Mesalliance

by Riley, Stella

  It had been naïve of him to suppose that merely removing Adeline from the Franklin’s house and showering her with clothes and jewels would be enough to mend the damage of the last seven years. Years in which, layer by layer and brick by brick, she had built a defensive wall that nothing could penetrate. And which he, stupidly, had expected to crumble in the space of five days.

  He thought about the Franklin household and her life within it. Lady Miriam, who plainly disliked her, had treated her as a sort of upper servant; Richard Horton was extremely unpleasant – if not something worse; and Diana was an ill-natured brat. Sir Roland was a cipher, Althea a ghost and Andrew a sulky youth … leaving fourteen-year-old Tom as Adeline’s only possible friend. Rockliffe’s mouth tightened as he tried to imagine what that had been like and how lonely she must have been. All in all, it was not a pretty picture.

  His own behaviour, too, had been less than perfect. Thinking about it now, it was hard to understand how he could have recognised that she needed time to become accustomed to her new position but not that she also needed time to become comfortable with himself. The hope that she might immediately fall into his arms for no better reason than that it was what he wanted, was as selfish as it was asinine; as for allowing his disappointment to get the better of him for a moment … that had been downright crass and he was damned if he would let it happen again.

  He re-examined the thought that had occurred to him much earlier in the evening. The tantalising notion that, if he only employed a little patience, there might come a time when the desire was not his alone - but hers also. And for that, he suddenly knew, he was prepared to wait as long as was necessary … because the rewards would undoubtedly be worth it.

  ~ * * * ~

  ELEVEN

  The maid Matthew had chosen was a neat, capable-looking young woman who admitted to having been born Martha Jane Potter but begged to be known to the household as Jeanne. It was not until later that Adeline discovered that this [being a matter of status and fashion] was perfectly right and proper; and by then, Martha Jane was following her to Kent along with Nell’s maid and his Grace’s valet.

  Their cavalcade – which set forth not much more than an hour later than Rockliffe had intended - arrived at Wynstanton Priors in the early evening just as the sinking sun gilded mullioned windows and warmed the pale stone walls. The house thus appeared inviting rather than impressive and was not as vast as Adeline had feared. Her rooms, moreover, overlooked rolling parkland and the tree-fringed shores of the lake – a view which would undoubtedly have delighted her had her mind not been almost wholly taken up with other matters. But the truth was that, every time she felt she had her new husband’s measure, he did something totally unexpected … and she, with misgiving, was left wondering what he would do next.

  The following morning, Jeanne woke her with a cup of chocolate and then proceeded to lay out a blue dimity gown that Adeline couldn’t remember having seen before. When she said so, Jeanne replied that his Grace had arranged for a wardrobe suitable for a sojourn in the country to be delivered directly to the estate.

  ‘More clothes? Really?’ asked Adeline, watching the maid deftly twist her hair up into a simple knot and secure it with a couple of silver pins. ‘What’s wrong with the ones I already have?’

  ‘Nothing, my lady – or not in London. But here in the country, you don’t have to dress so formally. And with the weather being so warm, I expect his Grace thought you’d like to have something cooler to wear.’

  ‘His Grace,’ muttered Adeline beneath her breath, ‘must have more money than sense.’

  ‘Beg pardon, my lady?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She eyed her reflection thoughtfully, surprised at how well she looked and, rising, said ‘Thank you, Jeanne. That’s lovely. How clever of you.’

  The girl flushed with gratification and dropped a curtsy. ‘It’s a pleasure, my lady.’

  Adeline did not fully realise the implications of what her maid had said about country fashions until she neared the foot of the staircase and Rockliffe emerged from the breakfast-room. His coat was of plain black cloth and, beneath it, his shirt was open at the neck and worn without cravat or vest. But it wasn’t his clothes that stopped her mid-step and made her forget to breathe. His hair, apparently freshly washed, was unpowdered … and black as a raven’s wing. The air froze in her lungs, something lurched behind her blue dimity bodice and she thought foolishly, ‘Oh. There you are.’

