Rumors That Ruined a Lady

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Perhaps that’s why he’s taken it so badly. You’ve proved his judgement flawed. Even worse, from what you’ve told me, all your other sisters who have married men not of your father’s choosing are blissfully happy.’

  ‘And the great diplomat cannot bear to be wrong. Which is why he’s being so intransigent with me.’ She nestled closer, enjoying the smell of him, that delightful mixture of soap and outdoors and something peculiarly Sebastian. ‘I hadn’t thought of it like that.’

  ‘So you see, you don’t owe him anything.’

  She disentangled herself from his embrace and began to pace the floor again, wringing her hands. ‘Yes, but to turn up uninvited, in front of half the county! What if I lose my nerve and can’t go through with it? I’m terrified just thinking about it.’

  ‘Have a little faith in yourself. I believe in you.’

  ‘Do you?’ She searched his face for signs of mockery, but could find none.

  ‘I’ll be with you, remember, right by your side. Polite society has been more than happy to accept the lies your husband disseminated at face value, now is your chance to show society just how little you care of their opinions.’

  ‘By attending my stepsister’s christening with my rakish lover,’ Caro said slowly.

  ‘Precisely. So you’ll do it?’

  She smiled. ‘I rather think I will.’

  ‘That’s the spirit!’ Sebastian was smiling his upside-down smile. Her heart gave a funny little kick. Nerves, she told herself. Anticipation. Nothing to do with Sebastian at all. ‘I’ll do it on one condition,’ she said.

  Sebastian’s smile faded. ‘Which is what?’

  ‘You are right. My father is selfish, ambitious, pompous, single-minded and above all utterly self-centred. He doesn’t love me, he doesn’t even know me well enough to like or dislike me. Cressie put it perfectly all those years ago, his only interest in any of his gals is as pawns in his game of matrimonial chess. Well, I’m done with playing that game, and I’m done with trying to please him.’

  ‘I am extremely pleased to hear that, but...’

  ‘My point is, Sebastian, that you need to do the same. I am happy to confront my father, but only if you confront yours.’

  ‘My father, in case it has slipped your attention, is dead.’

  ‘But your mother is very much alive. Don’t you see, she could help you to understand why things were so difficult between you and your father.’

  ‘It’s quite simple, Caro. He couldn’t abide the sight of me.’

  ‘No, it’s not simple. Speaking from experience, relationships between parents and children are never so.’

  ‘My relationship with my mother is so simple as to be non-existent. She ran off when I was four years old. I barely remember her, and she has shown no interest in me at all since then.’

  ‘Aren’t you even a little bit curious?’

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Because she is your mother!’ Caro stared at him, aghast. ‘You can’t pretend she never existed, though it sounds to me as if that’s exactly what you and your father did. Didn’t he ever mention her?’

  ‘Why should he?’

  It was like throwing a ball against an unforgiving surface. He bounced everything back to her, determined not to allow even a sliver of a crack to appear in his armour. She tried, but could not think of one single occasion when he had mentioned his mother before she had found that box of memories. The extent of his self-deception took her breath away. ‘He encouraged you to think of your mother as dead. He removed her portrait from the gallery—for there must have been one there when they were married. In fact now I think about it, there is not a single trace of the woman anywhere in this house.’

  ‘Devil take it, you are like a dog with a bone. My mother’s rooms are in the East Wing. Apparently my father ordered that they be closed up the day after she left.’

  ‘You inherited two years ago. Are you really telling me that you have not once thought to look?’

  ‘Once and for all, I am not interested.’

  ‘Prove it then,’ Caro said. ‘Prove to me that you don’t give a damn.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Take me to these rooms. The East Wing, I want to see it.’

  He hesitated. She thought she had pushed him too far, but she had underestimated his strength of will. ‘Very well,’ Sebastian said, holding out his hand, ‘no time like the present.’

  Chapter Nine

  The East Wing was accessed through a door concealed in the panelling next to the late marquis’s suite of rooms. Once it was pointed out to her, Caro was astonished she had had failed to notice it previously.

