Kit looked at them, mystified. They appeared to him to be speaking in riddles.
‘It seems quite simple to me. Eleanor is not interested in explanations…’
‘Nonsense!’ Beth said robustly. ‘She is hiding her hurt behind that confounded pride, Kit! I’ll wager she is positively expiring to know! If Marcus disappeared for five months without a word, the first thing that I would wish to know is where he had been—’
‘And the second would be who he had been with!’ Charlotte finished, nodding. ‘That would be after he had apologised, of course! Kit, I hope that the very first thing that you said to Eleanor was how sorry you were and how much you had missed her…’
Kit could feel the guilty expression spreading across his face. ‘Well…There was the matter of Paulet to deal with first…’
Charlotte sighed heavily. ‘Oh Kit—no! Tell me you did not blame Eleanor for her situation!’
Kit made a hopeless gesture. ‘I tried to explain matters to her later when my temper had cooled, but—’
‘Too late!’ Beth said, in a disgusted tone. ‘How like a man!’
There was a heavy silence.
‘There have been rumours about you, you know, Kit,’ Charlotte ventured. ‘It has been most distressing for Eleanor.’
Kit looked up, his attention arrested. ‘Rumours of what?’
‘Rumours of actresses—or was it opera singers?’ Charlotte looked vague. ‘You know how these tales spring up! People were forever claiming to have sighted you abroad and Eleanor has heard every one of the stories! The gossips made sure of that!’
Kit scowled. This was getting worse and worse. His guilt settled into a lump in his stomach. So Eleanor had heard rumours about him and he had heard scandal about her…And if he was unsure whether she had been unfaithful, she must believe the same of him…What a confounded mess they had got themselves into!
‘Those stories are not true!’ he said coldly. ‘And I have heard plenty of stories about Eleanor, if it comes to that! Muse to Sir Charles Paulet, mistress to Lord George Darke—’
‘Poppycock! Club scandal!’ Beth’s silver eyes flashed. ‘Eleanor is as virtuous as on the day you married her!’
Kit frowned at her. ‘Beth, I admire you for defending Eleanor, but…’ he shifted his shoulders uncomfortably ‘…she practically admitted to me that she had encouraged the attentions of other men! Oh, not in so many words…’ he had heard Beth’s exasperated sigh ‘…but why else would she refuse to discuss what had happened during the last few months? She is afraid to tell me the whole truth!’
He thought that his cousin looked as though she would explode and he almost backed away. Beth could be awesome when her anger was roused.
‘Kit,’ Beth said, with reasonable restraint, ‘you are speaking nonsense!’ She took a deep breath. ‘We were not going to tell you this since we both agreed that it was Eleanor’s place to speak to you, but…’ she broke off at Charlotte’s murmured objection ‘…no, Lottie, I cannot keep quiet! For some extraordinary reason Kit thinks himself the injured party, when poor Eleanor is only nineteen and has been reviled and laughed at and ruined through the careless way in which he abandoned her—’ She ran out of breath and started again. ‘And now Kit adds his own voice to the chorus of disapproval! Oh, it makes me so cross!’
‘Yes,’ Charlotte said, in her customary, more measured tones. ‘Beth is correct, you know, Kit!’
Kit held a hand up in surrender. ‘Perhaps I have misjudged the situation…’
Beth glared at him. ‘You have, Kit! Indeed you have!’
‘I am sorry.’
There was a startled silence.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Beth said faintly.
Kit gave her a glimmer of a smile. ‘I know you think I can never apologise…’
‘No, I know it…’
‘Whatever the case…’ Kit grimaced. ‘I had no notion of any of this.’ He looked away. ‘I do not understand. How could Eleanor have been reviled when I was the one who deserted her?’
Beth raised her eyes to heaven.
Charlotte tutted. ‘For all your supposed experience of the world, Kit, I sometimes think you the veriest babe in arms! Do you not know that it is always the woman’s reputation that suffers? If you left her there must have been a reason—so goes the reckoning. In this case the favourite explanation is that you found her not to be virtuous…Which is where the rumours started!’
Kit groaned. ‘I did not think…Was it so very bad for her?’
