Mesalliance

by Riley, Stella

  Rockliffe continued to scrutinise the gold box through his quizzing-glass.

  ‘Strong measures?’

  ‘Mm. Thea was about to tell me only Di began talking of something else so the chance was lost.’ Another pause and then, casually, ‘Which reminds me … what do you think of Diana?’

  ‘Diana?’ He lowered the glass and examined the box at arm’s length. ‘Ah yes. A pretty child and possessed of a certain … vivacity. I believe I must disagree with you, my dear. It is most definitely florid.’

  Not without difficulty, Nell ignored this diversion and said flatly, ‘Pretty? Is that the best you can do?’

  ‘Isn’t it enough?’ He turned to her, a gleam of lazy amusement lurking in his eyes. ‘You appear put out, Nell.’

  ‘That’s not surprising, is it?’ She came abruptly to her feet. ‘You’re being as provoking as you know how.’

  ‘Oh no,’ he said softly. ‘Not quite. Not at all, in fact.’

  For perhaps half a minute, she fixed him with a fulminating stare before sweeping wordlessly to the door and shutting it behind her with a distinct snap.

  The Duke smiled. He dropped the snuff-box into his pocket, picked up a fine, cambric handkerchief and prepared, without haste, to follow in her wake.

  *

  Dinner was a gargantuan affair and lasted far longer than Rockliffe thought necessary. He had been placed, as expected, beside Mistress Diana – whose conversation consisted almost solely of attempts to lure him into juvenile flirtation. He declined to play but with such adroit ambiguity that she could not be sure of it and, in between parries, he surveyed the company with an increasingly jaundiced eye.

  Nell had been awarded the heir of the house but was receiving scant attention from him. The Duke smiled to himself. Young Mr Franklin had plainly been given his instructions and either found them unpalatable or was simply digging his heels in. But he need not worry. No matter how pretty Lady Miriam’s planning, Nell could – and almost certainly would – wreck it in a moment.

  Opposite himself and Diana, Harry Caversham engaged Althea in stilted and rather desperate conversation. Really, taken all in all, her ladyship deserved credit for trying. His Grace caught Harry’s eye and lifted one sardonic brow. Harry choked over his wine.

  At the other end of the table, Sir Roland expounded on field drainage to a palpably bored Mr Horton. The younger son still remained notable only by his absence and Cousin Adeline was not present either – which was, of course, hardly to be wondered at. Rockliffe’s boredom deepened.

  It was not until the ladies retired that he was finally free to speak to Harry Caversham and then that gentleman’s first words were exactly what he’d expected.

  ‘Ye gods! I hope I don’t have to go through that too often.’

  Black eyes encompassed him with sympathetic mockery.

  ‘Hard work, Harry?’

  ‘Exhausting. And it makes me somewhat resentful of the fact that, when Dick asked me up here, he didn’t say anything about ducal competition.’

  ‘No? But you might have had my place for the asking, you know.’

  ‘Aha!’ grinned Harry. ‘Got other interests, have you? And how is the fair Carlotta?’

  ‘Open to offers, I imagine. Interested?’

  ‘Not me. I like a quiet life.’

  ‘Do you? Well, I’m sure it’s here for the asking.’

  ‘I said quiet – not silent!’ His lordship reached for the decanter and delivered a casual riposte. ‘It must be that little witch of a cousin, then. I suspected as much. No beauty, of course … but she has a damnably seductive mouth – as I’m sure you’ve noticed.’

  The Duke sighed. ‘Don’t be vulgar, Harry.’

  ‘Me? Never!’ came the laughing response. And then, ‘Tell me all about Northumberland.’

  ‘You would be disappointed. I have the most shocking memory.’

  ‘You mean you’ve a very convenient one.’

  ‘The privilege of age, my dear,’ replied Rockliffe blandly, continuing to smile. ‘And now, if it’s not too much trouble, do you think I might have the port?’