  ‘You can see the traces here of where her crest was once displayed,’ Sebastian said, pointing above the door. ‘I have no idea what condition we’ll find the rooms in.’

  He selected a key from a large bunch on a metal ring. ‘My father kept this with him at all times, so there was no possibility of anyone gaining access, especially me.’ His fingers shook very slightly as he turned the lock, she noted. He was not nearly as indifferent as he claimed. She wanted only what was best for him. She hoped she would not regret pushing him into confronting his past like this.

  ‘Of course, I have only my father’s word that my mother ran off. We could be about to discover her incarcerated corpse,’ he said with a twisted smile.

  Caro shuddered. ‘You don’t really mean that.’

  ‘Of course I don’t,’ Sebastian said impatiently. ‘That would constitute a crime of passion and my father was incapable of passion of any sort. The only skeletons we’re likely to encounter will be of the rodent variety.’

  Holding an oil lamp high above his head, he led the way uncertainly through the ante-chamber and then through another door. Once opened, a large room was dimly revealed. Sebastian hurried to undo the shutters, struggling with the stiff latches. The windows themselves were so dirty that the daylight was filtered, casting shadows across the furniture when he threw two of them open.

  There was an extraordinary amount of dust. Covering her nose with her handkerchief, Caro looked around her with dismay. ‘Nothing has been covered up,’ she said. ‘It looks as if it has been left quite untouched.’

  Her voice was no more than a whisper. There was something about the atmosphere in the room which was making her shiver. It was clearly designed to be a boudoir and was about twice the size of the one Sebastian had given her for her own use, and more ornately decorated. At least it had been once. The carpet, powder blue woven with roses, was moth-eaten. When she touched the damask window hangings, a golden tassel crumbled in her hand. Cobwebs hung from the crystal chandelier. Everything, the white-marble fireplace carved with cupids, the beautiful array of Sèvres figurines on the mantel, the rosewood escritoire, the side tables, all were covered in a thick layer of dust. A tall lacquered cabinet was inlaid with a Japanese scene, a young woman holding a lotus flower, an ornate pagoda, doves holding up garlands flying overhead. Behind the doors, what seemed like a hundred little drawers, each engraved with a different flower or animal.

  ‘A cabinet of curiosities, I think is what it is known as,’ Sebastian said. ‘Traditionally used to store artefacts. I cannot imagine...’ He pulled open a drawer at random to reveal, not an artefact, but a brooch in the form of a butterfly, encrusted with diamond chips, turquoise and emeralds. The next drawer contained another brooch in the form of a golden hummingbird, the next a hatpin formed from a silver rose.

  Dumbfounded, he jerked open drawer after drawer, spilling glittering jewellery, each one an animal, a bird or a flower. ‘What the devil!’ He ran his hand through his hair, leaving a streak of dust on his forehead.

  The paintings on the wall of the boudoir were all classically rendered, mostly in the French style, many so stained and damaged that
the subject matter was almost impossible to make out. Aphrodite rising from the waves—or Venus, Caro could never be sure which was which. A woman on a swing that was either an original Fragonard or a very good copy. Another, rather shocking, of a semi-naked woman surrounded by cherubs, and another even more shocking, depicting a woman, completely nude save for the blue ribbon in her hair, lying on a gold-velvet chaise longue, the pink and white pillows echoing the pink and white tones of her skin. The woman was lying on her front, barely concealing her breasts. The artist had concentrated instead on the curve of her spine, dipping down to her bottom, then the curve from her buttocks down her thigh to the curve of her knee. It was a singularly sensual painting, the likes of which Caro had never seen before. It reminded her of seeing her own reflection in the ceiling mirror, the contrast of her own skin against the gold bedcovering, the surprising softness of her flesh, the flush of rosy pink on her skin afterwards.

  Sebastian, who had been obsessively opening and closing every drawer in the curiosity cabinet, now joined her at the portrait, standing just behind her. He stared at the naked woman for a long moment. ‘These rooms are decorated like an up-market bawdy house. My father would have considered himself tainted just by crossing the threshold.’

