The Notorious Marriage

by Nicola Cornick

  Kit’s lips twitched. At least she had not underestimated him. ‘I knew you were hiding something! You are not good at deception, my dear!’

  Eleanor’s blush deepened. ‘And did you deliberately set out to make me cross so that I would forget it?’

  ‘That too!’

  ‘Well, I call that very cruel of you, Kit.’ Eleanor sounded piteous. ‘I just saw the little piece of paper on the carpet when I came in for the…er…the pen and ink! I confess I was curious…’

  ‘Spinning me another tale, my love?’ Kit said cheerfully. ‘Why not confess you have been rummaging through my drawers? Would you care to tell me why?’

  Eleanor’s lips pursed. ‘Oh…well…’

  ‘Perhaps you were trying to discover what I had been doing during my time away? Would you like me to tell you?’

  A stormy look came into Eleanor’s eyes. ‘No! I have told you that it is of no interest to me, sir!’

  ‘Very well.’ Kit smiled to himself. That was manifestly untrue but it seemed he would have to give her more time. That was no hardship, for he was starting to enjoy himself.

  ‘Good night then, my lord.’ Eleanor was looking at him hesitantly, surprised, perhaps that he was about to let her go so easily. Kit put out a hand.

  ‘A moment, Eleanor…’

  ‘My lord?’

  She was standing close enough for him to smell her perfume. It was a very subtle mix of rose and jasmine, faint but sweet as Eleanor herself. Kit felt his senses tighten.

  ‘Do you truly think me pompous and boring?’

  She cast her eyes down in maidenly confusion. ‘Oh no! But you were deliberately saying those things to provoke me, my lord!’

  ‘Very true. And is our life together very tedious and lacking in excitement? I imagine it could be much different…’

  This time she did not look away, but held his gaze with her own. He saw innocence and confusion in her eyes and it was unbearably tempting. He leant closer and touched his lips to hers. Her eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes, her lips softened, full and sweet. Every predatory instinct Kit possessed was pushing him to take her in his arms and plunder her mouth with the ravenous hunger that had possessed him ever since he had seen her again.

  He drew back.

  He heard her sigh quietly and could have sworn that it was with frustration. He hoped so.

  ‘Good night, Eleanor.’ He held the door open for her and after a moment she went out of the room, pausing to look back at him as she crossed the hall. He watched her all the way up the stairs and she looked back at least twice more.

  Kit smiled as he closed the study door softly. So Eleanor was curious about his absence even though she was denying it. That augured well. And she had not pulled away when he had kissed her. And she had addressed him by his given name. Only once, perhaps, but entirely naturally. Kit picked up his unfinished drink and took a swallow. It would take time to win back her trust but he was confident that he could do it.

  Chapter Four

  The following day was fine. Eleanor woke to sunlight, the sounds of the birds and the faint calls of the vendors who were already setting up their stalls in the street outside. For a moment she lay still, feeling vaguely happy. Last night…Last night Kit had kissed her—if that tiniest touch of the lips could really be called a kiss—and it had been very pleasant. Very pleasant indeed. Eleanor frowned. That was not what she had intended. That would not do at all. She was angry with Kit and wished to keep him at arm’s length. The happy feeling drained away.

  When she went down to breakfast she discovered that Kit had already left the house for some unspecified destination. The remaining scraps of Eleanor’s cheerfulness now disappeared in a manner she could not but admit was contrary. She had wanted to avoid Kit rather than seek him out. Yet…

  She called Lucy, put on her bonnet and went out. From the extensive list of entertainments that she had put together the previous night she chose the circulating library. It did not hold her interest for long, though she chose two books, one Miss Burney’s Evelina and the other a well-worn copy of a book called Tristram Shandy.

  From the library she went to look at the shops, with Lucy still respectably in tow. This proved to be a mistake, however. With her nose pressed to the window and no money in her reticule, Eleanor felt deprived and cross, though she struggled hard with herself against the feeling.

