived me? But how?’
‘Because there’s something I should have told you myself – instead of just presuming that you knew.’
A trickle of apprehension made its way down Celia’s back, causing her smile to fade a little. ‘Knew what? I’m afraid I don’t understand. I thought --’ She stopped, blushing afresh.
‘I know,’ he said quickly. ‘And God knows there’s nothing I’d like more than to tell you how much I … than to tell you what I feel for you. But I don’t have the right. I – I’m betrothed.’
There was a long silence. Finally Celia said distantly, ‘You’re what?’
‘I’m contracted to marry Lucy Marston. Her father’s lands adjoin mine and it’s been understood since we were children that one day we’d marry. Everyone knows of it … so I thought that you must know too.’
‘No.’ Celia held her head very high and concentrated hard on not allowing herself to feel faint. ‘I – I didn’t know. I suppose it’s too late to - to felicitate you, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t!’ he said violently. ‘Do you think I wouldn’t sell my soul to be free? But souls, sadly, are not a marketable commodity … which is a pity since mine is the only thing I have that isn’t already mortgaged.’
Still not fully understanding, a gleam of hope lit Celia’s eyes and she said, ‘If you don’t wish to marry the lady, could you not break the contract?’
‘Would that I could,’ came the bitter reply. ‘But the fact is that I’ve scarcely two pennies to rub together and a mountain of debts. Lucy is a considerable heiress; and I, God help me, have no choice but to marry money.’
‘I see.’ Disappointment formed a hard lump in Celia’s throat and hurt pride made her want to hit back. ‘She has my sympathy, then – for it seems she’s getting a poor bargain.’
‘Probably. And I wish for all our sakes that things were different – but they’re not. You must know, however, how deeply … how very deeply I care for you.’
‘Of course.’ She gave him a brittle smile. ‘You’ve just demonstrated it, haven’t you? And now I must go. I promised to watch the masque with Lord Digby and I’d hate him to think I’d forgotten. I believe he pays cleverer compliments than any gentleman I know.’
Hugo followed her from the alcove, his heart like a lead weight.
‘And since you – more than any other lady – deserve them, no doubt he is sincere.’
‘Yes,’ she replied with savage bitterness. ‘No doubt he is. And if he isn’t – who are you to cavil?’
The masque went well. The King played Philogenes with dignified restraint, the Chorus of Beloved People praised him with gusto and Inigo Jones’s mechanical devices were truly spectacular. Or so everyone said. Celia thought it tedious and found that it quite failed to hold her attention.
* * *
With the turn of the year and quarter-day fast approaching, money continued to be a major preoccupation, and a strain of increased nervousness began to afflict those whose bonds were in the hands of the Italian. It was rumoured that each year in April, del Santi beggared four of his debtors by the simple means of recalling their bonds as they fell due. Certainly he had done so last year and possibly also the year before – although no one could recall precisely who had suffered on that occasion. There was therefore great speculation as to what 1640 would bring amongst those who were safe and rising panic in those who were not.
Gervase Langley, Viscount Wroxton, was one of the latter and morosely inclined to fear the worst. By the middle of January, his wife had reason to believe him safer than most; but it was naturally not possible to reassure him by explaining that, after several weeks of determined pursuit, she had finally succeeded in luring Luciano del Santi to lie with her. True, it had so far happened only once and not quite in the way she’d had in mind … but that was something that could be remedied. Indeed, for the sake of her sanity, it had to be.
She had known many lovers but the Italian was like none of them. There was fire beneath the ice. She knew that now. But it was a cold, white fire that left her seared and haunted … and feverishly desperate in case she could not lure him a second time.
But in the meantime she continued her longstanding affair with Cyrus Winter. She no longer cared very much that it should last but it soothed her; and one afternoon, almost out of habit, she tried touching him for a little money. However, instead of his usual mocking assent, he rolled back against the pillows and gave way to genuinely amused laughter.
