Rakehell's Widow

by Sandra Heath

  In a moment he was on his feet and had come around the pianoforte to her, taking her gently in his arms and holding her close. “Oh, Alabeth,” he murmured, “if only you knew how I wish to kiss away those tears—”

  “Please leave me,” she began, her voice breaking as she tried to move away, but his arms tightened around her.

  “Leave you? How could I leave you when your heart is breaking?” His voice was low and he bent his head to kiss her on the lips, his fingers moving in the softness of her hair. “Oh, Alabeth, I desire you more than any other woman.”

  From the depths of the house she heard the front door close and Jillian’s voice greeting Sanderson, and with a rush of relief she pulled sharply away from the embrace. He could see that the spell was broken, and anger darkened his eyes. His lips pressed together and annoyance touched his movements as he turned quickly to the seat at the pianoforte.

  Alabeth watched him, the remnants of the spell drifting away forever. How despicable he was, he had thought nothing of using her unhappiness to further his chances of seducing her. He had deliberately and callously chosen music which would affect her, and he had not cared about anything but his own desire.

  He sensed that something was suddenly wrong. “Alabeth—?”

  “I think, sir, that in future you should keep your distance.”

  “Oh, but, Alabeth—”

  “And do not address me again with such familiarity, Count Zaleski, for I do not like it and will not permit it.”

  “I know that you are upset—”

  “A fact which you would have done better to observe a little earlier. Your conduct here tonight has been monstrous.”

  He said nothing in reply, for at that moment Jillian came into the room. “Hello, Alabeth. Good evening, Count Zaleski.”

  Alabeth smiled, giving no hint of the scene which had passed a second before. “Hello, Jillian. And did you have an agreeable evening?”

  “I did, indeed. Charles was most entertaining, he really is an excellent actor, you know; I was quite surprised.”

  The Count had risen to his feet. “You speak of Sir Charles Allister, Lady Jillian?”

  “I do.” Jillian’s eyes were a little speculative as she looked at him, and Alabeth wondered what she was thinking.

  He took out his fob watch. “I think it is time I departed, Lady Alabeth, for I am expected at Brooks’s.”

  Jillian’s eyes were wide. “You are a wicked gambler, sir?”

  “I enjoy to play cards, yes.”

  She smiled. “Then I wish you well. I am so sorry I was not at home earlier, sir, but I trust it will not be long before you are able to give me my first lesson.”

  “I fear that I shall be unable to come to you until after Ascot now, but I will call as soon as possible after that.”

  “That will be excellent,” she replied, smiling. “It really is most kind of you to go to all this trouble.”

  “Not at all, Lady Jillian.”

  When he had gone, Alabeth turned to Jillian. “And what have you heard?”

  “Heard?”

  “Come, now, I know you well enough to know that you’ve heard something about Charles Allister and the Count.”

  “Well, to be truthful, I have, and it’s most interesting. It appears that after the fete last night—or should I say this morning?—a number of gentlemen, including both Charles and the Count, proceeded to Brooks’s. They had been at the table for an hour or so when suddenly Charles accused the Count of having palmed an ace, and it took all Piers Castleton’s considerable skill to smooth it over and prevent a duel.”

  Alabeth was astounded. “Charles actually accused the Count?”

  “Yes, and the Count hotly denied it. They are most definitely enemies now.” Jillian looked thoughtfully away. “It’s strange, but I did not think Charles had it in him.”

  “Evidently you were wrong.”

  “So it seems. Anyway, the outcome of it now is that the Count accuses Charles of being vindictive, and Charles is set upon ridiculing the Count’s musical abilities at every opportunity. It’s really very childish.”

  “Quarrels about honor frequently are.”

  Jillian nodded, still looking thoughtful. “I know I should be more enthusiastic about Charles, but I simply can’t. Oh, he can be entertaining, especially when he’s talking about his amateur theatricals, but I still find him dull and uninteresting on the whole. I want a man to be exciting and different, I want him to be like your Robert, or Piers Castleton—or even the Count.”