  No one called in the afternoon. Eleanor sat in the garden and read Tristram Shandy and rather enjoyed it. As the day wore on she went in to speak to Cook about menus for the rest of the week and was happy to approve the list for dinner that night. She went up to change early, filled with a happy anticipation of Kit’s company, which she assured herself was only because she had been alone all day. In the event she could have saved herself the excitement, for Kit sent an apology explaining that he was dining with a business acquaintance and did not know when he would be back. Eleanor sat alone at the big table with her book propped in front of her, pushed the food around her plate and retired early.

  She had been reading in her room for another hour when she started to feel restless again and decided to go back downstairs. This time she had no intention of rummaging through Kit’s drawers but decided to play the piano. The music-room was cold, for no fire had been laid and this was the north side of the house. Shivering a little, Eleanor opened the piano lid and sat down on the stool, placing her candles on the piano lid. Then she realised the next problem—there was no music. But in fact that was not a problem. She had not excelled in many things—her needlework was no more than adequate, her watercolour painting very poor and her singing painful to the ear of a listener—but she loved music and dancing. She resolved to play from memory.

  At first her fingers stumbled a little over the notes, for she had not played for over five months and was out of practice. She chose a couple of Bach cantatas to help her regain her skill, and the smooth, slow cadences were soothing to her spirit. Then she tried something a little more lively—a minuet by Louis Boccherini that she had heard at a concert the previous year and had committed to memory. Finally she picked a haunting tune by Beethoven that had been popular with the débutantes because of its romantic overtones and poured all her feelings into it.

  The candlelight guttered as the last notes died away and Eleanor shivered in the draught from the doorway. She had been playing from memory, eyes closed, but now she opened them and blinked a little. Kit was standing by the empty fireplace, his tall figure casting a long shadow. He did not speak at once.

  Eleanor got clumsily to her feet and closed the piano lid with an abrupt click, almost trapping her fingers in her haste to go. She felt obscurely as though she had been caught doing something wrong—again.

  ‘I did not realise that you had returned—’ She began, then stopped because that made her sound even more guilty although she had nothing to be guilty for.

  Kit came forward into the circle of light thrown by the candles. His voice was low. ‘That was beautiful, Eleanor. I had no idea you played so well.’

  Eleanor looked at him, then away swiftly. ‘Thank you.’ She knew she sounded stilted. All her frustrations came rushing back. ‘It is not surprising that you did not know. I never had the opportunity to play for you, did I?’

  ‘No,’ Kit said slowly. ‘I imagine that there is a great deal that we do not know about each other.’

  They looked at each other very steadily. ‘Almost everything,’ Eleanor said. She shivered. ‘Excuse me, I must go. It is cold in here.’

  Kit took her hand in his, which was not precisely what she had intended.

  ‘You are frozen! Come into the study and have a glass of wine to warm you.’

  He picked up the candlestick and offered his other arm to Eleanor, who accepted reluctantly. After the chill of the music-room the study was warm, with a welcome fire glowing in the grate. A glass of port stood on the table beside Kit’s chair; a book was turned spine up on the seat. Evidently Kit had been reading and had
got up when he had heard her playing.

  Eleanor took the other chair before the fire.

  ‘Sherry, ratafia?’ Kit raised his brows.

  Eleanor smiled. ‘Thank you. I will have a glass of port with you.’

  Kit smiled and inclined his head, filling a glass for her and topping up his own. He put the book aside and sat down.

  ‘So how did you learn to play without music?’

  Eleanor took a sip of port and savoured the taste. She knew it was not a lady’s drink, at least not a drink that respectable ladies took, but it was extremely nice.

  ‘I just found that I possessed the talent,’ she said candidly. ‘I had been playing the pianoforte for years, but one evening when I was about fifteen my parents held a concert and I heard a piece that I did not recognise. I tried to commit it to memory and the next morning I went down and played it.’ She laughed. ‘Everyone was so surprised! Oh, I made a few mistakes, but I soon mastered it. And of course I practised and practised.’ She saw that Kit was watching her with a disturbingly intent look in his eye. ‘All débutantes must have an accomplishment, be it singing, or playing, or drawing,’ she finished brightly.

  Kit nodded. ‘I suppose so. Only yours is rather unusual.’

  Eleanor shifted a little uncomfortably. She downed the rest of her port in a single draught.

  ‘Thank you, I am warm now. I will leave you to your book.’

