Maiden Lane

by Lynne Connolly

  “There’s a ball at Devonshire House.”

  Oh Lord, I must have lost count of the days. The Marquis and Marchioness of Hartington were holding a formal ball. Richard would have to go, as Gervase was a political supporter of his lordship, and in any case, the Southwood estate and the Devonshire estate lay close to each other in Derbyshire. Nichols and I had planned my clothes to fit in with Richard’s royal blue coat and breeches. We’d picked out the jewellery and the accessories. One of the key balls of the season when so much business and discussion would take place that the House of Lords might as well shut up shop for the night. We had to go, and I meant we.

  “I’ll only need an hour to get ready. We have everything ready.”

  “You don’t have to go. Forget what I said, I want you to rest. We’ll get through this.”

  I didn’t need to see his set features to know he was preparing himself to face a firing squad. “I do. If I don’t, the gossip will get worse, you know it. We have to face them down. We have Caroline busy spreading the word around town, and as soon as Steven hears that version of the story, he’ll help us bruit it about because it puts him in a good light. Julia can contradict him if she likes, but, well, can’t you tell them, in your superior way, that you’re surprised that they take the word of a guttersnipe?”

  He laughed and pressed a gentle kiss on to the unhurt part of my brow. “How I love you. You must tell me when you feel tired. The story we’re telling would allow for that, and in any case, I won’t have you exhausted.” He drew me closer for a better, deeper kiss, and if it weren’t for the ball, I doubt either of us would have left the house that night.

  PUT INTO MOTION, NICHOLS could behave like a well-drilled sergeant major when called upon to dress me in a hurry. She called the housemaid who usually helped her when I needed la grande toilette and we set to.

  In an hour I stood before the pier glass viewing my appearance critically. A white gown with dark blue petticoat, the robings heavily embroidered with speedwells and forget-me-nots that glittered as I moved. It would do. It drew attention away from the burgeoning stomach that I could no longer hide or constrain. I flicked out my fan and tried a few poses, turned to the side but turned back again quickly. I’d decided to leave my hair unpowdered, although the original plan was to powder. Unfortunately, powder would also have drawn attention to the bruise at the temple, the blue colour forming an unfortunate match to my petticoat. Apart from a layer of fine face powder, I made no attempt to hide the mark. I’d had my hair drawn back as usual, with ringlets curling over my shoulders. I had dressed for battle.

  I didn’t need to hear the door, turn around or look into the mirror to know who entered. He came up behind me and bent his head to kiss my shoulder. I also didn’t have to look to know he’d be dressed perfectly. I leaned back into his embrace and caught sight of the dreamy smile on my face. I didn’t hide it. At first I’d felt embarrassed when Richard kissed and caressed me in the presence of servants. I’d been used to treating servants almost as members of the family in my girlhood, but Richard’s kind treated them as if they didn’t exist. It was Not Done even to acknowledge their presence unless one needed their services. Which was why we found it easy to discover the activities that sometimes people would prefer to keep secret.

  He nuzzled my temple, the unhurt one. “Are you sure you want to go tonight? I can handle this on my own.”

  I turned my head and met his lips for a teasing butterfly kiss. “Not as effectively. Let’s do this properly.”

  It was some time before he spoke again. “And before I kiss all the rice powder off your face.” With an indrawn breath, he stepped back resolutely. “My love, our carriage awaits.”

  So it did.

  Devonshire House didn’t intimidate me as much as Southwood House. Perhaps because it wasn’t mine and never would be. A typical Palladian exterior, somewhat austere, led to a magnificent interior, but I could leave at the end of the evening and return home. I didn’t have to stay, didn’t have to consider my future role there. I liked Devonshire House.

  Inside, the house had a sense of liveliness entirely absent from Southwood House. It gave me hope that I could improve the place when my time came, if I tried hard enough.

  Our carriage swept through the gathering outside, people collected to gawk at the guests, and I smiled for their benefit, my bruised temple in shadow. I felt horribly aware of it, and it didn’t help that it remained tender and slightly swollen. When I moved I felt it, so I could never forget it.