‘Yes,’ Beth said baldly. ‘However, I believe she might have borne it with fortitude had she but heard one word from you!’
Kit put his head in his hands. ‘I sent her letters…’
‘They never arrived.’ Charlotte was definite. ‘And though I agree with what Beth has said, what good a letter when it was you that Eleanor needed, Kit!’
‘It might at least have made a small difference to how she felt.’ Kit remembered the words he had written with something like pain. He had never penned a love letter before but his anguish had lent finesse to his words:
My dear love
Forgive me for leaving you so suddenly and without a word. I had no intention of this…Pray seek my sister’s help until I may return and I swear it will not be for long…Forgive me, my love…
But it had been long, far longer than he had intended. Each day away from her had been purgatory, hoping that she had received his letters, that she would understand. And then he had come back, found his wife in a compromising situation with another man and had heard all the scandalous tales about her. He had been blinded by an astonishing jealousy that had swept all other thoughts from his head. She had not been pining without him. She had had the effrontery to stick her proud little nose in the air and declaim that they should have a thoroughly modern marriage. Well, that was one idea of which he would just have to disabuse her!
He stood up. ‘I believe that I must speak with my wife. We must untangle this muddle. I will make her listen to me!’
Charlotte smiled. ‘No, Kit, I believe that would be disastrous! You should handle the situation with delicacy rather than go rushing in like a bull at a gate. You must set out to court your wife again and only when you have her trust can you embark on the necessary explanations.’
‘Yes,’ Beth added, with a mischievous grin, ‘and then you must seduce your wife, Kit! Slowly and subtly. For a man of your reputation it should not be too difficult a matter!’
Kit gave her a rueful smile. ‘With a lady of Eleanor’s strength of mind I believe I shall have my work cut out. She will not forgive me easily.’
‘Good!’ Beth said severely.
When Kit had gone out, the two Trevithick ladies looked at each other in silence for a moment.
‘I hope, Lottie, that you did not think me too harsh with your brother?’ Beth asked, hesitantly for her. ‘I am afraid that I did lose my temper a little.’
Charlotte smiled ruefully. ‘No, no, Beth, you said nothing Kit did not deserve! Indeed, I believe he got away lightly and we certainly gave him something to think on. I was only afraid that you were going to say something about…’
‘About the baby?’ Beth said slowly. ‘No. Only Eleanor can tell him about that.’
‘Do you think she will?’ Charlotte asked.
Beth looked sad. ‘I do not know, Lottie. I do not know.’
Had Kit but known it, his wife was having no easier an interview that he was himself. On discovering that her husband had gone to take tea with his sister in Upper Grosvenor Street, Eleanor had decided that she also had some calls to make. It would not do to be seen to be sitting around at home waiting for him. The difficulty was where to go. During the Season she had been taken under Beth and Marcus’s wing and depended very much upon them for society. Though they had not been able to prevent the outrageous gossip about her amongst the Ton, they had been steadfast in their support and Eleanor had even felt comfortable enough to joke that Marcus would have called out ever
y man who insulted her, except that he did not have enough time to deal with them all.
Now, however, she felt a reluctance to go to Trevithick House. Beth would probably be with Charlotte and Kit, and even if she were not…Eleanor sighed. Beth was Kit’s cousin, after all, and Eleanor did not wish to put her in an awkward conflict of loyalties. She also shrank from sharing her feelings with anyone when she felt so sore and confused.
Instead she went to Bedford Square, where the Dowager Viscountess of Trevithick had taken a small mews house and was happily ensconced in ripping to shreds the character of her family and acquaintance, much to the enjoyment of her small audience of like-minded matrons. They were all assembled: Lady Pomfret, sharp and fat, Mrs Belton with a thin face like vinegar, and sundry other ladies large and small, with the common interest of malice and scandal. Eleanor had always secretly called her mother’s gossiping friends the Trevithick Tabbies and had given them a wide berth during the Season. Now she came forward into the circle, already regretting the impulse that had driven her into their company and almost half-inclined to flee.
‘Eleanor, my dear!’ Lady Pomfret, her mother’s bosom bow, edged along the sofa to make room for her. ‘How lovely to see you again! You have been avoiding us, you naughty puss! Squeeze in here, my love, and tell us all about that wicked husband of yours! He has not left you again, I presume?’