  ‘A moment.’ Kit put out a hand and touched the back of her wrist lightly. Eleanor tried not to flinch. The slight touch felt as though it had burned her, making her catch her breath. The study was warm, small, intimate.

  ‘You said earlier that we knew so little of each other and you were right,’ Kit said slowly. ‘How would it be if we spent a little time—like this—just talking on innocuous topics. There could be no harm in that, surely?’

  Eleanor sat and looked at him. It sounded harmless. In fact, it sounded very pleasant. Here was a way to avoid the loneliness that had frightened her earlier, whilst in no way threatening the comfortable surface calm of their marriage. She gave a tentative nod.

  ‘Well…I suppose…that sounds quite enjoyable…’

  Kit smiled slightly. ‘I think so too. Perhaps tomorrow you could tell me of your other interests?’

  ‘Tomorrow it will be your turn!’ Eleanor said pertly. Her face fell a little. ‘But there is the ball, and we shall have no time…’

  ‘I am sure we can make time,’ Kit said gently.

  Eleanor got up. She suddenly felt quite tired. Then she remembered about the allowance, and lingered.

  ‘Kit…’ she could feel herself blushing a little ‘…there are some items that I need to buy, a few trifling purchases…’

  Kit nodded. ‘We shall go shopping tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh!’ Eleanor frowned a little. ‘But there is no need for you to come! They are only small things, underwear…’

  Kit looked at her quizzically and somehow it made her feel even more self-conscious. ‘Of course if you wish to come that would be very pleasant, but…I only wanted to save you the trouble, and if you were to make me an allowance instead, then you could go to your club instead of squiring me about town…’

  ‘Eleanor,’ Kit said softly, ‘I should be delighted to accompany you.’

  There seemed little else to say. Eleanor looked at him, a little at a loss. ‘Then that would be most agreeable…’

  Kit got up to hold the door for her. ‘In the morning?’

  Eleanor glanced up at him. ‘Um…Yes, thank you.’

  Kit took her hand and pressed a kiss on the back. Eleanor felt it all the way down to her toes. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she glanced back and saw that Kit was still standing in the doorway watching her. It made her feel strange. She imagined that she could feel his gaze following her all the way up the stairs, raising a little tingle of awareness on the nape of her neck. Once in her bedroom, she called for Lucy to help her undress and endured her chatter with far more patience than before. She did not expect to sleep well and would have been astonished to discover that she had fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  ‘The amber scarf would become you exceedingly, my love, and the rose pink too,’ Kit said judiciously. They were seated on the striped satin sofa in one of Bond Street’s most elegant—and prodigiously expensive—mantua-makers, and Eleanor was bewildered by the fact that she had just purchased a walking-dress in bronze, a ball-gown in gold and a dashing pelisse in a deep crimson velvet, despite the fact that she had set out requiring one pair of gloves, some silk stockings and possibly, just possibly, a new bonnet. It was Kit’s bad influence, she told herself—he had suggested purchases with a prodigality that had made her eyes open wide and had made the shop’s proprietor, a lady who was as well-upholstered as her gilt sofa, beam with pleasure. And Eleanor was forced to admit that shopping with her husband had been so very much more pleasant that going out with her maid.

  ‘I will take the amber,’ Eleanor said cautiously, ‘and perhaps a pair of gloves in the pink—’

  She broke off as she saw Kit exchange a nod of complicity with the proprietor. No doubt both scarves would find their way into her wardrobe and she could scarce complain, for they were excessively pretty.

  ‘That really was quite unnecessarily generous of you, my lord,’ she said, once they were out on the street, sped on their way by the heartfelt good wishes of the shop owner. ‘I have no need of additional dresses and as for the scarves, I can hardly wear two at once! It really was quite unwarranted extravagance—’ She broke off at the spark of amusement in Kit’s eye.

  ‘Why, what is it?’

  ‘I do believe that you are a secret puritan, my love,’ Kit said ruefully. ‘It is another aspect of your character that I would never have guessed! How many gentlemen have to force their wives to buy dresses…’ He gave her a droll look. ‘I can see I shall have to watch you to prevent you sending them back!’