  Richard reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze as we drew to a halt outside the magnificent staircase. By the time the footman opened the door he was ready to step down and guide me out of the coach.

  At occasions like these, Richard treated me as if I were made of glass. At first he’d unnerved me, but I came to understand as I saw other ladies treated the same way. It was the style. And Richard had done a lot to create it.

  He ushered me tenderly up the ceremonial staircase and into the hall. Outside Devonshire House was austere, almost drab, bedaubed with soot, all straight lines with barely a flourish. Inside, colour exploded, luxury abounded. Like a secret club, the grandest in London.

  Maids waited to help us divest ourselves of our outer clothing. Nichols was already here, having left by hackney shortly before we did, and she removed my cloak, gloves and hat, and ensured I was ready to make my appearance. Not that I already hadn’t. The hall swarmed with ladies and maids.

  Richard waited, chatting with an acquaintance, but came forward as soon as Nichols rustled away. I laid my hand on his arm, no longer needing to fuss to make certain it was at precisely the right angle, and we went up the stairs together.

  I would always feel apprehensive entering such a place. Surrounded by the greatest people in the country, watched and judged for every movement, every word, I usually sought refuge with friends, but tonight I had to move around the room and behave like the wife of one of England’s most powerful commoners, heir to one of the most venerated titles in the land. Because I was that too.

  Martha and James were present, so I could transmit the story that we’d agreed on. Martha, comfortable in any society, accepted the tale, expressed her sympathy and left to join the network currently spreading the rumour, planting seeds, dropping parts of the story so that people could put it together themselves. That had been Richard’s idea, to make people work harder for the story, otherwise, he said, they wouldn’t appreciate it.

  The other story, the truth, had the lustre of scandal and the thrill of the forbidden. We had a few ideas about that.

  As luck had it, I came face-to-face with our host far too soon. He bowed over my hand. “Lady Strang, I hadn’t thought to see you here tonight, but you’re very welcome.”

  “Thank you. I won’t allow any street rat to best me. I’ve been looking forward to this ball all month.”

  He raised a brow. “Is this the shy little creature I first met?” He’d met me shortly before my wedding. His importance had overwhelmed me then. I knew him better now.

  “We all change, my lord. I know better than to ask if your father is well, but I hope he’s comfortable?”

  The duke was sinking, but slowly, losing a little of his strength every day, and everyone knew he wasn’t long for the world. But he’d insisted that his son continue the business of the great estate, and Hartington had business of his own to pursue. Political business. This lovely room positively bristled with the most powerful statesmen in the land.

  Hart smiled, but it had a wistful edge. “As well as we have a right to expect. He’s at Chatsworth, resting. Will you be at Eyton this summer?”

  I glanced down. “I have to stay in London until my confinement ends, but I believe we might. Either that or Oxfordshire. You know we have a house there?”

  He nodded. “Although that husband of yours is very protective of his privacy there.”

  “I hope you know you’re always welcome.”

  His smile grew more genuine.
“Thank you.” He offered his arm and we strolled around the ballroom, chatting about inconsequential matters, but I knew why he did this. Lending me his support, adding credence to our story by believing it.

  I could see Richard without obviously watching him. He moved towards some people at the corner of the ballroom. They drifted away, nothing obvious, but if he reached that corner, they wouldn’t be there. He changed direction and people watched but didn’t approach, until Freddy came out of a room close by and saw him. He headed straight for Richard, who had a quiet word with him.

  My stomach tightened. People stood in small knots, discussing something avidly. Richard and Freddy headed for the other room, presumably the cardroom or something of that nature. In a smaller chamber, they would have either to greet him or snub him. If they cut him, his revenge could be appalling.

  We stopped to talk to a couple Hart knew and I had a slight acquaintance with. They were perfectly civil and listened to my half story politely, but they’d already heard the Drurys’ version. The Drurys were, so far, notable by their absence. I asked Hart when we moved on, and nobody heard us.

