by Mary Balogh
She turned her head over her shoulder and half smiled at him though her face was wan.
“It would have ruined the play for me,” she said.
“Would it?”
She nodded.
“And has the knowledge now ruined your marriage for you?” he asked her. “Has it ruined the rest of your life?”
“Elliott,” she said, “you are telling me the full truth?”
“I am.” He looked steadily back at her.
She sighed and turned to face him fully again.
“I have never believed in or even wanted a happily-ever-after,” she said. “How foolish of me to have believed yesterday and this morning that I had found it after all. I had not. But no, nothing has been irrevocably ruined. I will live on. We will. Do you really find me irres — Do you really find me a little bit attractive?”
“I do,” he said. He could have stridden around the bed at that point and caught her up in an embrace, but it might have been the wrong thing to do. She might have doubted his sincerity “But I did not use the word attractive, accurate though it would be. It is also tame. I used the word irresistible.”
“Oh,” she said. “I really do not know why. I look a fright.” She looked down at herself.
“At this precise moment you do,” he agreed. “If there were mice in the house, they would surely be frightened away after one glimpse of you. Outdoor clothes were not meant to be worn in bed, you know And hair was meant to be brushed every few hours.”
“Oh,” she said, and laughed—a rather thin, tremulous sound.
“Let me ring for your maid,” he said. “I’ll go down and tell Mama and Cecily that they do not have to starve tonight after all, that you will be down within half an hour.”
“It will be a Herculean task,” she said as he came around the bed and made for her dressing room, “to make me presentable in just half an hour.”
“Not really,” he said, pulling on the bell rope and turning his head to look at her. “All you really have to do is smile, Vanessa. Your smile is pure magic.”
“I ought to call your bluff, foolish man, and come downstairs with you now, then, smiling,” she said. “Your mother would have a fit of the vapors.”
“I will return in twenty-five minutes,” he said as he stepped inside his own dressing room and closed the door.
He stood against it for quite some time, his eyes closed.
He had much atoning to do. He had hurt too many people recently. He had been hurt himself during the past couple of years by people he had trusted so he had turned to stern duty and turned his back on love—and on laughter and joy.
He had hurt people anyway.
Love and laughter and joy.
All of them embodied in the wife he had married so unwillingly and so cynically.
He had married a treasure he did not at all deserve.
What had she said a few minutes ago? He frowned in thought.
I have never believed in or even wanted a happily-ever-after. How foolish of me to have believed yesterday and this morning that I had found it after all.
She had been happy yesterday and this morning. Happily-ever-after happy.
Dear God!
She had been happy But of course she had.
So had he.
21
VANESSA had expected her task of introducing her sisters to the ton to be an onerous one. She was as new to society as they were, after all, even if she was married to a viscount, heir to a dukedom. She knew practically nothing and no one.
But it turned out not to be very difficult after all. All that had been needed was her respectable position as a lady married to a gentleman of the ton. Elliott more than qualified in that role.
They were something of a curiosity, the three sisters. Vanessa because she had recently married one of England’s most eligible bachelors. Margaret and Katherine because they were the sisters of the new Earl of Merton, who had turned out to be very youthful and very handsome and very attractive despite—or perhaps because of—a certain lack of town bronze. And Margaret and Katherine had the added attraction of being rare beauties.
The ton, Vanessa soon learned, was always avidly interested in seeing new faces, hearing new stories, getting wind of new scandals. The story of the new earl and his sisters having been found in a remote country village, living in a cottage smaller than most people’s garden shed—the ton also had a strong tendency to hyperbole— captured the collective imagination and fed drawingroom conversations for a week or more. As did the fact that one of those sisters had captured the hand, if not the heart, of no less a personage than Viscount Lyngate. She was not a beauty, and therefore one must not suppose that it was a love match—though if it was not, it was strange that he had not married the eldest sister. And there was a positive swell of interest when word spread that Mrs. Bromley-Hayes had been dropped like a hot brick as Viscount Lyngate’s mistress after she was seen in company with the viscountess one afternoon in Hyde Park.
The viscountess’s prestige rose significantly.
The Huxtables were invited everywhere fashionable people were invited—to balls, soirees, concerts, picnics, Venetian breakfasts, dinners, theater parties … The list was endless. They could, in fact, have been busy merrymaking every day from morning to night. Well, perhaps not morning as they defined it. Most people slept until past noon, having danced or played cards or conversed or otherwise diverted themselves almost all night long.
It amused Vanessa to discover that an invitation to breakfast actually was an invitation to a meal beginning in the middle of the afternoon. It amazed her that most people seemed perfectly content to begin their day in the afternoon and end it early in the morning.
What a sad waste of daylight and sunshine!
She accompanied her sisters to numerous entertainments, but she did not have to make any great effort to introduce them to people whose names she often could not recall herself or to find conversational groups for them to join or partners for them to dance with. As Elliott had predicted, they met the same people almost wherever they went, and names, faces, and titles soon became more familiar.