  Catching sight of her, his Grace started to say good morning and then, absorbing the expression on her face, said instead, ‘What is it?’

  She shook her head and a strange, almost hesitant smile quivered into being.

  Rockliffe crossed to the foot of the stairs and looked up at her.

  ‘Adeline? What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said huskily. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Then why are you staring at me as if you’d never seen me before.’

  ‘Because, for a long time, I haven’t,’ she replied. And then, simply, ‘Your hair. I’d started to forget.’

  Amusement stirred, oddly mingled with faint bewilderment.

  ‘Forget what?’

  ‘How it really looks.’ She paused. ‘Why on earth do you powder it?’

  ‘I don’t when I’m here. But in London? Out of habit, I suppose. I gather you don’t like it.’

  ‘No.’ Another pause and then, as if she suddenly realised what she’d been saying, her colour rose a little and she moved down to the foot of the stairs. ‘I’m so sorry. That was rude of me.’

  ‘No – merely truthful. And you are entitled to your opinion.’ He put an arm about her waist and swept her to the door. ‘You never know. I might even take notice of it.’ Then, continuing out on to the porch, ‘Look. And old friend of yours – or so young Tom told me.’

  And there, irritably pawing the gravel and threatening to run away with the groom who was holding him, was The Trojan.

  *

  On the following morning, the Duke found his wife in the stables. The Trojan, who had nearly succeeded in depositing him in a ditch on the previous day, nudged Adeline playfully while she fed him bits of apple. Rockliffe watched for a minute or two and then walked towards her saying, ‘Tom told me about this. But after the hellish time that horse gave me yesterday, I came to the conclusion he’d made it up just so that I’d buy him.’

  She turned, smiling. ‘No. I used to take him an apple every morning. No one else – aside from Tom, of course – ever went near him if they could avoid it. That’s why he’s so … difficult.’

  ‘My dear, the word difficult really doesn’t cover it. He has the strength of the devil – as my shoulders and wrists can testify.’ He took the last piece of apple from her and held it out to the horse. The Trojan eyed it disdainfully for a moment and then decided to be won over. ‘I’m relieved. I rather thought he might take my hand as well.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Adeline, ‘that you’ll improve his manners. In time.’

  ‘One would certainly hope so.’ Rockliffe tucked her hand in his arm, led her out into the sunlight and strolled on in the direction of the walled garden. ‘If you would like to learn to ride, I’ll teach you.’

  ‘You will?’ She encompassed him in a wide, beautiful smile. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ he agreed. ‘And now, having done something to please you, I hope you’ll forgive what I’m about to say. I should begin by pointing out that, for myself, I have no strong feelings either way … but I’m bound to mention the matter.’

  ‘What matter?’

  ‘Yesterday I believe you went down to the kitchens to ask that some water be sent up for a bath. The results of this simple request appear to have been legion. The kitchen-maid you spoke to locked herself in the scullery for an hour having hysterics on account of her Grace, the Duchess having appeared without warning; your maid was reprimanded for not being available when you required her; and someone was sent to your room to make sure that the bel
l was working correctly. I trust you are with me so far?’

  ‘I think so.’ There was a tremor of something that might have been laughter in her voice. ‘Who told you all this?’

  ‘My valet.’ He did not add that Perkins, though he had maintained a perfectly straight face, had clearly not been blind to the funny side. ‘This, of course, meant that I then had to have a word with Bolton – since it is the province of the butler rather than that of my valet, to apprise me of any malfunction within the household – and Bolton respectfully requested that I lay the matter before you. Which, I hope, I have now done.’ He looked down at her with perfect urbanity. ‘And the moral of this tale is?’