  “You wanted them here?”

  “No, sir, and I’m grateful to you for not inviting them, but I don’t wish people to choose sides or even to suppose there’s a side to be on.”

  He sighed. “Between us, dear lady, they are a nuisance. They insist on pushing their way into rooms where they are not wanted, and they don’t have the understanding to provide a useful presence.” Politician’s words, but I got his meaning clearly enough.

  Relief released some of my tensed muscles. If we had Hart’s support, we’d win through.

  “Ah, Pitt, it’s good to see you this evening.”

  I hadn’t noticed Mr. Pitt until he bowed to me. I must have been deeply concerned not to notice his vital presence. I curtseyed, and he gave me his arm to lean on. Hart left to talk to the rest of his guests and I realised, finally, what was going on. Hand to hand, the most powerful men in the room were showing their support. I commenced strolling with Pitt, discussing trivial matters, dropping a little information about my bruise, avoiding the curious stares of people who glanced at me and then away again, in the most casual manner.

  The quartet at the plinth at the end of the ballroom, who’d previously been playing light airs, switched to a minuet, a signal that the dancing was about to begin. A stir announced the entrance of John Kneller, but he appeared with little élan and joined a group of people close to the door. I tried to ignore him. Instead of blue, he wore pink tonight, very noticeable, very flamboyant, but without the detail that distinguished Richard’s appearance.

  Richard approached me and, after exchanging civilities with Pitt, led me on to the dance floor. “You are, as always, my love, my saviour.”

  Next to us stood John Kneller, his arm elegantly adorned by Lady Sarah Whittington, one of the season’s loveliest debutantes.

  Richard danced superbly, especially the minuet. He added nuances to the elegant measures of the dance, turned a dance of courtship into something more, something sensual that nobody could stop watching.

  Despite my increasing bulk, I could keep up with him, although mostly as the recipient of his attentions rather than the centre of attraction.

  Tonight he chose to show me off. He never took his attention from me, ignoring the actions of his son, who could dance very well and elegantly but with a lack of feeling that made Richard appear like the genuine article and John a mere imitator. A pity he tried to outdance Richard this evening, especially when Richard remained oblivious to him.

  He was Romeo, Paolo, a most gallant Benedick, the epitome of every lover who’d ever adored a lady. Not a man who would visit a notorious club and engage in vicious activities with women of exceedingly loose morals. He only had eyes for one woman.

  Me.

  Although I knew the performance was mainly to further our story, to chip away at any credence of the Drurys and John Kneller, underneath lay plain truth, truth he’d convinced me of without doubt. I was his last and now his only. And he was mine, except he’d been my first too. I could respond without guile because of this truth.

  The music stopped and an appreciative pause fell before the pattering of polite applause. Of course the spectators could have been applauding all the couples on the floor, but for this first dance, instead of the usual crush only ten or so couples occupied the space. Richard ignored them, but offered me the support of his arm.

  This time nobody moved away. I sensed a restraint in some quarters and we didn’t push the issue, only stopping to talk to people willing to meet us. Some people still avoided us. If they didn’t move away in an obvious manner, we didn’t meet with them in our two circuits of the ballroom.

  By that time Gervase had arrived, and Caroline and George too, and we handed the baton to them, exchanging a few smiling words before we took our leave. We had dropped seeds of our adventure to almost everyone we spoke to, and now all we could do was to leave the company to come to its own conclusion and to spread the word about the strangers setting out to attack Lord Strang and his wife. That was speculation enough.

  I FELL INTO BED COMPLETELY drained, but Richard didn’t come to join me. After half an hour I went to find him. He sat by the empty fireplace in his room, staring into the void. I laid my hand on his shoulder and he covered it with his own. “You should be in bed.”

  “Not without you.”