Margaret and Katherine soon acquired friends and acquaintances, and each very quickly had a court of admirers —as did Vanessa herself, to her great amazement. Young gentlemen whose names she scarcely remembered asked her to dance or offered to fetch her refreshments or to escort her on a stroll about a garden or dance floor. One or two even offered to drive her in the park or to ride on Rotten Row with her.
It was not an uncommon occurrence, of course, for married ladies to have their cicisbei. And she remembered Elliott telling her at the theater that it was quite unexceptionable for a married lady to be escorted in a public place by a man who was not her husband.
It spoke volumes to Vanessa about the state of marriage among the ton, though she had no wish to behave as others did. If Elliott could not be with her, she preferred the company of her sisters or her mother-in-law to that of some strange gentleman.
She was not unhappy during the weeks following her presentation at court.
She was not particularly happy either.
There had been something of a reticence between her and Elliott since the day on which she had confronted him over the matter of Mrs. Bromley-Hayes. They were not estranged. He accompanied her to many entertainments, especially in the evenings. He conversed with her whenever the opportunity presented itself. He made love to her each night. He slept in her bed.
But there was … something. Some sense of strain.
She believed him, and yet she was hurt. Not hurt that he had had a mistress before marrying her—that would have been unreasonable. Hurt perhaps because he had visited his ex-mistress after marrying her and would have said nothing to her if she had not found out on her own. And hurt perhaps because Mrs. Bromley-Hayes was beautiful in every imaginable way—physically at least.
There was nothing wrong with her marriage, Vanessa kept telling herself. There was only everythi
ng right with it, in fact. She had a husband who paid attention to her, who was faithful to her, who had sworn to remain faithful. She was well blessed. What more could she ask for?
His heart?
If one had the moon and the stars, must one be greedy for the sun too?
It seemed that the answer was yes.
Katherine treated her court of admirers much as she had done in Throckbridge. She smiled kindly and indulgently upon them all, granted them all equal favors, liked them all. But when asked, she would admit that there was no one special among them.
“Do you not want someone special in your life?” Vanessa asked her one morning when they were taking a brisk walk through an almost deserted park.
“Of course I do,” Katherine said with something of a sigh. “But that is it, you see, Nessie. He must be special. I am coming to the conclusion that there is no such person, that I am looking for an impossibility. But that cannot be so, can it? Hedley was special to you, and Lord Lyngate is. How I envied you when I watched you waltzing together at Cecily’s come-out ball. If it has happened to you twice, is it too much to ask that it happen to me just once?”
“Oh, it will,” Vanessa assured her, taking her arm and squeezing it. “I am glad you will settle for no less than love. And what about Meg?”
Their sister was not with them. She had gone to Hookham’s library with the Marquess of Allingham.
“And the marquess, you mean?” Katherine said. “I do believe he is seriously courting her.”
“And will she have him?” Vanessa asked.
“I do not know,” Katherine admitted. “She seems to favor him. Certainly she pays no attention to anyone else, though there are several eligible and personable gentlemen interested in her. She does not behave as if she were in love, though, does she?”
It was true. Meg was far more concerned with trying to control Stephen’s movements and with encouraging Kate to enjoy herself as much as she was able and with assuring herself that Vanessa was happy than with forging a new life for herself.
Yet the marquess, who really was an amiable gentleman, was very attentive.
And Crispin Dew was married. There was no point in pining any further for him. Ah, easy for her to say, Vanessa thought.
“Meg never will talk about herself, will she?” Katherine said. “I have never particularly noticed before, but it is true. That is why I never knew about Crispin Dew, I suppose. Oh, Nessie, did she care for him so very much?”
“I fear she did,” Vanessa said. “But perhaps given time she will find someone else. Perhaps he will even be the Marquess of Allingham. She seems to enjoy his company.”
But it was a hope soon to be dashed.
When Vanessa arrived at Merton House one afternoon a week or so later, she found Stephen in the hallway, about to go out with Constantine. They were to go to the races. He was frowning.
“Dash it all, Nessie,” he said, “when will Meg learn that she is my sister, not my mother? And when will she learn that I am seventeen years old, going on eighteen, and far too old to be kept in leading strings?”
“Oh, dear,” she said, “what has happened?”
“Allingham came here earlier,” he said, “and asked to speak with me. It was dashed decent of him since I am only seventeen and he must be twice that and Meg is twenty-five. He came to ask my permission to pay his addresses to her.”
“Oh, Stephen,” Vanessa said, clasping her hands to her bosom. “And … ?”
“And of course I said yes,” he said. “I was delighted actually. He does not have the best of tailors or bootmakers, perhaps, but he rides to an inch and is reputed to be the devil of a fine fellow and it doesn’t really matter that he is not very tall. He has presence. And Meg has spent enough time with him in the last few weeks, the Lord knows. One could be forgiven for thinking that she would welcome an offer from him.”
“But she did not?” she asked.
“Refused him out of hand,” he said.
“Ah,” Vanessa said. “She was not fond enough of him after all, then?”
“I dashed well don’t know,” he said. “She refuses to say. Says that has nothing to do with anything. She had made that infernal promise to Papa and she is going to keep it, by God, until I am twenty-one and Kate is married.”
