He smoothed his thumb over the glass, repeating the gesture over and over. Orlando watched it and listened. “One man after another, so many that in time I became wary of claiming my husbandly rights. She took many lovers indiscriminately, from footmen to actors, from earls to a prince. Even she doesn’t know who is the father of some of our children. Four children after the first two, the ones I believe are my own. When she came to me and told me she was pregnant with the third child, the one who turned out to be Judith, I hadn’t slept with her for six months and after that I never shared her bed again. I didn’t disown her or the children. What would be the point?”
He paused and glanced at the decanter, but didn’t get to his feet. He faced Orlando who silently listened, sipping his brandy slowly. “Then Donata arrived in London with Violetta. Her husband had nearly killed her, and she had been forced to leave. Lodovico, her husband’s brother, had given them a little money, but she was determined to take nothing else from the family. I looked after them, and then it became an on-dit that I had finally taken a mistress. At that point I had not, not until my wife expressed her delight that I wouldn’t be pestering her any more. Not that I had done much pestering, but it flattered her vanity to think I had. After that Donata and I became lovers. We had played the game straight before, been faithful to our spouses, but by then there seemed little point in continuing in our unhappiness. We snatched some heaven for ourselves. That’s why I’m sure I’m not Violetta’s father, although I would have been proud of her was she mine.”
He bit his lip, and glanced away again. “Do you know how hard it is?” he asked the decanters. “To watch the woman you love earning her living on her back? I offered to look after her, give her everything she needed, but by that stage she refused to allow any man jurisdiction over her life ever again. So I had to share her.” He turned back to Orlando, his eyes glistening with the suspicion of tears. “I had no choice. I couldn’t leave her. I had to watch her make her damned contracts, even coming to me for advice, and smile and help her all I could. She knew. We never spoke of it, still don’t speak of it. Suffice it to say that the last five years, when she finally knew she didn’t have to sleep with other men again, have been the happiest I’ve ever known.”
Orlando stared, dumbfounded. He knew the story, but to hear such confessions from a man old enough to be his father astounded him. To spend one’s whole life with the wrong woman. It put all his plans into confusion. “So you intend to continue in the same way?”
The marquess grimaced. “One of the reasons I’ve agreed to stay here for a while is because I want to think. I don’t know, and I don’t care any more what society thinks of me, but I’m tired of Donata’s humiliation. She’s been spat on in the street, you know. I’ve seen it.” He paused and stood up to replenish his glass. Orlando had never seen Ripley the worse for drink, nor seen him take more than a social glass or two. It was a measure of his distress that he sought the solace of brandy now. Orlando covered his now empty glass with his hand in a gesture of refusal. Ripley shrugged and poured himself another generous glassful. He sat down. “My wife has undoubtedly taken more lovers than Donata, but it is Donata who is despised. I’m tired of it. I don’t know what I shall do, because I need Donata’s agreement, but I want to take her away.”
“Live quietly in the country?”
“Not this country.” Together with Violetta, Orlando thought grimly. No doubt the peasants or merchants who had fathered La Perla thought themselves far superior when they were sitting over their supper of black bread and rough wine. “Perhaps France or Spain, if she’ll agree. No one knows us there. So far she has refused, but I live in hope.” He lifted his gaze to Orlando’s face. “If Violetta was cared for, perhaps Donata might agree. Do you plan to see her again?”
Orlando owed it to Ripley to be as frank as he had just been. “Yes. I love her truly. If she’ll have me.”
“And live as I have lived? Think carefully, Blyth. You won’t gain true happiness like that. She plans to take up her mother’s profession, you know. After years of resisting it, of careful anonymity, she has unmasked in her mother’s salon. She will reveal her face, and her figure, to whomever can afford it.”
Orlando caught his breath on a gasp. The pain was so sudden, so sharp it took him by surprise. Physical pain from heartache? He would never have believed it. He gave himself a moment to regulate his breathing, to control his reaction. His first instinct was to hit out, to damage anyone who dared lay a finger on her, but if she consented, he had no right. However badly he wanted that right, he could not.