  He turned his head and met my gaze, his eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Rose. It appears that no bad deed goes unpunished. I never knew about him, but that doesn’t excuse what I did, does it?” His mother had removed Lucy before Richard had even known of her pregnancy. She feared Richard might marry Lucy out of hand and destroy his mother’s dynastic ambitions.

  I had no patience with Richard’s previous remark. “It doesn’t excuse what he did, either. He could have come to you privately instead of challenging you last year. He could have explained the matter to you. You’d have given him an allowance, offered to provide him with what he needed. I know you would. But he chose to strike at you through me, forced you to act.”

  “He could win.”

  I came around his chair to kneel at his feet and took his hands in mine. “What can he win?”

  “He’s already done some damage. The resemblance between us is strong, and he’s doing his best to increase it. People believe the obvious, that I’m his father. They won’t let anyone turn them. Rose, tonight our friends supported us, but others will not. Once doubt enters in, it will unbalance everything, make Gervase and his concerns suspect, destroy some of the relationships we have with people in the City and elsewhere. The Southwood fortune is not built on land and privilege alone, and we employ hundreds, maybe thousands, certainly indirectly. This boy is affecting all that. Ripples are deeper, and they’re worsening every day.”

  He’d dig his own grave if I let him. This had to stop.

  “If they see your lack of confidence, it will worsen. Stop it, Richard. Shall I show you why you’ll win through?”

  He shook his head. “This whole mess is because I raked around as a youth and I started too early. I might have other children, but after Lucy I took as much care as possible not to make any woman enceinte.” He glanced up at my face and a shadow of a smile lit his eyes briefly. “Except you.”

  “And you succeeded so well with me. We’ll ensure that our children never have the treatment you had or that your mother wished on your children.”

  “Even then, they could have come back when Lucy’s husband died and asked her for more. I don’t know why she didn’t do that. By then I was old enough to take responsibility for what I’d done.”

  “And marry Lucy?”

  He shook his head. “No, but I’d have taken care of her.”

  I felt a sudden urge to talk to Lady Southwood. Perhaps I’d pay her a visit in the morning.

  But I didn’t want to think of her now. I released his hands and slid them over his robe, the b
rocade textured and silky under my palms with the heat of his body pulsing underneath.

  As always, I wanted to feel his body next to mine, and I swallowed when my mouth went dry. Since I’d passed my third month, or what we supposed was my third month, my desire had grown, and I wanted my husband at the most inopportune times. Not that I considered this one of those times. I loved him and I could prove my love now. Console him and maybe make him happier.

  He watched me, eyes glinting in the light of the candles set on the mantelpiece, but he made no move to stop me. His robe fastened over his chest with two elaborate braided froggings. I slipped the toggle through the loop on each of the two fastenings and drew the sides apart, revealing the powerful chest few people imagined lurked under the fine clothes.

  I could never resist spreading my palms over that expanse of flesh and muscle, and I didn’t even try to now. He lifted his hands off the arms of his chair, but I said, “No,” and he let me continue, resting his hands back down again. I leaned forward and he opened his legs so I could kneel between them and reach his body, kiss his skin. I traced my tongue around one nipple, then the other, felt the small buttons harden into arousal and heard his sharp gasp. I loved the way I could arouse him, loved his response to me.

  The knowledge that he watched me made my arousal spike, and I unfastened my own gown, shrugged it off my shoulders so I could feel his skin against mine. I leaned back to allow the robe to fall away, and it tumbled around me in a slither of silk.

  When I lifted my gaze to his I saw his eyes, not bleak as before but hot with need. He looked his fill, his gaze sliding over my body like a physical caress, lingering at my breasts and my belly. I smiled and returned the favour, loving the sight of his hard-tipped nipples and his flat stomach, then lower to his rising erection. When I licked my lips he moaned and slid forward, letting his head fall back.

  Now I could reach it. I explored his shaft as if I’d never seen it before, never touched it, never taken it into my body. I felt the ridges under the tender head, smoothed my fingers down in a gentle spiral, never increasing the pressure on it as I knew he yearned for. He’d appreciate it better later.