by Mary Brendan
‘I doubt good manners are that one’s forte.’ Dolly surged to her feet. ‘I’m happy to give the brass-faced baggage a much-needed lesson in etiquette.’
Before Dolly had moved a foot, Edith was dragging on her sleeve.
‘Wait! Look!’
Dolly dropped back into her chair, goggling in the direction of her friend’s pointing finger.
‘Oh dear! That is the viscount’s curricle, pulling in over there, Dolly, I’m sure I recognise it, and him.’ Edith’s voice was brimful of pity.
The two women craned forwards to watch the riveting scene unfolding through the window.
An athletic male figure jumped down from the racing equipage then suddenly, called from behind, the viscount pivoted on a heel, frowning. Grabbing at her skirts to keep them free of her flying feet, Celia hurtled over gravel. Having launched herself at Alex, she wound her arms about his neck and kissed him full on the lips.
It seemed that the viscount was aware of the impropriety of such behaviour in broad daylight even if his paramour was not. In an instant he was propelling Celia by the elbow towards her vehicle. A moment later they disappeared from sight behind its coachwork.
Edith turned saucer-wide eyes on her friend. ‘Well...what do you make of that, Dolly?’ she gasped.
‘Nothing good,’ Dolly muttered. ‘Nothing good at all.’
‘It seems we are witnessing an assignation. Shall we turn about and go home?’ Edith ventured. ‘Perhaps there might be no wedding, after all...’
‘Indeed we shall not!’ Dolly pulled herself up in her chair. ‘There will be a wedding.’ She pursed her lips. ‘We must not let them know...or anybody else know, for that matter...what we have seen. That hussy is sure to report this secret tryst to all and sundry in an attempt to break my niece’s heart. She’ll have no corroboration from me, or you, to help her do it.’ Dolly sighed in deep disappointment. ‘Perhaps it is a farewell meeting between them—who knows? Even so I can tell you that that fine gentleman has plummeted in my estimation.’
‘Should we let the viscount know we are aware of his true colours?’ Edith suggested.
A forceful shake of the head answered her.
‘We shall let him know nothing of our opinions on his character till after he’s put a ring on Elise’s finger,’ Dolly said firmly. ‘Come...it is time to get back on the coach.’
‘It seems he was not as smitten by Elise as you thought,’ Edith said, following her friend to the exit, oblivious to the glower Dolly sent over a shoulder at the mournful remark. ‘The viscount might be doing the right thing by your niece, Dolly, but you’d have thought he would have kept his chère amie at home in London at least till after the honeymoon.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Walter had been taken aback by his sister’s uninvited visit, but had nevertheless welcomed her and her friend cordially, as befitted a gentleman of good breeding.
Now he wished he’d turned them away and had stayed in blissful ignorance of the news they’d brought with them; because of it he had a harrowing task ahead of him. With the aid of his cane he proceeded along the passageway towards his study, his sister’s reluctant footfalls dogging his steps. Walter swallowed down wrathful tears, rallying his courage. Once he’d done questioning Dolly he would wait for his daughters to return home from their shopping trip, then speak to his beloved Elise. His report was sure to make her inconsolable. But do it he must...
In his daughters’ absence Walter had slowly busied himself in going to the kitchen to arrange refreshment for their guests. After speaking to Betty, he had gone back to his sanctuary to fortify himself with a nip of something stronger than tea before belatedly joining the ladies in the back parlour. He had been on the point of entering the room when he’d sensed, from a sibilant whispering from within, that he might be intruding on a delicate female conversation. Out of respect he had hesitated behind the door, awaiting an appropriate pause.
What he’d overheard next had not embarrassed him, but wounded him like a blow to the guts. The dreadful spectacle the ladies had encountered on their journey, and were picking over in scandalised murmurs, had precipitated Walter across the threshold. No amount of flummery from Dolly would convince him that his ears had deceived him. The ladies’ dismay at knowing he’d learned of the tale was proof enough of its authenticity.