  “You would be a lot better off with Charles,” replied Alabeth with some feeling.

  “Possibly.”

  Jillian went to the pianoforte, leafing through the sheets of music. Alabeth watched her, wondering if it were true that she had made up that letter to Piers. Jillian smiled suddenly. “It says a great deal for Piers that he was able to prevent the duel between Charles and the Count, doesn’t it? I mean, imagine the scandal. I don’t think the First Consul would have been well pleased, do you?”

  “Hardly. Jillian—?” Alabeth hesitated to ask.

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you write that letter to Piers?”

  Jillian’s smile faded and she put the music sheets down.

  “You know that it was all make-believe, don’t you?”

  Alabeth said nothing.

  Jillian sat down very slowly. “It was all so foolish and reprehensible, Alabeth, and was a prime example of what I meant when I said that I always find it difficult to admit to something when I know I’m in the wrong. After I met Piers at Chatsworth, I simply couldn’t put him out of my mind. I suppose really that it was because I met him so suddenly after that business with Captain Francis. Anyway, one afternoon I amused myself by imagining I was the woman he loved.” Her cheeks reddened. “I was only pretending, I had no intention whatsoever of sending it, but then Father found it. It was the most embarrassing moment of my life and I simply couldn’t bring myself to tell the truth, for the truth was so humiliating. Father was anxious to put an end to the whole affair, telling me that Piers was not at all suitable, having been involved in that scandalous duel in which the Russian died, and that was why he set his mind on this being my first Season, for with Piers due to go to Europe…. I behaved very badly and I knew it, but somehow it only made me more disagreeable, especially toward you. I was ashamed of myself and I was totally devastated when you told me you were going to confront Piers. I was brought up very sharp indeed by that. I said then that I’d learned my lesson, and so I have.” She smiled ruefully. “Do you think very badly of me, Alabeth?”

  Alabeth went to her, bending to put her arms around her. “No, sweeting, of course not.”

  “I was an odious brat, wasn’t I?”

  “Yes.” Alabeth smiled.

  Jillian put her tongue out. “You aren’t supposed to agree. It’s all rather amusing now, when I think of it, for I do not think Piers would ever have looked at me, not if he is drawn to the likes of Adelina Carver. It was all the talk at Lady Dexter’s tonight.”

  “What was?”

  “Piers and Adelina. It appears that Adelina has told several of her friends that she loves Piers and he loves her.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, they were together a great deal at Carlton House, weren’t they? Everyone remarked upon it, and from what Adelina herself has said, well….” Jillian’s fingertips passed gently over the smooth surface of the ivory keys. “I envy her, Alabeth.”

  “Because she has Piers?”

  “No, silly, because she has a man like Piers. I want to love and be loved by a man like that, Alabeth. I want it more than anything else in the world.” Very softly, she began to play.

  Alabeth straightened, looking across at her broken reflection mirrored in the window. Piers had told the truth about the letter, he had told the truth about everything. What a fool she’d been. Well, she was paying the price of her foolishness now, for it was too late and he loved another.

  Ch
apter 19

  The boating party which Octavia had arranged to precede Ascot week was a dazzling affair and further proof that as a hostess the Duchess of Seaham could not be equaled.

  Stoneleigh Park, the Seaham ancestral home, was only three miles from Windsor and was therefore admirably placed for London, and Ascot. The ruins of an old abbey made a splendid setting for the magnificent new house straddling the low, south-facing hillside, and the park swept down from the grand terrace to the shallow valley where the lake sparkled in the June sun. In the center of the lake was the island where Charles Allister’s masque would be performed in the pavilion and where the guests would repose beneath the trees on yellow velvet cushions. There were arbors of flowers and filmy silk draperies which fluttered gently in the light breeze, and music was provided by the orchestra on the golden barge anchored a little way from the island. The strains of Handel’s Water Music drifted over the water and provided the perfect accompaniment for the occasion.