He could not. “Then I should go back to London and be the man who can afford her. No one else shall have her.”
“You can’t stop it. She’s as determined as her mother was, but with less reason.”
Then Orlando’s course was set. It didn’t matter who he married, since he couldn’t have her as his wife, but he’d have her. He’d marry Judith, give her an heir, then go back to London and take Violetta away, somewhere abroad where they could be together. And never come back.
“Then may I repeat the request I put to you earlier? Will you give me permission to pay my addresses to Lady Judith sometime this summer?”
Ripley sighed heavily. “Will you promise not to hurt her, to tell her the truth? She may not be my flesh and blood, but she is under my protection.”
“I can promise that. I will make it clear to her what my plans are.”
“If she’s anything like her mother she won’t give a damn,” Ripley observed dryly. “From what I’ve seen it’s the title and prestige she wants, not a loving bedmate. Go to the devil then, Blyth, but do it your own way.”
Orlando got to his feet and bowed.
“I won’t give you my blessing,” the marquess’s quiet voice followed Orlando to the door, “But I give you my reluctant permission.”
Orlando went to find Lady Judith.
London was quiet at this time of year. Just as well, Donata thought. She had enough to cope with at home. She looked up from her book in surprise when she heard the voice of her dearest friend. “Why, Virginia! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with your family in the country?”
Lady Taversall entered the room in a rush and paused before the open window. “How do you bear London in July, Donata? I can hardly catch my breath for the heat!”
“Well, I was planning to repair to the country next week,” La Perla said mildly. She closed her book, inserting a leather bookmark to keep her place. “Ripley plans to join me there in a week or two. If you dislike London in the summer so much what are you doing here?”
Lady Taversall turned in a swirl of pink silk. “I couldn’t bear to watch any more.” She walked more slowly over to the chair where Donata sat and settled herself in the matching chair opposite. She kicked her skirts out of the way in a gesture reminiscent of the schoolroom. “My son is courting Judith Ripley, but in such a melancholy way. I have never seen an icier courtship. I came back to town to see if you could cast any light on the business.”
“You know I can.” Donata picked up a blue glass jug from the table at her side. She poured two goblets of cold lemonade, ice chinking in the glass. Ice was an expensive commodity in London at this time of year, but worth every penny. She handed a glass to Lady Taversall who sat, nursing it in both hands. “Violetta has been as unresponsive as a stone since she returned from Richmond. I had hoped they would have their fill of each other. It is why I allowed it.” She sipped from the glass. “She will not talk to me, Virginia. She never refused to talk to me in the past.”
“I found out what happened,” Virginia replied. Her carefully powdered face creased for a moment, as though in pain, but she soon regained her careful composure. “Blyth asked her to marry him. She refused.” She clicked her tongue. “The boy’s run mad!”
“Not such a boy.” Donata sipped. “A grown man. As my child is a woman grown. We must remember that, Virginia. They have to make their own decisions.”
/> “Even if the decision is a wrong one?” Virginia frowned. “No, I can’t abandon them. There must be something we can do.” She gulped her drink and choked on a piece of ice. Donata obligingly thumped her on the back and put her glass down for her.
“Better?” Virginia, eyes watering, nodded. “I do not see what we can do, Virginia. The children fell in love, but they cannot marry. You know that as well as I do. I am what I am. If I had known what Violetta would come to I would have held out for longer.”
“How dare you blame yourself! How could you?” Virginia’s eyes, now clear and blazing, challenged her friend. “You came here to escape a husband insane enough to kill you and your daughter. You wouldn’t take charity, any more than I would have done. I was in no case to help you. You wouldn’t take anything from Lord Ripley except moral support. Quite right, too, in my opinion. You couldn’t let people know your real name in case your husband reclaimed you so what else could you do? Beg? Steal?” Virginia leaned over to grip Donata’s hand. “You did what you could to keep a roof over your head and to keep away from that monster you married. You did well.”