She stared at him. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘Why - you, my dear. I don’t know if it’s monumental nerve that allows you to ask or whether you’re possessed of a naivety I never suspected.’
‘No doubt you intend to explain that remark.’
‘If you insist.’ He stretched out a lazy hand to brush the fading smudges beneath her breast where Luciano del Santi’s fingers had been. ‘I doubt you owe these to that ineffective husband of yours … and, indeed, I’ve a shrewd suspicion where you came by them. If I’m right, you’ve found even richer prey than I.’
Mary frowned and jerked the sheet about her.
‘How do you know?’ she asked coolly.
‘I didn’t know. I guessed. Intimately acquainted with you as I am, it wasn’t very difficult.’
‘Thank you.’ His tone stung but she refused to let him see it. ‘Are you jealous?’
‘Never is this life, my dear – and certainly not on your account. No. If you wish to bed something barely risen from the gutter, it is entirely your own affair. And please …’ He laid a finger over her lips. ‘Please don’t trouble to defend him to me. You know exactly what he is – and therein lies the attraction. But in such a case – and particularly in this case – I don’t think you can expect me to finance your pleasures. Does your money-lender demand his pound of flesh? Or are you still too unsure of him to ask?’ Her expression told him that he had hit home and he laughed again. ‘I should have known. I only hope you’re in no immediate need of the money.’
He was baiting her and she knew it but the habit of confiding in him was long-established. Shrugging, she said, ‘No more than usual. It’s just that Gervase has some wild idea of paying off his bond in March. It’s impossible, of course – but all this foolish gossip has made him nervous.’
Cyrus Winter surveyed her with renewed and fascinated amusement.
‘Are you telling me that your husband is in debt to your lover?’
‘Yes. Surely you knew?’
‘Not I, dear heart. But what a novel situation! You like to live dangerously, don’t you?’
‘I don’t foresee any problem. You make too much of it.’
‘And you’ve no imagination. But I don’t want to alarm you.’ He leaned back and, but for the watchful gleam in his eyes, he appeared perfectly at ease as his hand slid idly over and round the fullness of her breast. ‘Suffice it to say that I might be … persuaded … to smooth your path. Upon certain conditions, naturally.’
‘Naturally.’ Mary hid both her surprise and the first stirrings of arousal beneath a veil of arid mockery. ‘And just what did you have in mind?’
He pulled her down beside him and the knowing fingers travelled on.
‘Nothing tremendously original, I’m afraid. It’s simply that I’ve decided it’s time I took a wife and got myself an heir. And I believe it might amuse me to marry your daughter.’
The shock of it deprived her of breath and she pushed his hand away. Then she said jerkily, ‘There are times when I find your sense of humour misplaced.’
‘I believe you. But, odd as it may seem, I am not joking.’
‘Then you’ve lost your mind,’ she snapped. ‘How can I let you have Celia when for months you and I have – have been --’
>
‘My God. Can there be a prude beneath that worldly exterior? Or does the delectable Celia know you’re my mistress?’
‘Of course she doesn’t. But --’
‘Then I don’t see that the matter has any relevance.’
‘But it – it’s almost incestuous!’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ He smiled and his fingers resumed their tantalising journey. ‘Come, Mary … don’t you want me as your son-in-law? I could be very generous, you know.’
‘You bastard!’ Her anger was intensified by how easily, even now, he could make her want him. ‘You’re only doing this out of spite because I’ve --’
‘I’m not such a fool.’
‘Then what can you want with a chit half your age? The Court will laugh itself silly and say you’re in your dotage.’
‘The Court may please itself.’ He shifted, pulling her beneath him. ‘Give me Celia, my dear – and I’ll see you’re not the loser.’
‘No.’ She held him off. ‘I’ll not make us all a laughing-stock.’
‘Won’t you? Consider how much easier it will be to attach your Italian Shylock when you no longer need to raise the sordid matter of money.’ An arrested expression crept into her eyes and, twining one hand into her hair, he slid the other between her legs. ‘Think about it.’