Someone else tittered. The Dowager Viscountess grunted her approval of the sally and leant forward to drain her glass of laudanum, her massive figure creaking like a ship in a storm. Her bonnet was awry on her greying curls and her face was curiously flushed, her eyes sunken and bloodshot in the folds of her face. Eleanor wondered, with a stab of pity, whether her mother realised quite the figure she cut.
Lady Trevithick gestured impatiently to Eleanor to refill the glass before she sat down, and after a moment Eleanor moved across to the sideboard and poured from the bottle concealed in the corner. She made sure the glass was full—Lady Trevithick would only send her back to top it up if it was not. Eleanor sighed. Her mother had become increasing dependent on her laudanum in the last few years, taking it to mitigate the pains of bad headaches, or so she said. She handed the glass to her mother, who swallowed most of it immediately.
‘Bad blood in the Mostyn family,’ the Dowager said, glaring malevolently at her daughter from under her heavy brows. ‘Bad Ton. Always were a bunch of pirates and scoundrels!’
The group murmured its agreement. Eleanor shifted slightly on the sofa. She accepted a cup of tea and picked at a piece of fruit cake.
‘Is Lord Mostyn happy to be back, my dear?’ Mrs Belton enquired, picking biscuit crumbs from her dress and watching Eleanor covertly under the guise of the manoeuvre. ‘I had heard that he was having such a high time of it abroad!’
‘He has been kept occupied with business these past five months, ma’am,’ Eleanor said, wondering why she was bothering to defend Kit when she was so cross with him herself.
‘Business was it?’ Lady Pomfret cackled. ‘I hear he is very adept at that sort of business!’
Eleanor flushed. These harpies, who considered themselves so very well bred, were more vulgar than anyone she knew.
‘Kit has been in Ireland,’ she said coldly. ‘He has told me all about it!’
Mrs Belton’s painted eyebrows swooped up. ‘Ireland, was it? I heard it was the Continent! I could positively swear that he was seen in Italy…’
‘They seek him here, they seek him there,’ Lady Pomfret murmured. ‘Dearest Eleanor sought him quite everywhere, did you not, my love? But then, you do not seem to be repining! I heard that Sir Charles Paulet has written an ode to your ankles!’
‘Oh!’ The ladies plied their fans.
‘Sir Charles does indeed have a vivid imagination,’ Eleanor agreed frostily. She turned to her mother.
‘Pray, Mama, has my Aunt Trevithick written to say when she will be arriving in town?’
Lady Trevithick nodded, and paused from stuffing bonbons into her mouth. ‘She arrives in a couple of weeks.’ Her gaze swept around the circle of curious faces. ‘My late husband, God rest his soul, has an eccentric sister who sees fit to come up to London. I am sure we shall make her most welcome, for all that she is quite unpresentable!’
‘We shall show her how to go on.’ Lady Pomfret nodded condescendingly.
‘Explain to her the ways of town.’ Mrs Belton simpered.
Eleanor felt a sudden lift of spirits. The prospect of this group of cats attempting to give Lady Salome Trevithick some town bronze was enough to cheer anyone who knew that eccentric spinster. She rose to her feet.
‘Well, I must be going home. We are engaged to dine with the Fanshawes tonight and there is the Trevithick ball the day after tomorrow…’
‘Oh indeed!’ Lady Pomfret beamed. ‘I can scarce wait…’
‘And you need to make sure that your husband is still with us,’ Mrs Belton observed, smiling sweetly. ‘How terrible if he had disappeared again. Dear Eleanor, such a pleasure to see you! I am so glad that you are not in the least cast down by that dreadful man.’
‘Dreadful man—dreadful behaviour!’ Lady Pomfret echoed. ‘All men are beasts, dear Eleanor!’
Eleanor bent dutifully to kiss her mother’s cheek. ‘Goodbye, Mama. I will see you this evening.’
Lady Trevithick grunted. She pressed the sticky glass into Eleanor’s hand. ‘Fetch me another before you go, girl. And make sure that no one sees you.’