  ‘Being helpful isn’t helpful? Or, next time, pull the bell?’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Rockliffe. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

  *

  In the days that followed, Rockliffe spent nearly as much time with his bailiff as he did with his bride … but still managed to extend her education. He devoted an hour every morning to teaching her to ride on a placid little mare which was plainly reluctant to move beyond a trot. Even so, Adeline found it a difficult skill to acquire until one day, like a bolt from the blue, the knack of controlling the horse from a side-saddle suddenly came to her. Rockliffe then produced a rather more lively mount for her to practice on but, when she asked him if he thought that, one day, she might be able to ride The Trojan, he said flatly, ‘Over my dead body. Or, if you were foolish enough to try it, over yours.’

  In the evenings, after dinner, he taught her to dance – and this, being naturally graceful, came easily to her. While Nell played gavottes and minuets on the spinet, Adeline held her husband’s hand and trod sedate measures up and down the long gallery … and was happier than she had ever been in her life.

  Her afternoons were usually spent with Nell learning to play cards, acquiring a little French or hearing about some of the people she might expect to meet on their return to London. Occasionally, Nell – who was plainly wondering about the precise nature of Adeline’s relationship with her brother – asked questions which Adeline found difficult to answer. It would, of course, never do to let her inquisitive and indiscreet sister-in-law discover that her emotions were in a state of near-chaos. Especially when she couldn’t, with the best will in the word, account for it even to herself.

  Despite this, however, the first weeks slid pleasantly by and Adeline began to settle into her new position. Then, like a hawk descending on sparrows, Lady Grassmere arrived.

  She entered unannounced, to find her sister laughingly expounding to Adeline upon the so-called ‘language of the fan’ – a fact in no wise calculated to improve her mood. And, advancing purposefully into the abrupt silence of her own creating, she said frostily, ‘Nell. I have come, as you may imagine, to see Rockliffe. Where is he?’

  Nell rose slowly, her face settling into lines of unconcealed resignation.

  ‘Hello, Lucilla. What took you so long?’

  ‘I said,’ repeated her ladyship with ominous patience, ‘where is Rockliffe?’

  ‘How should I know? He went out with Wilson to see one of the tenants and will no doubt be back presently. In the meantime, you can meet our new sister – since I suppose that’s the other reason why you’re here.’

  For the first time, the grey eyes turned to rest squarely on Adeline. Then, drawing a long breath, Lucilla said sharply, ‘It’s true, then. He’s married you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Adeline’s voice was cool and non-committal.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘That, surely, is a question you had best ask your brother, don’t you think?’

  ‘I shall ask him.’ Her ladyship sat down, spread out her moss-green taffeta and subjected Adeline to a critical head-to-toe appraisal. ‘Your name, as I understand it, is Kendrick?’

  ‘It was,’ came the honeyed reply. ‘It is now Wynstanton.’

  Nell stifled a giggle and watched a hint of angry colour stain her sister’s cheeks.

  ‘Quite. You have done very well for yourself, have you not? From provincial nobody to Duchess of Rockliffe in one move. I only wish I felt able to congratulate you on it.’

  ‘Oh no,’ smiled Adeline. ‘I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.’

  The silence, this time, was positively cataclysmic. Then, ‘Despite his deplorable tendency towards levity,’ remarked Lucilla glacially, ‘my brother has previously always known what was due to his name. Since he has now apparently disregarded this, I can only deduce that it is because you have some hold over him. Am I right?’

  Nell opened her mouth and then thought better of it. It did not seem possible that, once Diana and Cecily came to London for the season, the events of Lady Miriam’s disastrous ball could long remain a secret; but she herself had promised Rock not to speak of them and she would not.

  ‘You don’t,’ remarked Adeline dryly, ‘appear to have a very high regard either for your brother’s intelligence or for his strength of character.’

  ‘How else is one to account for it?’ came the reply. ‘If you were a beauty, I might understand it better. As it is, I see nothing to explain why – after years of resisting every lure – Rockliffe should suddenly hurl himself into matrimony with such clandestine and unseemly haste.’ She paused for a moment and then said baldly, ‘You’re not breeding, are you?’