“How well?” Donata’s stared at her friend, her face troubled. “When I see her in my salon like a block of ice I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk to her, she won’t let me near her! She is in such pain.” Tears glistened in her lovely eyes, but they didn’t fall. “At least I prevented her from showing her face when she threatened to do so.”
Virginia gazed at her in astonishment. “You did? I heard she’d revealed her face?”
“It was someone else. I dressed another woman in her clothes and had her unmask before Violetta could do so. I want to give her time to think, not do this as a gesture of defiance, or even loyalty to me. Not after all my hard work to keep her identity private.”
After a short silence she looked up. Virginia was staring into space, a look of wonderment on her features. When Donata would have spoken Virginia held up a hand. “Wait. Let me think.” When she turned back to Donata her eyes were suffused with purpose. “I have an idea.”
Violetta came in late, having taken a detour to avoid the street with the house Orlando had once offered her. After weeks of agony she knew it would take a long time before she could wake up not thinking of him, not wondering how he was faring, if he was as hurt as she was. It felt like physical pain sometimes. The best she could do was try to block it out.
She knew she had made the right decision, to cut the affair off. It could have gone on for years. She would have been hurt far worse, have destroyed her chances of finding someone of her own. It had been some consolation, that somewhere, probably in Italy, there might be someone who might not be destroyed by associating with her, someone of less exalted status, someone who could please himself in the matter of finding a mate. After a while she might be able to put her past behind her enough to start again. By then Orlando would be married, the father of a hopeful brood. Perhaps he would be able to find solace in his children. Violetta didn’t insult him by thinking he might not be feeling this. She knew he was feeling the same despair, the same numbness as she was, that he might reach for her in the night, as she so often reached for him.
It was early days yet. Give it time, she told herself. Time did heal, didn’t it?
In the first days after her return she thought of taking other lovers, quickly, to try to put a distance between what she had shared with Orlando and ordinary, everyday mundanity. Her mother’s preemptive move to foil her unmasking gave her time to think, and on reflection, it probably was for the best. She’d declared her intention when she was still heartsick from her visit to Richmond, a gesture of defiance and finality, but it wasn’t to be. If she knew London’s gossip-network, the news would have reached Orlando by now.
A footman clearing his throat to attract her attention called her from her thoughts. “Your lady mother asks for your presence in the salon, ma’am,” he informed her.
“Does she have company?” Violetta was dressed as La Perla Perfetta, in white with a simple street mask.
“Lady Taversall is with her.”
Violetta felt a sense of foreboding. What could Orlando’s mother want with her? Perhaps to castigate her for her treatment of her son. Yes, that was probably it. She removed her hat and mask and handed them to the footman, lifting her skirts to hurry upstairs and get it over with.
She paused briefly before the door to check her hair was in place, and deliberately paused to perfect the expression of bland hauteur she had adopted for the last two weeks. It had become easier to assume a mask under the silk masks she wore when her mother had company. Now she had a mask of her own, one she had fashioned inside herself these last weeks and she had enough honesty to admit she preferred hiding behind one to revealing herself to all.
Head high Violetta stepped into the salon and made her curtseys. The ladies sat very close together, and try though she might, she could not see any condemnation on Lady Taversall’s solemn features. “Sit down, Violetta. Would you like some lemonade?”
Violetta nodded her thanks and took the goblet her mother offered, its gilt rim catching the sun when she sat. She arched her fingers over the glass in a deliberately elegant gesture. She had spent some time studying gestures and movements in the mirror, determined to show as little of herself as possible, keep the frightened, unhappy child buried deep inside.
“You’ve been to see Cerisot?”
“Yes, Mama. I have ordered several new gowns. If I’m to dress as La Perla Perfetta all day, I fear it is necessary.”
“It might not be.” La Perla exchanged a meaningful look with Lady Taversall. Violetta became alert. What had these two plotted now?