  ~ * * * ~

  FOUR

  A stray shaft of sunlight creeping mischievously under his lids pricked the Duke into wakefulness and caused him to look sleepily across at the chink in the curtains that was its source. The silence and the absence of his valet told him all he needed to know about the hour and, with a muffled groan, he turned over and resolutely closed his eyes. From outside came the plaintive call of a peacock; then again and again. Rockliffe settled deeper into his pillow and thought longingly of sleep … but it was too late. He was wide awake and filled, moreover, with a strange restlessness that could only have one result. He flung back the covers and got up.

  Despite his air of fashionable laziness, there was little Perkins habitually did for him that he could not do for himself when the need arose and an hour later he was dressed, shaved – albeit in cold water – and about to pull on his coat when a tap at the door heralded his valet.

  ‘Your Grace!’ said Perkins, plainly aghast. ‘Why did you not ring?’

  ‘I suppose because I am not entirely helpless,’ came the calm response. And then, not without amusement, ‘Why so appalled, John? I’m fairly sure I fastened my breeches.’

  Perkins smothered a grin and said severely, ‘But your Grace’s hair!’

  ‘Ah. Yes.’ Despite a thorough brushing, traces of last night’s powder still clung to it and he had drawn the line at washing it in cold water. ‘That is a problem, I grant you.’

  The valet reached for the powder box, shook out the cape that would protect his noble employer’s clothes and said, ‘If your Grace will sit down – it is but the work of a moment. And you must understand, sir, that a man has his reputation to consider.’

  ‘That is indisputably true,’ sighed Rockliffe. He had wanted to simply walk outside and take a breath of early morning air - but Perkins’ reputation was not the only one that would be at stake should he be unlucky enough to meet anyone. He sat.

  His hair once more adequately powdered and neatly tied, he left his room behind him, descended the stairs and found his way into the garden.

  It was cool yet and quiet and the dew was still heavy on the grass as he strolled unhurriedly through the arbour to the tiny pavilion he had glimpsed from his window. The early sun dappled its shallow steps and endowed the roses that curtained its trellised walls with flamboyant splendour. Rockliffe disposed himself negligently on the stone bench within and watched idly as a small bird winged its way into some hidden retreat behind the crimson blossoms. Somewhere close at hand, the gurgling sound of water was punctuated by the spasmodic croaking of frogs and all around was the tranquil whisper of leaves. And then, without warning, Adeline was there before him.

  He realised then that he had known she would come. For a long moment he merely looked at her and then, rising slowly, said the only thing that seemed relevant.

  ‘You have changed.’

  The narrow brows arched.

  ‘So you said. So have you.’ She surveyed his powdered head with an air of mild enquiry. ‘You are going grey, perhaps?’

  ‘Alas,’ came the equally gentle retort, ‘you will never know.’

  ‘You think I care?’ Her smile was brittle.

  ‘Enough, at least, to comment on it.’

  She shrugged. ‘It makes you look older.’

  ‘I am older. And so, my dear, are you. Old enough, shall we say, to know better than make clever little remarks in the bosom of your family.’

  ‘We can’t always choose our weapons,’ she said, in a tone which suggested that he should have known it. ‘But I’ll admit I hadn’t expected you to be embarrassed.’

  ‘Is that an apology?’

  ‘For what?’ The aquamarine gaze remained perfectly impervious. ‘It is not my fault that you allowed yourself to be betrayed into a lack of finesse.’

  Since this was a fairly accurate echo of his own thoughts, it
was unreasonable to be annoyed. His drawl became a fraction more pronounced and he said, ‘Is it not? It could not, I suppose, be that the improvement in your appearance is exactly proportional to the deterioration in your manners?’

  This time her smile was faintly compassionate.

  ‘But the one is a direct result of the other. Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘Ah. I see. Neatly brushed hair and a fresh gown are but outward signs of a relentless campaign of persecution that has naturally left you with no alternative but to fight back with your tongue. How foolish of me not to have guessed it.’

  She stared consideringly at him and, for a brief instant, he had the feeling she was about to say something that might matter. Then it was gone as she moved away from him to touch one swaying bloom with long, delicate fingers.

  ‘One does what one can,’ she said. ‘I haven’t any excuses.’

  ‘Have you not?’

  ‘No. Or none that you would understand.’

