‘That is nonsense, of course. I told him so last night.’
‘He must think his hold upon you very secure to suggest such a thing,’ Jack said slowly.
The lady was silent, but something in her countenance caused Alex to sit up.
‘Thunder and turf, you are not to think of giving in to that villain, Eloise!’
Jack saw a shadow cross her face but it was gone in an instant. Smiling, she reached out to push Alex gently back against his pillows.
‘No, of course not. Now lie still or you will set your shoulder bleeding.’
‘You are not to do anything until I am on my feet again.’ Alex grabbed her wrist. ‘Promise me, Elle! Clifton—you must look after her, make sure Deforge has no opportunity to bully her.’
‘By all means.’
She flushed.
‘That will not be necessary. I am going back to London in the morning. I shall tell Mrs Renwick that I have business to attend to.’
‘I would rather you remained here, under my eye,’ declared Alex.
She smiled at that.
‘A poor chaperon you would be, confined here in your room!’
Alex sighed. ‘I am sorry, love: I had thought for once I should be able to help you out of a scrape, but it seems I have only succeeded in causing you more problems.’
She squeezed his hand and smiled fondly at him.
‘You must not worry over me, Alex. We will deal with everything once you are well again.’
‘But you are determined to leave?’
‘Yes. There is plenty to occupy me in London. You know, I still have hopes that I might persuade Lord Berrow to sell me his land.’
Jack watched them, beating down the little demon of jealousy that gnawed at his insides. They were not lovers—he knew that now—but they were very close and they shared secrets that he was not privy to. His frown deepened as he realised how much he wanted Eloise to trust him as she trusted Mortimer. She kissed Alex’s cheek and moved towards the door.
‘Wait,’ said Jack. ‘Let me go first, to make sure there is no one to see you.’
Silently he checked that the passage was empty and preceded her down the stairs. When they reached the great hall the faint sound of voices could be heard coming from the drawing room. Jack stopped.
‘Will you join them?’
Eloise shook her head.
‘I would rather not. I would like to be alone. I think I shall go to my bedchamber.’
Even as she uttered the words the door of the drawing room opened and Lady Parham’s shrill voice could be heard. It could only be a matter of moments before they were spotted and Jack knew that the lady would insist upon carrying Eloise away with her. The hunted look in his companion’s blue eyes decided him. They were standing by the entrance to the long gallery. It was the work of an instant to whisk Eloise inside and shut the door.
He said, by way of explanation, ‘I thought perhaps you might prefer to avoid them.’
On the other side of the door he could hear Lady Parham talking with her hostess, their voices echoing through the marbled hall. Eloise moved away from him.
‘Thank you. I can find my way from here.’ She nodded dismissively and when he made no move she added sharply. ‘Please, you may leave me now.’
Jack smiled, his eyes flicking towards the door.
‘Would you throw me out? Lady Parham would be sure to pounce upon me and drag me in to tell them all how Mortimer goes on.’
A reluctant smile lurked in her eyes.
‘Surely you are not afraid of a group of ladies, Major.’
‘Terrified,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘I shall have to remain in here until I know it is safe to venture out.’ He moved further into the room. ‘Renwick has some fine paintings here; will you not take a few moments to look at them?’
She had been walking away from him but now she stopped, uncertain, and he added quickly, ‘If you are leaving in the morning you may not have another opportunity of seeing them in daylight.’
It was clear from her expression that she was torn between a desire to look at the pictures and a disinclination to be alone with him. At least she had not refused to stay. He pointed to the nearest painting and said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘This Cuyp landscape is highly prized and this next is thought to be a Rembrandt, although there is some doubt about that: what do you think?’
She moved a little closer.
‘I cannot tell,’ she said slowly. ‘It is certainly very good, if it is a copy.’
‘But what of the colours, and the brushstrokes, are they not a little fine for Rembrandt?’
‘Not necessarily. I think his style changed when he grew older. And the subject matter, a biblical scene: this is typical of his later work.’
He regarded her with admiration.
‘And you say you are no connoisseur? I believe you misled us, my lady.’
‘My husband was very interested in the old masters. I picked up a little from following him around Florence and Rome.’
‘You would enjoy the Louvre, I think. Now Paris is free once more you might like to see it.’
‘Perhaps. One day.’
He smiled to himself, thinking how much he would like to escort her there. His previous visit had been in the company of his fellow officers: how much more enjoyable to be with someone who really appreciated art.
‘And who is this?’ Her soft, musical voice recalled him with a jolt. He cleared his throat.
‘This next is a portrait of one of Renwick’s ancestors—can you see the family resemblance?’
Jack moved slowly along the gallery, drawing her attention to various pictures, asking her opinion, searching his brain to drag up long-forgotten snippets of information about the artists. His patience was rewarded: gradually she relaxed and gave her attention to the paintings. He stood beside her, close but never touching, enjoying her company and amused by her forthright opinions. By the time they were halfway down the long gallery she was chattering away quite naturally. She even turned to him at one point, laughing at something he said. Jack found himself wishing the gallery were twice as long. He drew her attention to a small pen-and-ink drawing.