  The elongated flight of steps descending from the house’s grand terrace was adorned with tall white poles holding colorful banners. Hundreds of orange trees and other exotic plants had been placed advantageously on the grass, flowers and garlands decorated the wooden jetty, and there were more flowers in the little boats which were beginning to carry the guests to the island. A little earlier, a procession of footmen had conveyed the famed and exorbitantly priced luncheon hampers from Gunter’s, and they now waited in the shade of the island’s trees. Countless bottles of iced champagne were in readiness, having been chilled overnight with ice from the icehouse in the heart of the wood to the east of the house.

  Alabeth and Jillian waited their turn to be taken across the lake, and they occupied their time by strolling along the water’s edge. Jillian was in pale green and Alabeth in lavender, the long lace veil of her jockey bonnet fluttering softly down her back. She had come today with the express intention of at least attempting to tell Piers that she was sorry for her past conduct, but as yet there had been no opportunity—and besides, his liaison with Adelina was causing a great deal of speculation.

  Everyone at Stoneleigh Park that day appeared to know of the new amour, although naturally enough no one mentioned it within the hearing of Octavia or the Duke, or indeed within the hearing of Harry Ponsonby, whose black expression was very telling indeed of his displeasure at the new state of affairs. Adelina herself was not on Octavia’s list, which was hardly surprising, but she might as well have been, for the number of times her name was mentioned. Piers alone appeared to be oblivious to all the interest, and had apparently not spoken once of Adelina.

  At last it was time for Alabeth and Jillian to take their places in one of the boats. Alabeth could see Piers approaching with a group of gentlemen, and as she sat down on the cushion-strewn seat, she knew that he would be among the other passengers. As he reached the end of the jetty, however, he glanced at his fob watch and announced that he really did not have time to enjoy Octavia’s island feast as he had to return to Town. As he spoke, the only remaining seat was right next to Alabeth; he glanced straight into her eyes, and she felt certain that he had no appointment to keep at all, he was simply avoiding any contact with her. She looked away, trying to hide the immeasurable hurt this snub had dealt her, but then perhaps she deserved it, and he had said that all was past now— But the tears pricked her eyes as the boat cast off and the jetty slipped away behind.

  * * *

  A day later she saw him again, only this time he was accompanied by an obviously adoring Adelina. Charles Allister, fresh from a resounding triumph with his famous masque, had invited Alabeth and Jillian to share his box at the opera, where Mrs. Billington, the renowned singer, was to give a concert. Charles looked very splendid in his formal clothes, a sword at his side and a tricorn hat tucked under his arm, and Jillian looked very eye-catching in a crimson taffeta gown, her short curls hidden beneath a trencher cap of the same color and stitched with pearls. She had deliberated over wearing such a daring and vivid color, having had second thoughts from the outset about the suitability of such a shade for a young lady, but somehow it really did suit her, making her look not wicked, but carefree.

  Alabeth wore a turquoise tunic over a low-necked white silk gown, and on her head a turban adorned with aigrettes. After the misery of the boating party, she was determined not to sink further into despair, and so tonight she had set out to be cheerful company, and she succeeded admirably for the first half of the concert. It wasn’t until the intermission, when the box was thronged with gentlemen eager to pay court to the Earl of Wallborough’s beautiful daughters, that she happened to glance past them all at the box opposite, just in time to see Piers and Adelina take their places.

  Adelina wore a very décolleté white muslin gown, a great deal of her magnificent bosom being displayed to the admiring glances of gentlemen in nearby seats. She wore rouge and jewels sparkled in her hair, and there was a look in her lustrous eyes which proclaimed to one and all that she was well versed in the art of love. She leaned close to Piers, her smile warm and inviting, and they appeared totally absorbed in each other. Alabeth’s buoyancy evaporated, her smile fading unhappily, and it was all she could do to look attentive as a young gentleman rattled on about a particularly knowing tip for the first race at Ascot the following week.