Wavering and losing the battle to control her body, she said unevenly, ‘It’s not like you to be so persuasive. You’ll be saying next that you love the child.’
‘Hardly. Like you, I love only myself. But Celia has looks and a hint of unawakened passion … a sufficient foundation, shall we say, for my expert moulding.’ His mouth hovered over hers and his fingers continued their languid assault. ‘And there’s something so wickedly erotic about keeping these things in the family, isn’t there? Who knows? We might all three end sharing a bed.’
~ * * ~ * * ~
FOUR
While Mary, Lady Wroxton was casting her bread upon the waters of Luciano del Santi’s indifference and trying to school her daughter into a gradual appreciation of Cyrus Winter’s manifold attractions, King Charles finally bowed to the inevitable and called his first Parliament for eleven years. He also received a new deputation of Scots Covenanters who made all the usual demands and were given all the usual refusals … and then he wrote to his garrison in Edinburgh, ordering it to make ready to fire on the city should the command be issued.
Unrest, however, was no longer the sole prerogative of the Scots. Pockets of it were erupting across the length and breadth of England. Northumbrian Puritans encouraged the Scots to roam the borders, spying; opposition to ship-money was in evidence from Yorkshire to Devon; and the Merchant Adventurers’ Company was up in arms over moves to provide work for English weavers by limiting the export of raw wool.
All in all, the spring was showing less than its traditional promise. Consequently, feeling that the new Parliament would do his bidding all the quicker for knowing him already in a position of strength, the King sent Lord Strafford back to Ireland to recruit nine thousand men for use against the troublesome Scots.
In the rural fastness of northern Oxfordshire, Richard Maxwell was both more aware of the rumbling discontent then his sovereign and more in sympathy with it. He was not particularly worried to discover that, with his own seat already secure in the Upper House, the new Lord Wroxton was also vying with him for the right to represent the borough in the Commons by sponsoring a second candidate; but when he learned that Gervase had sent agents to suborn the county on behalf of his nominee, Richard was furious. Bribery in elections was not new but he’d never previously encountered it for himself and he found the experience bitter.
‘He’s been told to secure the seat for the Crown,’ he told his wife, ‘and, typically, he’s doing it with stealth and coin. But I’ll see him damned first. And I’ll take that seat if I have to break bread with every man in the Hundred who has a vote!’
Dorothy shook her head laughingly.
‘Then, since I’ve no wish to see your digestion utterly ruined, it’s lucky that you won’t have to, isn’t it?’
Her faith, though unashamedly biased, was not misplaced, for Richard was widely known and well-liked. The result was that Lord Wroxton’s agents received some rather rough handling and his nominee less respect than derisory laughter. And, when the election was complete, Richard Maxwell was returned to Parliament by a margin that his lordship, had he been present, might have found humiliating.
Afterwards, whilst still exhibiting signs of too much bonhomie and beer, Richard smiled lazily at his wife and said, ‘You’ll come with me this time?’
‘To London?’ Dorothy leaned her chin on both palms and thought about it. At the time of the last Parliament, she’d considered the twins too young to be left. She said, ‘And the children?’
‘By all means, if you wish. Certainly I’d thought to take Eden … and Kate too, if you’re to be there.’
‘Mm. But you know, I think I’d as soon take them all. They’re old enough to see the sights and who knows when His Majesty will see fit to call another Parliament after this one?’
Richard grinned at her. ‘Very true. So you’ll come?’
‘Yes, please … if your purse will stand the expense?’ She twisted a curl round her finger and gave him a gentle, wide-eyed smile. ‘After all, you can’t expect me to visit London without doing a little shopping, can you?’
* * *
Things moved quickly after that for, with the opening of Parliament set for April 13th, there was a good deal to be done. Richard left for London during the last week in March in order to find suitable lodgings for his tribe – and Eden, on the excuse of preferring a swift ride with his father to a slow one beside the ancient family coach, went with him. Meanwhile, news of their forthcoming holiday produced whoops of delight from the twins, an immense list of her sartorial needs from Amy and, from Kate, an absence of comment that her mother found vaguely unnerving.