‘There is an interesting picture here of the house painted about sixty years ago, before it was remodelled into its present state.’
She stepped forwards for a closer look.
‘The formal gardens are much smaller, and there looks to be a village where the park is now.’
‘Yes, it was demolished by Renwick’s grandfather, to improve the view.’
‘Oh dear, and the villagers?’
‘You need not worry; he built houses for all his tenants on the far side of the Home Wood. They were delighted to have new, weatherproof houses. I hope my own people will feel the same.’
She turned to look at him, her blue eyes wide with surprise.
‘Are you evicting your tenants?’
He laughed at that.
‘No, no, but I plan to build better houses for them as and when the funds will allow.’
‘This is at Henchard, your estate in Staffordshire?’
He smiled, inordinately pleased that she had remembered.
‘Yes. I have a very good agent, who has been looking after matters while I have been away, but there is much to do and I plan to spend more time there in the future.’
‘And will you be content with such a quiet life, sir?’
‘Quiet? It will be hard work, improving my land and the lot of my tenants. The house needs to be enlarged, new kitchens built—do you think I cannot be happy unless I have a sword in my hand?’
‘No, of course not. I suppose I had not considered. I know so little about you, Major Clifton.’
‘There is a great deal we do not know about each other, my lady.’
A shy smile lit her eyes and Jack’s spirits soared. This was progress indeed: perhaps now he could talk to her about last night. As if reading his thoughts her cheeks flushed and she turned quickly back towards t
he paintings.
‘This is by Ricciardelli.’ She leaned forwards to read the label on the frame.
‘Yes.’ Jack nodded. ‘It is a particularly fine view of Naples—do you agree? I remember Tony telling me you visited Naples on your honeymoon.’
Jack clamped his mouth shut, cursing himself. Eloise’s face flamed. She turned to go and he reached out for her.
‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to remind you of your marriage, if it was not happy.’
He was holding her arm and she stood perfectly still, keeping her face averted.
‘Tony and I were happy.’ Her voice was so quiet he could hardly hear her. ‘Despite what you now know of me, we were very fond of one another. Excuse me, I must go.’
He released her and she hurried towards the door. He followed, saying, ‘And you are determined to leave for London in the morning?’
‘I am.’
‘Then first let me talk to you—let me apologise—for last night.’
‘There is nothing more to say.’
She reached for the door handle but he stepped past her, putting his hand against the door to prevent her from escaping.
‘Oh, but there is! At least let me tell you that I know now how much I had misjudged you—you were not what I thought.’
She turned to look at him, fixing him with eyes as dark and troubled as a stormy evening sky.
‘You thought me wanton, which is the impression I have been at some pains to give. I cannot blame you for that.’ She looked away. ‘We enjoyed a night together and that is all there is to it. Now I would be obliged if you would forget all about me.’ Her chin lifted: he thought he detected the faintest wobble in her voice. ‘I am sure I am not the first woman to have enjoyed your attentions for a single night. There will be no regrets, no recriminations and if we are obliged to meet in company, I hope we can do so like civilised beings. As far as I am concerned the matter is over.’
Jack stared at her. His instinct was to drag her into his arms, to melt her icy resolve with a savage kiss, but he was haunted by the memory of her distress that morning. Despite her brave words she had been a virgin when he had taken her to his bed and he was ashamed that he had not realised it. That she had not told him, that their lovemaking had been as passionate and intense as any he had ever experienced, was no excuse for his lack of control. More than that, he was confused by his feelings for her. She did not trust him, she certainly did not confide in him—it seemed now that she did not even want him, so why could he not just do as she asked and leave her to her fate?
‘My lady. Eloise—’
She closed her eyes and lifted her hand as if to defend herself.
‘Please, let me go!’
Her impassioned whisper cut him like a knife. She did not want him near her. He removed his hand from the door and stood back.
‘As you wish, madam.’
Chapter Twelve
‘My lady, are you going downstairs for dinner?’
Alice’s voice roused Eloise from her sleep. She blinked and gazed around the room. As her mind cleared she remembered with a sinking heart the events that had resulted in her spending the entire afternoon curled up on her bed.
Alice was bustling around the room, pulling clothes from the linen press and chattering all the while.
‘I made sure everyone thought you had the migraine, my lady: even fetched up a tisane for you, which I drank myself since you was asleep. Didn’t want anyone connecting your malaise with Mr Mortimer’s antics last night. Mrs Renwick sends her compliments and says that if you wish she will arrange for you to have dinner in your room, so I said I would come and find out how you are.’
Eloise sat up and rubbed her eyes.
‘No, I must put in an appearance, I think.’
Alice gave an approving nod.
‘I have brought you up some hot water. Shall I lay out your new gown for you?’
She allowed Alice to dress her in the white silk with its exquisite silver embroidery. She pulled out the diamonds Tony had given her for a wedding present and as her maid fastened the necklace she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, feeling very much as if she was putting on her armour to go into battle.
When Eloise walked into the drawing room some time later she had the impression that there was a sudden lull in the conversation, that all eyes were turned upon her. She kept her smile in place and walked towards her hostess: not even by the flicker of an eyelid would she betray her inner trepidation.