  ‘I suppose you would know, since your experience of up-market bawdy houses is no doubt extensive,’ Caro said, looking around her somewhat dazedly. Roses were carved into the frame around the bedchamber door, and roses, garlands of them, were carved in swags on the cornicing of the ceiling, which was painted like a sky, pale blue with fluffy clouds, and cherubs. The bed curtains, like the window hangings, were motheaten and crumbled to the touch. Blue and gold, varying shades of pink, and everywhere, on the mantelpiece, painted on the doors, carved and inlaid into the furnishings, embroidered on the bed hangings and the curtains, cherubs and roses. ‘It certainly has a very feminine, almost carnal exuberance. Your mother must have been a fascinating personality.’

  ‘My mother must have been the antithesis of everything my father valued. This room speaks of everything he disapproved of.’

  ‘They say that opposites attract,’ Caro said.

  ‘Scientifically speaking, as your sister Cressie would tell you, opposites repel. Judging from this evidence, my parents were singularly mismatched.’

  The bed was still made up, with satin sheets, lace-edged pillows. Across the bottom of it lay a lace peignoir. There was a dried-up tablet of rose-scented soap beside the basin on the nightstand. On the dressing table, a set of brushes, a tangle of tortoiseshell comb, ribbons and hairpins. Pulling open a drawer, Caro found it full of delicate lace and silk undergarments, stockings with elaborate clocks, petticoats of finest lawn, all motheaten and mildewed. In the dressing room were her dresses. Day gowns, promenade gowns, tea gowns, evening gowns, all high-waisted with the straight skirts and fitted sleeves popular in the early days of the Regent’s rule. Pelisses and evening cloaks jostled for space. Furs, smelling of camphor lay on a shelf, slippers, boots and sandals lined the floor. They all looked sad, old-fashioned and slightly eerie, as if they had been waiting a long time to be reclaimed.

  Which indeed they had, twenty long years. ‘She must have left with only the clothes on her back,’ Caro said.

  ‘I know she didn’t take any of the family jewels, for they are kept in a vault at the bank, but I assumed she would at least have taken her own wardrobe.’ Sebastian was trying to force the lock on a large leather case without success. ‘Her lover must have been rich for her to leave all this behind.’

  ‘You don’t think that perhaps your father did not allow her to pack?’ Caro said tentatively.

  ‘You mean he threw her out?’ Sebastian grimaced. ‘Which implies he discovered her in flagrante. It is a possibility I suppose but not something I have any desire to conjecture about.’

  ‘How awful it must have been for him.’

  ‘Again, you imply he cared, Caro. More likely that he was mortified or shamed, rather than heartbroken.’

  ‘Does it matter? Either way, it explains why he tried to eradicate her from both of your lives.’

  Sebastian pulled the heavy damask window curtain to one side. ‘And this, I think, explains why he could not bring himself to look at me.’

  The portrait he was referring to was resting on the window seat. The countess was not beautiful, Caro thought, studying the life-size image, but there was indeed something extremely attractive about her, and extraordinarily familiar. It was not just the hair colouring, nor the eyes, nor even the mouth, but the shape of the face. Though on Sebastian’s face the lines were much harder, the chin decidedly stronger, there could be no doubt, looking from one to the other, that they were mother and son.

  ‘The resemblance is striking,’ she said quietly.

  Sebastian shrugged, but his face was set. ‘I must have been a constant reminder of his shame.’ His smile was twisted. ‘That is why he hated me.’

  ‘How can you say that!’ Caro exclaimed. ‘Look around you. For goodness’ sake, Sebastian, can’t you see this is a shrine? He couldn’t bear even to have the bed linen changed. He did not hate you, he hated being reminded of her because she didn’t just bruise his pride by leaving, she bruised his heart.’

  ‘I find it difficult to accept that he had a heart at all.’ Sebastian was still studying the portrait intently. ‘I remember this hanging in the portrait gallery. And then one day it suddenly disappeared, just like my mother.’

  ‘Sebastian...’

