A wooden-faced Giddings pulled out her chair, assisting her to take her place when, in response to Robert’s remark, Charles gave the signal to commence dining.
They ate their minted pea soup in silence. Heloise could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t make everything ten times worse. She kept stealing glances at her handsome, enigmatic husband, a sense of awful finality lining her stomach with lead. While she had been dressing for dinner she had analysed every aspect of his behaviour towards her. She could better understand his attempt to consummate the marriage now she knew he had not, after all, been availing himself of Mrs Kenton’s services. Assuming she was experienced, he had decided he might as well try her out ‘just the once’. But, from the rapidity with which he left the room afterwards, it was clear she had fallen way short of his exacting standards.
And the fact that he did not seem to mind too much about the gambling debt must be because he was glad she had finally given him the excuse he needed to send her away. He had said they must spend some time in London just at first, to silence gossip. Well, now that time was at an end, and who could wonder at him taking her to the country and leaving her there?
He was only just recovering enough from his disappointment with regard to Felice to be thinking about having another woman in his bed. But once she was installed at Wycke he could come back to London and trawl through the women thronging Covent Garden, just as the other men of his class did.
She briefly wondered what he would look like with pea green soup dripping down his supercilious face. Perhaps fortunately for her, Giddings cleared away her bowl before she had summoned up the courage to indulge her vengeful daydream.
Linney leaned over Robert’s plate to cut up the collop of veal that comprised the second course, provoking Robert into thumping his one clenched fist on the tabletop. His wine glass went flying, splattering scarlet liquid all over the pristine white tablecloth, onto his plate, and into the nearby dish of béchamel sauce.
‘Dammit, dammit, dammit!’ As he tried to push himself to his feet, Finch, who had sped to the scene with a cloth to mop up the spill, inadvertently blocked his clumsy manoeuvre. Linney caught him as he bounced off the strapping young man’s frame, deftly deflecting him back into his seat. Then, without so much as a raised eyebrow, calmly carried on cutting up his master’s veal.
‘You’ll feel much better, if you’ll forgive me for saying so, sir, once you’ve got on the outside of some meat,’ Linney observed. ‘Been overdoing it today, he has, my lord.’ He addressed Charles. ‘Dashing all over town, knocking himself up, and getting into a pucker over the news.’
‘Thank you, Linney. When I want you to speak for me, as well as cut up my food and put me to bed,’ Captain Fawley stormed, ‘I’ll let you know!’
For the first time since she had come into the salon Heloise stopped thinking about her own problems and noticed that Robert looked really ill.
‘Robert, what is the matter? Why have you been dashing all over town? Oh, please say it was not on account of my—’
‘The news which has upset Robert, I believe,’ Charles interrupted, hoping to avoid having his wife’s gaming debts discussed before the servants, ‘is—’
‘Hell and damnation! Will you all stop trying to speak for me as though I’d lost my tongue along with an arm and a leg and my looks!’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Charles replied, calmly cutting up a portion of his own meat and spearing it neatly with his fork. ‘By all means, repeat before my wife the news you related to me earlier.’
‘Well, dammit, so I will!’ he retorted. ‘Grey lost the vote,’ he told her. ‘The government has finally decided to send British troops to support the forces the Prussians, Russians and Austrians have already assembled to put a stop to Bonaparte’s ambitions. Britain is, in effect, at war with France again.’
He glared at her so ferociously that Heloise felt obliged to say, ‘I know I am French, Robert, but I am not your enemy …’
He snorted in derision. ‘But you’re the only French citizen I’m likely to get anywhere near. Wellington and Bonaparte are finally going to meet, every able-bodied ex-soldier is volunteering, and what am I doing? Running errands for a French-born—’
‘I think you have said enough,’ Charles said.
Robert struggled with himself. ‘Lady Walton,’ he eventually said, ‘it is not your fault you are French. I dare say the truth is that Linney is right. I have done too much today—knocked myself up. But if you had heard the way those fools were prating in the clubs! Laying odds on the chances of Wellington beating Bonaparte as though it was a cockfight! And all my friends, joining up and saying their farewells, and I’m stuck here—a useless wreck of a man. I just want to hit someone! I don’t particularly care who. And I can’t even do that,’ he finished, glaring down at the empty sleeve which Linney had pinned neatly out of the way for dinner.
‘Truth of the matter is I’m not fit company tonight, and I should never have come to this table,’ said Robert, signalling to Linney to help him from his chair. ‘I’ll return to my rooms and stop casting a blight on your evening. Lady Walton.’ He bowed to her. ‘I carried out your little commission, as you requested. I gave the package to Charles. I apologise for my filthy temper, and my boorish manners. And I trust you will enjoy your visit to Wycke.’
Heloise’s mind began to race. ‘Charles,’ she said, turning to him the minute Robert had left, ‘it cannot be good to go away just now and leave Robert all on his own. He might sink back to the way he was when I first came here.’