Walter was not a prig; of course, he knew wealthy fellows kept mistresses and bastards, as well as wives and heirs, and considered it a matter for their own consciences. What he could not abide was the hypocrisy and lies concocted by the wretches as a smokescreen to their sordid carryings-on. Had he the legs and energy to carry him he would have called for a pistol and a carriage pointed towards Enfield, and gone after the scoundrel.
Lord Blackthorne had vowed to remain a faithful husband to Elise, just as he’d promised to cherish and honour her till the end of his days. Walter had had those statements from the man himself on the afternoon the couple had come to see him to announce they were in love and wanted to be married. But now it seemed that the fellow was a callous fraudster, after all, who had no intention of giving up his paramour. If he could keep an appointment to sleep with another woman on the eve of his wedding, Walter knew he would certainly be tempted to do so again when the honeymoon was over. So...it was his duty to make Elise aware of Blackthorne’s deceitful character before she tied herself to him. After that, her future was hers to decide...
But first he must make absolutely sure of his facts. Having reached the study, Walter turned the door handle, allowing Dolly to precede him, then with heavy heart he followed her inside.
* * *
‘Why...Mrs Vickers...what a surprise to see you.’
Elise came into the room with Beatrice just behind.
Flustered, Edith shot to her feet.
‘Is my aunt with you?’ Elise asked pleasantly.
Edith’s affirmative manifested itself in a tiny vibration of her head.
‘Where is she?’ Elise prompted when she realised the woman was unable to relax or volunteer any information.
‘She is with her brother, but I don’t know any more than that,’ Edith insisted in a spurt. ‘I don’t know anything at all.’
‘Well...please do sit down again, Mrs Vickers.’ Elise exchanged a bemused glance with her sister, who’d also noticed their guest’s jumpiness.
‘Did you have a good journey from London?’ Beatrice pleasantly asked.
‘Yes...no...I’m not sure...’ Edith squeaked and looked about as though wishing to scamper off. She again charged to her feet. ‘There is tea in the pot—shall I pour you some?’
‘It is cold.’ Elise had pulled off the cosy and tested the crockery with a hand.
There was a single reason Elise could think of why her aunt and Edith Vickers would turn up unexpectedly and that was to celebrate her wedding. Her father had not mentioned inviting them and Elise suspected he had not, but Dolly would not let that put her off if she had a mind to be part of it all. Why Mrs Vickers was present, if she felt uneasy at attending the scandalous affair, Elise could not fathom.
‘We have been shopping for lace gloves,’ Elise blurted, hoping to lighten the atmosphere and still Edith’s fluttering hands. Yet a strange sense of foreboding had begun stealing away her happiness as though the older woman’s mood was infectious.
Elise unpacked the white, cobwebby articles from their tissue paper and Edith gave them a startled glance. ‘I have some similar ones. They are useful for all manner of occasions, not just weddings...’ She gasped in relief as Dolly appeared on the threshold.
‘Your papa thought he heard you arrive home.’ Dolly’s brief, defeated shake of the head answered Edith’s unspoken question, signalled by her bulging eyes. Dolly gravely turned her attention back to her bewildered nieces. ‘Your father would like to speak to you, Elise, my de
ar.’
* * *
Elise plucked the hood of her cloak to shield her cheeks, but the cool breeze buffeting her complexion seemed inconsequential compared to the ice enclosing her heart.
She had been sitting on the bench in the town square for nearly an hour and borne the inquisitiveness of people as they went about their business. Those stares had penetrated her numbness and she knew that she’d been recognised and her behaviour would be talked about. But she no longer cared about gossip or scandals. All she cared about was to see Alex. Her cold tremulous fingers twisted the heavy diamond on her hand, back and forth, back and forth, while she wondered if soon it would be gone. If there was no case of mistaken identity, and Alex had met his mistress at a tavern, then she could not marry him and would return the ring. She might love him till her dying day, but it was not enough without respect and trust. And how could she respect or trust a man who would betray her so soon after declaring his fidelity and his love?