  Nell clamped her fingers over her mouth. Adeline merely stared, torn between amusement and sheer vexation. Then, before she could answer, Rockliffe’s voice said smoothly, ‘No, Lucilla, she is not. And I would be obliged if you refrained from repeating that suggestion … otherwise I am very much afraid that we shall fall out.’

  Lucilla came to her feet, slightly discomposed but with enough presence of mind to say tartly, ‘Outside these walls, I am not likely to say it. I think you can’t deny that I, at least, have a care for the reputation of our family.’

  ‘No,’ sighed the Duke. He closed the door and crossed to Adeline’s side. ‘I don’t deny it. I could wish, however, that you were a trifle less rigid. You might also, just occasionally, look on the bright side. You wanted me to marry and I’ve done so. You ought to be pleased.’

  ‘Pleased? That you – who could have had Salisbury’s girl for the asking – have instead made what can only be considered a mésalliance? You must be mad. You make yourself a target for speculation of the most sordid kind; you elevate a person of neither breeding nor consequence into the place our dear mother occupied with such distinction -- ’

  ‘What?’ gasped Nell. ‘You always used to say that mama was the most tactless and unpredictable woman in the world and the greatest mortification to you. Even I remember that!’

  The ribbons on Lucilla’s hat quivered with affront.

  ‘I will not,’ she said, ignoring Nell, ‘be deflected. I am still waiting for an explanation.’

  ‘But I never explain myself,’ Rockliffe replied gently. ‘Surely you know that.’

  ‘But what am I going to say to people?’

  ‘Why should you need to say anything?’

  ‘Oh – don’t be so provoking! It’s obvious, isn’t it? Everyone will want to know who she is and they’ll ask me. It will look every bit as peculiar as it is if I’m forced to admit that I don’t know.’

  Rockliffe contemplated her for a moment and then shrugged.

  ‘Very well. You may say that the Kendricks are an old and respected Northumbrian family and that, on the distaff side, Adeline is related to Sir Roland Franklin – in whose house we met. Will that do?’

  ‘Her parents are dead?’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Well, I suppose that’s something.’ She paused, frowning. ‘Do you expect to get away with this without becoming the subject of gossip?’

  ‘I really don’t care whether I do or not,’ he drawled. ‘And now, if you please, we will end this entirely pointless discussion. Adeline is my wife. There is nothing you can do to change it … and, indeed, if I am satisfied, who are you to cavil?’ He pa
used, allowing his words and tone to have their effect. Then, ‘The only question remaining, therefore, is how long we are to enjoy your company?’

  ‘Only until tomorrow,’ responded Lucilla waspishly. ‘You may be sure I’ve better uses for my time than to be trailing about after you, trying to find sense where there plainly is none.’

  The heavy lids rose and his Grace inspected her with mocking interest.

  ‘Really? Then it’s a pity you didn’t think of that before you came, isn’t it?’

  *

  Lucilla took her leave without in any sense coming to terms with her brother’s marriage – a fact which disturbed Rockliffe not at all but which sent Adeline to the solitude of the lakeside for the purpose of examining a few vital implications.

  Since the day her grandfather had died, she had never had to consider anyone but herself. The knowledge that this was no longer so, therefore, was simultaneously both alarming and sweet. One grew used to being alone and, in some ways, it made life simpler. One could say what one wished, for example, and hang the consequences. But all that was changed now – for, in allying himself with her, Tracy had placed his name where mud could be thrown at it. And the more people she antagonised, the more mud would be thrown.

  Stooping, she cast a stone into the water and watched the ripples spreading. He had given her a life beyond anything she had ever dreamed … and had still not expected her to come to him for that alone. If gratitude were all, she thought … but it wasn’t. Far from it. And, for him, she would learn the new skills that were the only means she had of minimising the damage and protecting him from any hurt that might touch him because of her.

  His approach behind her made no sound and yet, even before he spoke, she knew he was there. It came to her suddenly that she would always know.

  He said, ‘Your concern is needless, you know. Lucilla was bound to disapprove of you on principle … but it really isn’t anything to worry about. I should know. She’s disapproved of me for years.’