If she could postpone her exile, even for a few days, surely she could come up with some way to prove to Charles that he need not banish her? Even if it was only a stay of execution, she would at least have had a few more days with him.
‘No,’ he said, with such finality it dashed all her hopes to the ground. ‘My mind is made up.’ He had to remove Heloise from the dangers London posed for such an innocent. ‘We will leave in the morning.’
She sat like a stone, picturing her lonely, loveless future, while the servants efficiently cleared away Robert’s place-setting. In a space of minutes it was as if he had never been in the room. Even his chair was removed and placed against a wall, where it blended in amongst its fellows. Charles would no doubt have his servants eradicate all traces of his errant wife from this house just as efficiently.
‘Do you require any help with your packing?’
She blinked. Charles was set on his course. She had no doubt that if she tried to resist he would order these efficient minions of his to pack her things for her. She had a brief vision of Giddings wrapping her in brown paper, securing her with string, and stuffing her into a trunk.
‘No,’ she said, folding her napkin neatly and placing it beside her still half-full plate. ‘But what of Robert?’ It had occurred to her that her exile might be easier to endure if she had a friend to share it. ‘I cannot bear to think of him alone in those gloomy rooms. Could he not come with us?’
Charles set down his knife and fork. If Robert came with them it would ruin everything! He wanted Heloise to himself.
‘Robert has a standing invitation to view Wycke any time he pleases. He is my heir, if you recall. But he does not care to go,’ he warned her.
Heloise went cold inside. Charles had just reminded her he had no further use for her—not even to provide him with an heir. He wanted Robert to succeed him.
Frantically she grappled for something, anything, that might still win her a tiny place in her husband’s good graces.
What if she could get Robert to travel to Wycke? Would that not please Charles? It had to be worth a try. For as things stood she was never likely to set eyes on him again. Once he had settled her into her new home he would feel free to pick a fresh, pretty new mistress, and within a month he would have forgotten all about her.
‘I am finished here,’ she said, pushing herself to her feet.
On legs that felt like cotton wool she left the salon and wove he
r way across the hall to pound on Robert’s door. She had to persuade him to come to Wycke. It was her last chance to show Charles she had some worth as a wife.
Chapter Twelve
‘Goodness!’ Heloise exclaimed, leaning over Robert to peer through the window on his side of the carriage. ‘How much land does Charles own?’
‘More than half of Berkshire, I believe, besides swathes of land just outside London, and several minor estates dotted about the country.’
She sat back, a troubled frown on her face. ‘I only meant how big is this estate of Wycke? It has been more than ten minutes, I think, since we drove through the lodge gates.’
‘We have been driving through Walton’s lands for the past hour and more,’ Robert explained.
‘All those farms and fields … the village we just passed through …’
‘Did you not notice the name of the inn? The Walton Arms? The very vicar of the church is in your husband’s pocket.’
He owned a village. And paid the priest. He was—she shuddered—the local seigneur. Just like her infamous grandfather.
She had always known Charles had a grand title. He had told her he had a vast fortune. But she had never fully comprehended what it all meant until this moment.
Feeling very small, and very helpless, Heloise turned to look out of her own window, so that she could keep her feeling of shock from her travelling companion. And caught sight of Charles, mounted on his favourite hunter, breaking away from the cavalcade that was winding its ponderous way along the carriage drive and making for a belt of trees on top of a small rise. Did the house lie in that direction? In the middle of a forest?
She swallowed down a feeling of panic. He was going to abandon her here in the middle of all this countryside, with not a soul to talk to for miles.
The carriage wound round a right-hand bend, revealing yet another feature of Wycke’s extensive grounds. On her side of the carriage the ground sloped down to a shimmering silver lake, containing an island complete with yet more trees, and a ruined castle.
It was a relief when the coach veered away from what looked suspiciously like the very sort of place a man would lock away an unwanted wife, and rolled along an avenue bordered by neatly clipped shrubbery.
The house itself was huge, naturally, and built of stone the colour of fresh butter.
‘Oh, hell,’ muttered Robert.
Following his gaze, Heloise registered that in order to reach the front door they were going to have to ascend a flight of about twenty steps.
By the time they stepped through the glass-paned double doors and into a bright, airy lobby, Robert’s face was the colour of whey.
‘Walton,’ he gasped, addressing the figure emerging from a green baize door to the rear of the hallway. ‘Beg leave to inform you …’
But before he could finish, his eyes rolled back in his head. With a grunt, Linney took his dead weight, lowering him gently to the cool, marble tiled floor. Heloise dropped to her knees beside them, her hands frantically tearing away Robert’s neck cloth.
‘Finch! Wilbrahams!’ Charles barked.
Heloise briefly lifted her head, registering her husband striding towards them with his jacket flying loose, his riding crop in his hand, closely followed by two footmen in the familiar blue and silver livery.