“I fail to see—” she began, but paused and shrugged. Let them speak.
“We have come up with a plan,” La Perla said, with every sign of satisfaction in her loving expression. A smile curved her lips. “We need to talk frankly, my dear. You need to be honest with us, so we know what is best for us to do.”
Violetta’s stomach tensed. She didn’t want to talk about her feelings. If she talked about them, or even thought about it, the unhappiness became too much to hide. Several times in the last three weeks she had to hurry to her room, only to dissolve in floods of self-pitying tears. Now she had begun to repair the damage, she didn’t want it torn open again.
However, this was her mother. She could not deny her. She steeled herself to talk without dwelling on the meaning, to answer without giving too much away. Lady Taversall’s next question alarmed her.
“Do you love my son?” Violetta stared. Lady Taversall made an exasperated sound. “Well? If you don’t tell us we can’t help you.”
“Yes.” She stated it abruptly. “Yes I love him.”
“Donata tells me he asked you to marry him. Did he?”
“Yes.” Violetta’s mouth closed like a trap on the word. “I refused. I can’t do that to your family.” She ignored the slight sound of distress her mother made.
Lady Taversall shook her head slightly. “Violetta, I would be honoured to have you for my daughter-in-law. Your manners are impeccable, you are beautiful enough to make men stare, and your character is excellent.”
“But I am La Perla’s daughter.”
“Ha!” To Violetta’s surprise Lady Taversall clapped her hands and grinned. “Now we come to it. Yes, you are La Perla’s daughter. But you are also the daughter of the Conte d’Oro.”
Violetta felt dizzy. Yes, it would be best. Italy, now. But Lady Taversall was still talking. “Your father is dead. There is no longer any reason for you to hide your name anywhere. From talking to Donata that fact seems to have escaped you both.”
Oh God. Dare she hope?
No, she dared not. “He won’t want me. I’ve refused him. And the truth is bound to come out. What my mother has done. What I’m about to do.”
Lady Taversall sucked in a breath. “Don’t you dare!” She held up a hand, forestalling any argument. “This is what you’re going to do, my
dear. You’re going to go back to Cerisot and change your order. No more white. Only colours. In fact, I would suggest you avoid white altogether. It’s not your colour, dear, it washes out that lovely complexion. Tell Cerisot there’ll be a bonus for a swift delivery. In a week I’ll return to Ripley Court. With the daughter of an old friend, newly arrived from Italy.”
La Perla smiled benevolently on her daughter. “You will be launched, my love. I will write to your uncle in Italy and tell him what we are about. He will be delighted you are away from my pernicious influence.”
“Will I be allowed to speak English?” She didn’t know where that had come from, the words coming out as if someone else spoke them. This was impossible, surely?
“Put a slight lilt in it,” Lady Taversall advised. “You have a chance, Violetta, if you’re brave. You can take your rightful place in society. Even if you don’t succeed with my son, you can find someone else and start a new life.”
Violetta couldn’t believe it. “It’s impossible. I’ll go to Italy, come back only to see my mother. It’s what I planned to do.” Deep down she acknowledged her fear of appearing as herself. La Perla Perfetta and Charlotte Lambert were roles she played. Being herself, revealing her true face in public, terrified her. “I’ve never been Violetta in public. I’m not sure I know how to be her.”
Lady Taversall gave a most unladylike snort. “I thought you had some backbone! We’ll bluff, my dear. Show these men we can play the game of life better than they can play cards! If anyone sees a resemblance, let them prove it, let them show us. When the impostor unmasked in your place, she took suspicion away from you, at least for now. Your mother has agreed to present her as you, and to undertake contracts on her behalf. She will take the name Isabella.” She leaned forward, grasped Violetta’s hand. “It’s the last hand, Violetta. Double or quits. What do you say?”
Violetta was shocked to hear herself say, “Very well. I’ll do it.”
A Chance to Dream Page 24