  His hostility evaporated again.

  ‘You used not to be so insular. Try me.’

  Silence stretched between them for a long moment before the dark brown head moved in a slight gesture of denial.

  ‘To what end? These people you call my family are of your world … and they are like you in attitude, if nothing else.’

  ‘You make a lot of assumptions.’

  ‘I don’t think so. There is a basic truth you haven’t yet accepted. It is that, in the only senses that matter, you and I are total strangers.’

  He found himself noticing that the skin which used to be lightly golden was now pale, like that of one kept too much indoors; and then the air became curiously charged. Though no longer angular, she was still very slender and the wide, passionate mouth, coupled with the fluid grace of her every movement, combined to fulfil and exceed the promise he had seen in her eight years ago. What she had now in abundance was a rare quality he could only describe as allure; rare and dangerously heightened by the remoteness in her eyes.

  His next thought was no more than a logical progression but the unexpectedness of it produced an instinctive recoil that caused him to say abruptly, ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘Since grandfather died. It was the spring following your visit. There was no money and they said I was too young to live alone so they wrote to my aunt.’

  Seven years, then. He received a hazy impression of what it might have meant to be uprooted and brought to a place where everything she did was suddenly and bewilderingly wrong. He said slowly, ‘It was hard, no doubt. But it can’t have been entirely without its advantages.’

  ‘Of course not,’ came the ironic reply. ‘It saved me from a barbaric existence in equally barbaric Redesdale and I am now a different person. Let the bells ring out.’

  Once again her bitterness grated. Very well; so life had not dealt particularly kindly with her – but neither had she apparently made any effort to come to terms with it. She was twenty-four years old, unpleasantly barbed and no more than passably good-looking … and she made him want to both kiss and shake her. It wasn’t a sensation he relished.

  Brusquely, he said, ‘Why so ungrateful? What is it you lack? A husband?’ And saw, with some relief, the first crack in her composure.

  It was short-lived, however. For an instant the blue-green eyes reflected something he could not put a name to and then she had recovered herself well enough to say coldly, ‘That is a singularly stupid suggestion. I am far too useful to my aunt to be married. And who is there, do you think, who would have me? The curate? The school-master? You?’ She paused and favoured him with a mocking smile. ‘Or no. I forgot. They want you for Diana.’

  ‘Your powers of observation astound me,’ he said caustically. ‘Do pray continue.’

  ‘What else is there to say?’ She turned away, as if losing interest. And then, ‘Of course, she’s extraordinarily pretty.’

  ‘As you say,’ he agreed, watching her carefully in an attempt to decide if there really had been a trace of wistfulness in her voice. ‘But beauty, as they say, is only skin deep.’

  ‘Or in the eye of the beholder? Yes, I know. Does that complete the platitudes for today?’

  ‘Not quite.’ He wondered why he was persevering when she was so obviously determined to be difficult. ‘It’s also in the possession of an extensive wardrobe.’

  The slim shoulders stiffened. ‘If that remark was designed to console me, I’d like to point out that it was neither necessary nor accurate. I have two gowns that once belonged to Thea and I look attractive in neither of them. Diana, on the other hand, could be wrapped in a sack and still be beautiful. Couldn’t she?’

  ‘Perhaps. It’s not a question to which I’ve given any thought.’

  ‘No?’ She turned her head and there was a wholly astonishing gleam of laughter in her eyes. ‘Poor Diana … and she so very set on becoming a duchess.’

  ‘That,’ complained Rockliffe gently, ‘is not very flattering.’

  ‘True. But I daresay you’re accustomed to it and I doubt it causes you to lose any sleep. Everything has to be paid for, you know.’

  ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Of course. Don’t you?’ Her smile gathered a note of provocative indulgence. ‘But I’ll give you some free advice, if you like – and that is to point out that a wise man would take Thea instead. She’s just as pretty and much less trouble.’

  And, before he could open his mouth to reply, she was gone.

  It was not until much later that he realised that their prior acquaintance had not featured in the conversation at all.