This was clearly impossible, for all eyes were upon her. Eleanor refilled the laudanum again, noting that Mrs Belton dug Lady Pomfret in the ribs as the Dowager Viscountess reached greedily for the glass.
‘We will see you at the ball, Eleanor dear!’ carolled Lady Pomfret. ‘Be sure to hold on to that wicked husband of yours when he tries to stray away! Or at least persuade him to be more circumspect next time. Discretion, my dear. Discretion is all!’
Chapter Three
Eleanor had lied. There was no dinner engagement for that night, and as the coach clattered home she remembered that Lord and Lady Fanshawe were in fact out of town, and thought that no doubt Lady Pomfret would discover this for herself and would quiz her about it. The time stretched emptily before her. Would Kit be home for dinner or would he dine at his club? Would he return at all that night? If he did so, would they have anything to say to each other or would they sit staring into space, occasionally making desperate remarks on the decoration of the room or the flavour of the food? Eleanor had observed that many married couples, of long standing or otherwise, had absolutely no conversation with one another and spent their entire time seeking more congenial company. She had not wanted that to happen to her.
The house was quiet and Carrick respectfully informed her that Lord Mostyn was out but was expected back for dinner. There were two posies of flowers waiting for her in the hall; the first were pink rosebuds tied with ribbon, and the second were huge stripy orange lilies, their stamens covered in thick pollen, lolling open in a way that Eleanor could only consider most vulgar. She looked at the rosebud posy and her heart lifted slightly. Perhaps that was from Kit—tasteful, understated, a small token of admiration that might grow into something more meaningful, were she to permit it…There was a note nestling between the stems. Eleanor felt a sudden rush of anticipation and pulled it out, scratching her fingers on the thorns on the process.
The sweetest rose
That ever grows
Amidst the snows
Is mine to…
The final word was scored through, as though the poet had had some difficulty with his rhyme and could not be bothered to rewrite his message. Beneath was scrawled:
‘I live in hope, sweet Eleanor, that you will still be mine,’ followed by the flourish of Sir Charles Paulet’s signature.
Eleanor felt a vicious stab of disappointment, stronger by far than the irritation engendered by Sir Charles’s obtuse persistence. Of course Kit would not be sending her flowers—how could she have bee
n so foolish? She was cross with herself for even wanting it.
The rosebuds had no scent and she was tempted to ask Carrick to throw them away, but she loved flowers and could not bear to waste them. Sending Lucy to put them in water, she turned her attention to the lilies. They really were dreadfully brash, like a Cyprian tricked out to catch a new protector. Again there was a card. Eleanor opened it with some trepidation. There were only five words:
‘The night of the ball?’
Eleanor clutched the card to her chest as though she had already been caught out in an illicit act. She did not recognise the writing but in her heart she knew these could only be from the man who had been pursuing her for some time, the most notorious rakehell in London…
‘Oh, ma’am!’ Lucy had reappeared and was eyeing the lolling lilies with a mixture of admiration and doubt. ‘How…um…striking! Are they from his lordship?’
‘No!’ Eleanor snapped, still heart sore. ‘Married people do not send each other flowers, Lucy!’
Lucy’s eyes opened wide. ‘Flowers of another sort! Oh ma’am, they look very common…’
‘Excessively!’ Eleanor said crossly. ‘I cannot conceive what sort of man would think these appropriate to me…’
‘Well, there is Lord George Darke, ma’am,’ Lucy said obligingly. ‘He is forever pestering you and I have heard tell that he is the most dreadful rake! Indeed, before his lordship returned I did wonder if you would succumb to his charms, but what the master would say now…’
‘Be quiet, you foolish girl!’ Eleanor frowned ferociously at her. ‘Take those ugly flowers and put them in the darkest corner of the house! No, put them in the cellar—’
She broke off as the street door opened and Kit came in. It was raining a little outside and she saw that his hair was dusted with tiny drops that sparkled in the light like diamonds. He stripped off his gloves and handed them with his coat to Carrick, with a quick word of thanks. He came across to her and gave her a cool kiss on the cheek. Eleanor jumped away. She knew it was only for the benefit of the servants but it threw her into confusion.
The Notorious Marriage Page 6