“Oh, dear,” Vanessa said. “I thought perhaps she would consider that things have changed somewhat.”
“As they dashed well have,” he said. “I am Merton now, Nessie. I have land and a fortune and a life. I have new friends. I have a future. It is not that I don’t love Meg. It is not that I am not grateful for all she has done for me since Papa died. I will never forget, and I will always be grateful. But I resent having to account for my every movement every single hour of the day. And I resent being made the cause of her rejecting the best marriage offer she will probably ever have. If she does not like him well enough, then fine. I applaud her having the gumption to refuse him. But if it is not that… If it is just me … Ah, this must be Constantine.”
He brightened considerably.
Vanessa had no wish to come face-to-face with their cousin. She patted Stephen’s arm.
“I’ll see what she has to say,” she said. “Have fun.”
“Oh, I will,” he said. “Constantine is a capital fellow. So is Lyngate, Nessie, I must confess. He keeps an eye on me, it is true, but he does not try to put leading strings on me.”
He left the house without waiting for Constantine to knock on the door.
Margaret was tight-lipped and uncommunicative when Vanessa arrived in the drawing room and explained that she had just been talking with Stephen.
“The trouble with our brother,” Margaret said, “is that he thinks his new circumstances have added four years or so to his life. But the truth is, Nessie, that he is still a boy, and a boy who is becoming more rebellious by the hour.”
“He is a boy who perhaps needs a somewhat less firm hand on his reins,” Vanessa suggested.
“Oh, not you too,” Margaret said, clearly exasperated. “He should be at Warren Hall with his tutors.”
“And soon he will be,” Vanessa said. “He also needs to become acquainted with the world that awaits him when he reaches his majority. But let us not quarrel over him. The Marquess of Allingham has paid his addresses to you?”
“It was very obliging of him,” Margaret said. “But I have said no, of course.”
“Of course?” Vanessa raised her eyebrows. “I thought perhaps you were growing fond of him.”
“Then you thought wrongly,” Margaret said. “You of all people ought to know that I cannot even consider marriage until I have fulfilled the obligation to our family that I took on eight years ago.”
“But Elliott and I live close to Warren Hall,” Vanessa said. “And Kate will reach her majority in a few months’ time. Stephen will be at university for most of the next several years. By that time he will be a full adult.”
“But that time is not yet,” Margaret said.
Vanessa tipped her head to one side and regarded her closely.
“Do you not want to marry, Meg?” she asked. “Ever?”
Crispin Dew had much to answer for, she thought.
Margaret spread her hands on her lap and contemplated the backs of them.
“If I do not,” she said, “the time will come when I will have to live at Warren Hall with Stephen’s wife as the mistress. Or at Finchley Park with you. Or with Kate somewhere and her husband. I suppose the time will come when I will marry anyone who is kind enough to offer. But not yet.”
Vanessa stared at her bent head. There was a lengthy silence.
“Meg,” she said eventually, “Stephen probably does not know about… about Crispin, unless Kate has said anything to him. He thinks your refusal of the Marquess of Allingham is all about him.”
“And so it is,” Margaret said.
“No, it is not,” Vanessa said. “It is about Crispin.”
Margaret lifted her head to look at her, a
frown creasing her brow.
“Stephen needs to know that,” Vanessa said. “He needs to know that he is not responsible for keeping you from happiness.”
“Stephen is my happiness,” Margaret said fiercely. “As are you and Kate.”
“And so you put fetters upon all of us,” Vanessa said. “I love you dearly, Meg. I love Kate and Stephen too. But I would not describe any of you as my happiness. My happiness cannot come from another person.”
“Not even Lord Lyngate?” Margaret asked her. “Or Hedley?”
Vanessa shook her head.
“Not even Hedley or Elliott,” she said. “My happiness has to come from within myself or it is too fragile a thing to be of any use to me and too much of a burden to benefit any of my loved ones.”
Margaret got to her feet and walked to the window to stare down on Berkeley Square below.
“You do not understand, Nessie,” she said. “Nobody understands. When I made my promise to Papa, I knew I was making a twelve-year commitment—until Stephen reached his majority. I am eight years into that commitment. I am not going to shrug free of the remaining four years just because our circumstances have changed, just because you are happily married and Kate is being courted by half a dozen or more eligible gentlemen and Stephen is chafing at the bit to be free. Or because I have had a good offer and might go off to Northumberland to begin a new life and leave Kate and Stephen to your care and Lord Lyngate’s. This has nothing to do with Crispin Dew It has nothing to do with anything except a promise freely made and gladly carried out. I love you all. I will not abandon my duty even if Stephen finds it irksome. I will not.”
Vanessa moved up beside her and wrapped an arm about her waist.
“Let’s go shopping,” she said. “I saw the most glorious bonnet yesterday, but it was royal blue and would not suit me at all. It will look quite ravishing on you, though. Come and see it before someone else buys it. Where is Kate, by the way?”
“She has gone for a carriage ride with Miss Flaxley and Lord Bretby and Mr. Ames,” Margaret said. “I have more bonnets than I know what to do with, Nessie.”