  ‘I was the youngest boy in my school, you know. He couldn’t wait to send me away.’ His eyes were blank, unfocused, lost in the past. ‘I hated school at first. I begged him to let me stay here, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I responded by breaking every rule in the book. It was the only thing guaranteed to get his attention.’

  ‘My brothers are always in trouble at Harrow, but my father is rather proud of what he calls their high spirits.’

  ‘While propriety was my father’s creed.’

  ‘You certainly could not be accused of worshipping at that particular shrine,’ Caro said, attempting a lightness she did not feel.

  ‘No,’ he said with another of those strange twisted smiles, ‘unlike you, I have made scandal my life’s work because scandal was the one thing he could not abide.’

  ‘Perhaps he was afraid.’

  ‘To face society? You think that is why he became a recluse?’

  ‘No.’ Caro frowned. ‘Partly, I suppose, but that’s not what I meant. Perhaps he was afraid of losing you.’

  ‘What the devil are you talking about! I asked you yesterday to spare me any more of your homespun philosophy.’

  ‘Your mother’s elopement must have caused an enormous scandal at the time,’ she continued doggedly. ‘Your father kept the details quite secret, we don’t know the circumstances but we do know that you bear an extremely strong resemblance to her. And you said it yourself, you have dedicated your life to scandal, just as she did. Don’t you think that it is possible that your father assumed you would reject him too? Don’t you think that his determination to reform you was driven by fear of history repeating itself?’

  He stared at her for a long moment, then he burst into a horrible, harsh laugh. ‘Your desire to constantly repaint history in more palatable colours is breathtaking.’

  ‘I’m trying to show you that you’re wrong. You’re angry because it’s too late to do anything about it, because your father is dead, but for heaven’s sake, Sebastian, he did care, else he would have given up on trying to reform you. You know how difficult is it to obtain an Arabian horse. Lord Ardhallow must have gone to extraordinary lengths to secure Burkan as a birthday present.’ Caro sighed. ‘I know what it feels like to discover that your actions have been based on a set of false assumptions. All my life I have tried to do what was expected of me on the assumption that my father loved me, ignoring the
fact that the harder I tried the more miserable I became.’

  ‘It’s not the same, Caro.’

  She bit her lip. Why did it hurt so much? It was not just that she wanted to help him. She wanted him to be happy. She wanted him to realise that he had been loved. She wanted—oh, no, not that. Fear clutched at her, sending an icy draught coursing over her skin. No point wanting the impossible. ‘I think it is, but I know that you have to make your own mind up,’ she said, trying not to panic at the realisation that was slowly dawning. How could she have been so blind!

  ‘What is wrong? You have turned quite pale, Caro.’

  ‘Have I? I am anxious about the christening tomorrow. It must be that,’ she managed. ‘Talking of which, I have a big day ahead of me. I think it would be best if I got myself organised—decide what to wear and so forth and then have an early night. I will see you tomorrow, Sebastian.’ Without giving him a chance to answer, she made her way back out through the dust and cobwebs, through the musty scent, to the sanctuary of her room.

  * * *

  She could not possibly be so stupid as to have fallen in love with Sebastian. Caro sat on the window seat, hugging her knees, looking out at the moonlit paddock where they had first met, ten years ago. How young she had been, and how naïve. She’d thought herself miserable too, what with Bella’s arrival at Killellan and Celia’s recent departure. If she had only known then what lay ahead...

  She made a face at her reflection in the window. It was done, and there was nothing she could do to change it. What mattered was the future, whatever that may be. One thing was certain, it would not include Sebastian.

  A lump rose in her throat, but she refused to cry. The thought was unbearable, but she had borne the unbearable before. She may love him—very well, she probably did love him—but she had enough complications in her life without adding another so potentially catastrophic. Today, in the countess’s rooms, it had become horribly clear just how deep-rooted was the damage inflicted upon him by his father. It made her heart contract, thinking of the pain he must have endured as a child, at the slow estrangement between father and son which had petrified into a permanent barrier. Would he ever be able to see the truth? She would never know.