  * * *

  The concert resumed, but Alabeth could no longer enjoy it, her glance going time and time again to the box opposite. She knew it was foolish to let it hurt her so, but she felt as if her heart were breaking and suddenly she could no longer bear it. Leaning across to Charles, she said that she felt a little hot and would walk awhile in the corridor extending behind the boxes. Hastily he rose to his feet to accompany her, but she bade him stay with Jillian, and a moment later she had escaped to the deserted passage with its elegant line of console tables and wall-hung mirrors.

  Slowly she walked up and down, listening to the muffled sound of the concert and thinking about the futility of a love which had at first been forbidden and which must now be forgotten. She paused, looking at herself in one of the mirrors. The heartbreak was written very large in her green eyes and in the air of sadness which pervaded her. Oh, Alabeth Manvers, she thought wryly, you could have been in Charterleigh and safe from all this.

  She heard Piers’ voice suddenly and turned sharply to see him beckoning to the footman who stood by some velvet drapes. “Will you see that some water is taken to the lady in my box?”

  “Very well, Sir Piers.” The footman hurried away.

  Pausing for a moment, Piers glanced at her, as if debating whether to speak. She thought how much the formality of Court dress suited him, making him look very distinguished, but somehow the disheveled way he wore his hair belied that appearance of correctness. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his dress sword as at last he approached her, bowing a little stiffly. “Good evening, Lady Alabeth.”

  “Sir Piers.”

  “I did not know if it would be wise to address you.”

  “I am glad that you have, for you give me the opportunity of apologizing to you. You told the truth about the letter and I was in the wrong.” Oh, how distant and polite she sounded, and that wasn’t how she wished to be at all! But how could she be otherwise when there was no invitation in his manner and when she could not put from her mind the intimacy which he now shared with Adelina?

  “I accept your apology, Lady Alabeth, but only on condition that you accept mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “I should not have spoken to you as I did, it was unforgivable.”

  “I consider the matter to be at an end, sir,” she replied, unable to surmount the barriers which seemed to be all around her. His glance was so difficult to read, his manner was cool, and there was Adelina…. And there was also her own pride, making her conduct herself with dignity when all the time she felt the very opposite.

  He inclined his head. “If that is your wish.”

  “It is.”

  He w
ithdrew a little. “I think it is time I returned to my box. Good night, Lady Alabeth.”

  “Good night, Sir Piers.”

  But as he walked away, it was all she could do not to call out to him. To have done so would have been the height of folly, for it would have invited a snub from which her heart would never have recovered, and so she remained there in silence, watching him until he passed from sight.

  Shortly afterward a burst of rapturous applause announced the end of the concert and then the doors were opening as everyone emerged from the boxes. She managed to smile brightly as Charles and Jillian approached.

  Jillian was all concern. “Are you well now, Alabeth?”

  “I feel better.”

  “Then you will come on to Ranelagh with us?”

  Alabeth’s heart sank. “I think not.”

  “But, Alabeth—”

  “I really am not up to Ranelagh, Jillian.”

  “I would so like to go, for there is to be an orchestra and some dancing.”

  “Then, of course you must go. Look, there is Octavia, I am sure that she will be going and she will be only too delighted to watch over you.” Alabeth hurried across to Octavia, who agreed immediately to look after Jillian.

  Charles insisted upon giving Alabeth the use of his carriage, and so she returned to Berkeley Square while he and Jillian joined Octavia’s party to go on to Ranelagh.

  * * *

  In the privacy of her own room at last, Alabeth gave in to the tears which had threatened for so long. She cried herself to sleep and knew nothing of the torrential rainstorm which broke over London an hour or so later. At Ranelagh the revelers scattered in great haste, but Jillian and Charles were caught some distance from shelter and Jillian was soon soaked through and shivering. She was still shivering when she arrived home.