  Eleanor laughed. ‘Oh, I am not so much a puritan as that, my lord, and they are all very pretty.’ She sighed. ‘I only required some stockings, however…’

  Kit looked down at her. There was a wicked smile curving his lips. ‘Then by all means let us go and buy you some, my love…’

  ‘However, I think that I shall send Lucy to purchase them for me!’ Eleanor finished swiftly. The thought of Kit sorting through silk stockings with her made her feel quite faint. ‘I am a little fatigued and would like to go home now.’

  Kit shot her an amused look but he did not demur. They strolled along the pavement, through the crush of shoppers. It was a fine morning and Bond Street was busy.

  ‘So now I know you are a secret puritan who plays the piano like an angel,’ Kit said thoughtfully. ‘What a curious mixture you are, my dear, and I wonder what else there is to learn?’

  Eleanor smiled up at him. ‘It is your turn,’ she reminded him.

  Kit looked thoughtful. ‘Well…I prefer living in the country to living in town, I detest mock turtle soup and I was bullied shamelessly by my cousin and sister when I was a boy!’

  ‘Oh for shame!’ Eleanor burst out laughing. ‘That cannot be true! Charlotte and Beth would do no such thing!’

  Kit grinned. ‘I assure you that being the only boy at the mercy of those two girls was no pleasure. Charlotte, being the elder twin, would order me about, and Beth, being younger than the two of us, would whine to join in. But since you do not like my disclosures, tell me what you already know of me instead.’

  Eleanor’s eyes sparkled. This was much easier than she had thought, for once she started to think of it there were plenty of things she remembered about Kit from her come-out Season. Perhaps he was not so much of a stranger as she had thought.

  ‘You like the plays of Mr Sheridan but not those of Mr Shakespeare,’ she began. ‘As a boy you used to steal apples for cider—I am sorry I do not recall the correct term…’

  ‘Scrumping,’ Kit said obligingly.

  ‘Yes—you
would go out with the village boys to raid the orchards!’ Eleanor laughed. ‘I remember you telling me about it one evening when we sat out a dance together. And speaking of dancing, I also know that you are very kind, for when Lord Grey scorned poor little Miss Harvey at Almacks that time and referred to her as a cit, you asked her to dance—’

  ‘When I would have preferred to stand up with you!’ Kit finished. He grimaced. ‘I suppose that was kind…’

  ‘Excessively so, and you know it. You did it to spare her blushes.’ Eleanor paused, head on one side. ‘Unless I mistake, of course, and you were cherishing a secret tendre for her!’

  Kit smiled down at her. ‘I think not! I had room in my heart for only one secret passion…’

  There was an odd pause. They looked at each other. Eleanor was silent, utterly unaware of the crowds that ebbed and flowed around them. Suddenly she was aware of Kit in the most curious detail; the sheen of his skin in the sunlight and the tawny gold of his hair, the smooth material of his sleeve beneath her fingers and the strength of his arm beneath that, the fresh air scent of him and the warmth of the smile that was creeping into those blue eyes as he looked down at her…

  ‘Eleanor! And Kit! I am so glad to see you! I was hoping to call on you soon—’

  Eleanor jumped and tore her gaze away from Kit, knowing instinctively that he too had been snatched from whatever intense preoccupation had captured them. She blinked a little in the sunshine.

  ‘Beth! Marcus! How lovely! Are you—’ Eleanor broke off. Her brother had given her a brief smile, but when Kit had held his hand out, Marcus had ignored it as though Kit simply were not there. Now Eleanor watched as her brother turned to Beth a little abruptly.

  ‘If you are ready, my dear…’

  The colour flamed to Eleanor’s face. Although Marcus had acknowledged her, she was as indignant as if he had cut her dead. How dared he ignore Kit in such a public manner! She felt Kit stiffen beside her and shot a quick look at him. She could tell that he was furious. His expression was set, his blue eyes hard. Eleanor saw his hand fall back to his side, saw Marcus cast him a look of comprehensive dislike. She was mortified—this was all on her account and she could not bear it. Eleanor trembled, thinking that in another moment her husband would be calling her brother out and they would all be engrossed in the most appalling scandal imaginable.