  *

  Leaving the garden behind her, Adeline made her way unhurriedly towards the stables. She considered – without probing the question too deeply – that she’d handled the interview tolerably well. He had not, after all, said a tithe of the things he might have said; and, more importantly, neither had she. Under the circumstances, it was probably the best one could hope for and ought to render any future meetings between them substantially less hazardous than they might otherwise have been.

  The stable-yard was deserted. Adeline crossed it like a wraith and entered the dim, straw-strewn abode of the horses.

  ‘You’re late,’ said Tom Franklin, tersely. ‘He’s fidgety.’

  ‘Yes.’ She pulled an apple from her pocket and held it out to the great black stallion who ate it as though conferring a favour on her and then nuzzled her ear. ‘He needs some proper exercise.’

  ‘He won’t get it. Ever since he nearly broke Andrew’s neck they’ve all been terrified of him. There’s only you and me who’d dare ride him – and we’re not let,’ came the bitter reply. ‘They’ll sell him. You see if they don’t.’

  ‘I know.’

  Tom directed a speculative fourteen-year-old stare at her.

  ‘But then again, maybe they mightn’t. Not if Father were to see how docile he is with you.’

  Adeline rested her head against the velvety neck for a moment and then, lifting it again to meet his eyes, said, ‘It wouldn’t make any difference. Who takes any notice of me? And I don’t even ride.’

  ‘No. Thanks to Mother, you don’t. Probably because she knows that, if you did, you’d soon take the shine out of Di and Thea.’ He brooded on this for a few seconds and then added, with a grin, ‘Not that it’d be difficult. Thea’s mouse-scared and Di’s cow-handed.’

  Adeline said nothing. This was a mistake because it allowed Tom’s thoughts to progress to what he plainly thought was a vital point.

  ‘You know, I do think you might have told me that you knew this precious Duke of theirs.’

  She gave the slight shrug that was so peculiarly her own.

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘No. I see that, of course. But you could’ve told me,’ he insisted. ‘I’m not a blabbermouth.’

  ‘I know you’re not.’ She paused briefly and then said, ‘I’m sorry, Tom. When I met him years ago his father was still alive and he hadn’t
inherited the title so I didn’t …’ She hesitated again and then said flatly, ‘It wasn’t until Diana referred to his sister as Lady Elinor Wynstanton that I guessed – and, even then, I couldn’t be absolutely sure until I saw him, so it seemed best not to say anything. Who told you, anyway?’

  ‘Who didn’t? Diana’s pretty well miffed over it – though I can’t see why. It doesn’t make any difference to her, does it?’

  ‘None at all.’

  ‘That’s what I told her. But, if you ask me, she’s dotty. She must be – or she wouldn’t be dead set on marrying some old man she’s never met and scarcely even seen before … let alone telling everybody she’s going to be a duchess before Christmas.’

  Adeline looked at him consideringly and then chose to answer the least contentious part of his speech. ‘Is that what she’s doing?’

  ‘Yes. Well, Thea says she told Cecily Garfield – and that’s the same as putting it in the Morning Chronicle.’ He searched his pockets and finally produced some fluff-encrusted titbit that the black horse consumed with relish. ‘They’re coming today – Cecily and her brother. I can’t think why Mother always asks them because nobody really likes either of them.’

  Adeline’s brows rose and she smiled suddenly. It was a singularly beautiful smile that only Tom was ever privileged to see.

  ‘Dear Tom,’ she said. ‘Have you ever seen a plainer girl than Cecily Garfield?’

  ‘No,’ came the prompt reply. Then, with a grin, ‘Oh, I see. No competition.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Tom restored his attention to the stallion.

  ‘So what’s he like then, this Duke?’

  Adeline allowed her gaze to wander back to the horse while a dozen confused thoughts jostled in her head. Foremost amongst them was the fact that, when she had told Rockliffe that he had changed it had been a lie in all but one particular. Eight years ago, he had left his hair in its natural state and it had been thick and glossy and so black it sometimes glinted blue in the sun. She remembered wanting, more than anything, to touch it – but, of course, she never had. And now he chose to wear it powdered … and, stupidly, illogically, she had felt disappointed.