Once in London, Eden left his father to the business of house-hunting and took himself off to the Strand, ostensibly in search of Francis. He was admitted to Langley House after some delay by a flushed and dishevelled maidservant who had plainly been engaged in some more pleasant occupation before being summoned by the door-knocker. She informed him that Mr Francis was at Court, Miss Celia was lying down on her bed with a sick headache and my lady was busy with a visitor in the parlour.
‘I see.’ Eden swallowed his disappointment and said, ‘Then, if I may trouble you for writing materials, I’d like to leave Mr Francis a note.’
‘Very good, sir. This way, if you please.’ With ill-concealed resignation, she showed him through a curtained archway to a small chamber containing a fully-furnished writing-table and chair. ‘Will there be anything else, sir?’
‘No. And you needn’t wait for I can see myself out when I’m done.’
‘Well, sir – if you’re sure?’ She was suddenly torn between her duty and her obvious desire to be off.
‘Quite sure.’ Grinning, he dug a coin from his pocket and passed it to her. ‘I’ll leave my letter here and you can see that it’s delivered later.’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,’ she smiled, wooed as much by his charm as by his largesse. Then, bobbing a grateful curtsy, she was gone.
It was the work of but a few minutes to scrawl the half-dozen lines containing news of his arrival and that he could presently be found at the Lamb and Flag in Cannon Row. He had folded his missive and was just about to seal it when his attention was diverted by the sound of a door opening, followed by footsteps and a low, angry voice that belonged, unmistakeably, to Lady Wroxton.
‘How dare you walk out on me! I’m not some trollop to be treated so. Or do you think I am a toy to be picked up and put down at your whim?’
A brief pause succeeded her words and then a mellow, faintly accented voice said distantly, ‘The whim, as I recall, was yours. It is your misfortune that I do not share it.’
‘You shared it well enough n
ot so very long ago when you all but raped me on your own hearth!’
‘An interesting statement – but incorrect on both counts. The truth, surely, is that you were devoured of a certain curiosity; and I, having nothing better to do at the time, satisfied it.’
Eden whistled silently and then winced as the sound of a violent slap reverberated around the hall. It was at this point that common sense warned him that it would be a major error to advertise his presence and that his best course was to stay quietly where he was and hope to slip away unnoticed a little later.
‘Get out!’ ordered Mary, with uncaring shrillness. ‘Get out – and don’t come back.’
‘Willingly.’
‘But don’t think I’ve finished with you because I haven’t. Do you think I’ll allow myself to be insulted by a – a filthy little hunchbacked tradesman like you?’
‘I didn’t know,’ remarked the infuriatingly cool voice, ‘that is was possible to insult you. However … I would advise you to think carefully before attempting to make an enemy of me. After all, your husband’s bond is one of those which will shortly fall due and I should be desolate to have to inconvenience him by recalling it.’
The silence that followed this bland threat was long and airless.
My God! thought Eden. It’s that Italian fellow who keeps his own assassin. I wonder if Francis knows?
‘Just so,’ said Luciano del Santi, mockingly. ‘Of course, you may prefer to depend on seeing your daughter wed in time to pay me - but personally, I think you would be unwise. Mr Winter will doubtless wish to have the knot tied before parting with his money … and Mistress Celia doesn’t appear particularly eager to rush headlong to the altar. I sympathise with you. Life is made up of such petty complications. But it would be a mistake, after once angering me, to hope to appeal to my better nature. I’m afraid I don’t have one.’
For quite a long time after the crisp footfalls had left the house and Lady Wroxton had fled up the stairs in an impassioned flurry of taffeta, Eden stayed where he was frowning absently at his hands. And when he finally rose to leave, he strode uncaringly across the marble floor and let the front door slam behind him, his mind lost to every thought save one.