‘My dear Lady Allyngham, I am so glad you could join us: migraine can be most debilitating.’ Mrs Renwick leaned forwards and peered into her face. ‘But, my dear, you are still a little pale, are sure you are quite well?’
‘Yes, ma’am, thank you. You must not worry about me, especially when we have a much more serious invalid in the house. Is there any news of Mr Mortimer?’
‘I think Major Clifton can answer that for you,’ said Mrs Renwick, beckoning to Jack. ‘He has been most solicitous of poor Mr Mortimer and can tell us if there is any change, can you not, Major?’
Eloise berated herself for her stupidity. She should have realised that any enquiries about Alex would be directed to Major Clifton. Unable to escape, she fixed her eyes upon the floor as Jack approached. He did not look at her, but addressed himself to his hostess.
‘I called in upon Mortimer on my way downstairs, ma’am, and I am pleased to tell you that he is looking much better.’
‘So we have no need to summon Dr Bellamy?’ asked Mr Renwick, coming up.
‘Not in the least. In fact I expect to see him out of bed in a few days, once his leg has begun to heal.’
‘That is excellent news,’ declared Edward Graham. ‘Poor Mortimer, he will be sorry when he hears what a good day’s shooting he missed today. And you too, Clifton. Pity you didn’t come out with us, but I take it you’ll be able to join us tomorrow?’
‘Yes, if the weather holds.’
The conversation turned to sport and Mrs Renwick went off to greet Meg Cromer, who had just come in. Eloise moved towards the fire to warm her hands. She did not know whether to be most relieved or disappointed by the cool reception she had received from Jack, yet what did she expect, after the way she had repulsed him that morning? Her mind strayed back to their walk through the long gallery. For a short time she had been able to forget her troubles and lose herself in discussing art and the paintings on the walls. It was as if they had been old friends, until his chance remark had reminded her that she was not free to indulge in such luxury. She and Jack Clifton could never be friends. After last night he knew too much about her—for him to learn more might endanger everything she had worked so hard to conceal.
She allowed her eyes to stray towards the little group of gentlemen: Jack Clifton’s powerful figure immediately claimed her attention. His broad shoulders filled the black evening coat without the need for padding and his long legs encased in biscuit-coloured pantaloons gave him the height to stand out amongst his companions. Some called him saturnine, with his raven-black hair and hard, unsmiling features, but she had seen the kindness in his eyes, experienced the warmth of his smile and found more jovial countenances insipid by comparison.
I love him.
The revelation shocked her. She turned away quickly, afraid that someone might look into her face and discover her secret. It could never be, of course. Witness his reaction when she had revealed that she was a maid—surely he would never have reacted in such a way if he cared for her at all. If he loved her.
Aye, there was the rub: she was being foolishly romantic. Jack Clifton was a kind man, an honourable man, but he did not love her. He had told her himself that he had loved Clara Deforge and she had been a sweet, innocent young maid, a paragon of virtue compared with the disgraceful Lady Allyngham, who flirted and teased and kept all manner of secrets! Jack could never love such a woman. He wanted to help her because she was Tony’s widow. Lying on her bed that afternoon, she had relived the moment when she had told
him she wanted nothing more to do with him, only in her silly, foolish, fairy-tale imagination he did not let her walk away from him. An unhappy lump settled in her throat. If only Jack had held her then, told her he would not let her go, that she was his and he would keep her no matter what happened. But he had said nothing. He had stood back and let her walk out, probably relieved to be free of her toils.
‘A penny for your thoughts, Lady Allyngham.’
Sir Ronald Deforge’s soft words brought an abrupt end to her reverie. This man had the power to ruin her, he had tried to kill her best friend, but she dare not denounce him. Instead she assumed the brittle, society manner that served her so well.
‘They are not worth even a groat, Sir Ronald.’
He leaned closer and it was all she could do not to back away.
‘I thought you might be thinking over my…proposal.’
‘That requires a great deal of consideration, sir. It is not something to be undertaken lightly.’
‘Very true, but I am not a patient man, and I want your answer.’ He took out his snuffbox and flicked it open. ‘Our hostess tells me you intend to leave us.’
‘Yes. I am going back to town.’
‘This is very sudden, is it not?’
She was silent while he took a delicate pinch of snuff.
‘I made my decision last night,’ she said at last. ‘I informed Mrs Renwick earlier today that I have business in London requiring my attention.’
His puffy, pock-marked face pushed even closer, so that she could feel his breath on her skin.
‘I hope you do not plan to run away from me, madam.’
She raised her head, her lip curling disdainfully.
‘Of course not. But I need time to think.’
‘So you are leaving your lapdog Mortimer behind you? Do you think that is wise? Will he be quite safe, do you think?’
Her head came up at that. She fixed him with a steady gaze.
‘Let us understand one thing, Sir Ronald. I shall not make any decision until Alex Mortimer is quite well again. It is in your interests to make sure he comes to no more harm.’
His look of surprise gave her some small satisfaction
Disgrace and Desire Page 17