At first she had giggled in shock when her papa told her that her aunt and Mrs Vickers had witnessed her fiancé kissing a woman at a tavern in Enfield. Once sense had returned she’d registered her father’s despair and the reason for the ladies’ awkwardness had become apparent. Her father had gone on to say Dolly and Edith had recognised the viscount’s companion as Celia Chase. On legs that had felt boneless, Elise had sought her father’s wing chair before she collapsed.
Within a moment furious jealousy had torn into her at the thought of Alex kissing and caressing his mistress at a secret location while she had been out buying lace gloves to wear at their wedding.
Now she also felt a stupid, gullible fool and, worse, she realised he must think her one, too, for readily swallowing his lies. On the afternoon he’d promised her the world he might already have had planned an illicit rendezvous with his paramour.
Hot tears again trickled on her cheeks as she clung to a theory that mistaken identity could be to blame. Yet in truth she realised such a forlorn hope was no more likely to save her than grasping at driftwood in a stormy sea when drowning. She must not condemn him yet, her heart argued with her shattered pride, despite all things pointing to his guilt. She must stay here and confront him and watch his eyes.
It was getting dark early beneath the foamy clouds. A faint mist of drizzle was blowing in the breeze, moistening her upturned face. Elise drew her hood again about her hair realising she would soon need to seek sanctuary in the Red Lion. She had gone in there before and asked after Lord Blackthorne. The landlord had told her he’d been gone all day and had travelled out of town. Her stomach had lurched at that damning information, although the fellow was unable to say whether his eminent lodger had headed off towards Enfield that morning.
The rain became heavier, slanting to sting her face, and Elise sprang up, her skirts in her fists, and sprinted to seek the protection of the whitewashed wall of the tavern. She pressed back against it, under the eaves, while trying to pluck up the courage to enter the premises and again face down speculative stares from the innkeeper and his wife.
A stable lad emerged from the adjacent barn with a bale of hay in his arms, closing the creaking door by kicking it to behind him before disappearing. Elise bolted towards the wooden building and grasped the latch, intending to shelter within when she heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. Her breath caught abrasively in her throat. She waited, squinting into the dusk.
The curricle was being driven fast and came to a stop in a spurt of earth in front of the Red Lion. Alex jumped down, tossing the reins to the tiger. The first sight of his tall powerful body caused her a physical ache. It was so easy to understand why women wanted him, why they might not easily let him go. Having waited so long for this moment, Elise now felt frozen to the spot, her tongue welded to the roof of her mouth.
He hadn’t seen her, or if he had noticed her bedraggled figure he was ignoring it. And why would he not overlook a lone woman loitering by a barn in the pouring rain? No doubt he considered her what he had on first acquaintance: a soliciting harlot.
Elise knew that if she didn’t intercept him he would soon be gone and confronting him inside the inn would be beyond her courage. She must do it here where the wind might whip away her bitter words before they were overheard.
Alex observed his manservant steering the horses into the courtyard, then turned, about to stride into the welcoming warmth of the inn. Instead he hesitated, casting a glance to one side. Despite her shoulders being hunched and a hood protecting her features, there seemed to be something familiar about the willowy woman stationed just inside the barn. With dawning astonishment he crossed the few yards that separated them. His immediate welcoming smile for Elise was quickly followed by a fierce frown.
‘This is a very nice surprise, sweetheart. But what on earth are you doing here?’ he asked, shielding her from the weather by altering his stance.
‘Waiting for you,’ Elise replied, gazing up at him through lashes made heavy by mingling rain and tears.
Alex’s expression turned shrewd as he sensed an accusation beneath her cool reserve. This was no impromptu visit because she yearned to see him...as he had longed all day to see her. Neither had she come to find him because he hadn’t arrived at the appointed hour to dine at her father’s house. But he used that as a prelude to discovering what was wrong.
‘I’m sorry I’m late for dinner; I’ve been out of town. I came back here to make myself presentable before turning up.’ He glanced ruefully at his mud-splattered boots and breeches.
‘It doesn’t matter; it’s not important,’ Elise said huskily. She was glad that raindrops were masking her watery eyes. Her insides might be wound tight as a spring, but she wanted to appear in control while demanding he tell her what he had done today and whether he needed to change his clothes because they’d been soiled by his mistress’s scent as well as dirt.
‘Come inside so we can talk. I’ll get you something hot to drink while I get changed. You look frozen.’ He took her elbow to solicitously steer her towards the Red Lion.
‘There’s no need for that.’ Elise jerked her arm free with a shake of her head. ‘I have just one question to ask and I’m hoping...if you feel anything for me at all...that you will dignify me with a truthful answer.’
Alex pivoted slowly towards her, but it seemed she could no longer bear to look at him. He took her sharp chin, silky and wet, in thumb and forefinger, tipping it up so their eyes tangled. ‘Ask away,’ he invited calmly, yet an inkling of what was troubling her was already in his mind. How she had come by the information, however, eluded him.
‘Did you meet your mistress today at a tavern in Enfield?’ Elise asked in a strong voice that sounded quite unlike her own. He had no need to answer her. She knew from an unbearable silence, from a stony glint between his close black lashes that her aunt and Mrs Vickers had correctly reported what they’d witnessed. She had also been correct in knowing she’d see the truth in his eyes. Still she insisted on having it from his lips. ‘A yes or no will do.’ Her tone was different now, sarcasm suffocated by the anguish clogging her throat.
This time when Alex touched her arm to take her with him, she slapped at his fingers before swinging that same small hand at his face. The blow was hard enough to snap his head sideways, but she’d stumbled back even before noticing his perilous expression.
Alex jerked her forwards by the arms, lifting her off the ground to slam against his body when her fists began beating at him. When she continued fighting, he slung her over his shoulder. Having regained enough wind to do so, Elise began raining ineffectual punches against the solid breadth of his back. But he was already inside the barn, out of sight of any folk who might come to her aid. Alex slammed the door shut with a foot, so just a small window at high level was left to illuminate the dark interior.
‘Put me down...this instant...’ Elise screeched in breathless fury.
Bubbling ire welled up in Elise, suppressing the frisson of fear that had instinctively made her want to escape him. She held her ground, tossing back her hood. Her loose chignon unwound, descending about her shoulders and her flushed face in a waterfall of honey-coloured waves. ‘You are a heartless lying bastard!’ Her chest heaved, but he made no comment, simply continued to close the gap between them. ‘I told you I loved you and trusted you and you have thrown it all back in my face with your...your vile deceit. You could not even do without your mistress for the short while you were here with me in Hertfordshire, yet you said you had finished with her.’
He was very close now and she could sense a sweetish violet perfume waft in the air between them. Her fists clenched, but she fought down the urge to again lash out in a jealous fury at that proof of his guilt. She took a pace backwards, then another, unwittingly allowing him to trap her against stacks of hay bales.
‘Well, I’m glad you and that woman had a sordid tryst because now I know you for what you really are,’ Elise flung at him. ‘A cheating lecher!’ She yanked off the ring on her finger and hurled it at him, making him deflect the missile away from his face with a hand that snatched the diamond before it hit the ground.
She watched him drop the gem into a pocket, then swung her head sideways to use the heel of a hand and smear wet off her cheeks. But she’d not yet finished her tongue-lashing. ‘If you think I am grateful that you’ve patronised me with a marriage proposal you may think again. I don’t care about scandal and ostracism. I have my family. I have all I need. I don’t need you or any of your grand gestures...’ Her voice cracked and she drew in one huge breath. With supreme effort she turned to look directly at him, her eyes settling on his terrifyingly remote expression. But for the muscle jerking rhythmically in his jaw she might have imagined he’d been unmoved by her tirade.