‘Get Captain Fawley to his rooms!’
With Linney’s help, the footmen manhandled Robert’s dead weight towards a set of mahogany doors to the right of the grand staircase.
When Heloise scrambled to her feet and made to follow them, Charles caught her by the arm. ‘Leave him to Linney,’ he snapped. ‘Your duty lies elsewhere.’
For the first time she noticed that the hall was crowded with servants, all of whom were watching her with avid curiosity.
From among them stepped a grey-haired lady, severely garbed in black bombazine.
‘The staff wish to extend a warm welcome to your new bride, my lord,’ she said dropping a respectful curtsey, though the expression on her face did not match her words.
Heloise was suddenly aware that as she had knelt to help Robert her bonnet had come askew, and that in rising she had caught her heel in her skirts, tearing loose a flounce. Her face felt sticky after the journey, and she was convinced there must be at least one smut on it.
‘This is Mrs Lanyon, our housekeeper,’ Charles said, his fingers curling more tightly round her arm. He guided her along the line of servants as the housekeeper proceeded to name each and every one, along with their position.
Charles could not seriously expect her to remember the names of an entire regiment of household staff? Could he? Never mind the additional brigade of grooms and gardeners.
‘And now I shall conduct you and your personal maid to your suite of rooms, my lady,’ Mrs Lanyon intoned. ‘There will just be time to refresh yourself and change for dinner,’ she added, sweeping up the dark oak staircase. ‘We have held it back against your arrival on this one occasion, although normally, of course, we do not keep town hours at Wycke.’
Heloise meekly followed, mortifyingly aware of the staff nudging each other and whispering behind their hands.
‘I trust this is to your satisfaction, my lady?’ Mrs Lanyon said, upon showing her into a set of rooms on the second floor.
‘I am sure it is,’ Heloise replied, loosening the ribbons of her bonnet. There had been something in the woman’s tone that almost dared her to make any criticism. ‘If you would show me where I may wash?’
Mrs Lanyon led the way across what Heloise had to admit was a very pretty, feminine sitting room, and opened a door. ‘Your dressing room.’
‘What a lovely washstand,’ Heloise said inanely.
The top was of pink-veined marble. Standing upon its gleaming surface was a floral-patterned washing set, comprising ewer and basin, and a dish holding a cake of soap sculpted into the shape of a rose. Pristine linen sheets were draped in readiness over a free-standing towel rail.
‘I shall feel so much better after a wash,’ she said, removing her bonnet and unbuttoning her spencer in the hope that Mrs Lanyon would take the hint and leave her in peace.
‘Shall I send up some refreshments?’
‘A glass of lemonade would be very welcome.’
‘Lemonade,’ Mrs Lanyon echoed faintly. Then, as though pulling herself together, ‘If that is what you wish …’
‘It is,’ Heloise insisted, barely resisting the urge to stamp her foot. It had been a horrible day. Charles had been in one of his most unapproachable moods all day, the coach had been hot and stuffy, making the journey extremely uncomfortable, and she had discovered that her husband was not just Charles at all, but a man as important and influential as a French seigneur. This woman’s thinly veiled disappointment in her new mistress was the last straw.
Only when she heard the door shut behind her did she permit herself to sink onto a striped day bed and toe off her sweat-stained pumps.
‘Oh, Sukey,’ she groaned, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples. ‘Did you ever see such a place? Or so many servants?’
‘No, my lady,’ she agreed, in a voice that was slightly muffled since she was peering into the wardrobe. ‘Shall I pour the water for your wash now?’ she asked, shutting it, and running her hand reverently over the beautifully carved door panels.
‘You had better,’ Heloise replied, prising herself from the sofa and padding to the dressing room in her stockinged feet. ‘I dare not be late for dinner. You heard what that woman said. “We don’t keep town hours at Walton.’”
Sukey giggled as Heloise imitated the woman’s voice almost perfectly.
‘What shall I lay out for you to wear?’
‘Whatever looks the least crumpled,’ Heloise replied as Sukey went to work on the hooks of her gown. ‘Oh, that feels so much better,’ she sighed, as she peeled gown and stays from her perspiring body.
It felt better still to sponge herself all over with cool, delicately scented water. When she went ba
ck into the sitting room, wrapped only in a linen bath sheet, she found a tray containing lemonade and a plate of freshly baked biscuits on a little occasional table. Both were delicious, and very welcome.
‘I’ve laid out that light yellow silk gown for dinner,’ Sukey said, emerging from another door, which Heloise could see led to a bedchamber. She felt a queer tightening in her middle at the possibility there might be a door somewhere that connected her suite to her husband’s rooms, just like in London. Should she ask Sukey? Or just go and look for herself later on? So it would not seem as though she had given the matter any thought?
‘Since it has been such a hot day, I thought you would want something cool to wear.’ Sukey explained her choice. ‘But I’ve put the gold silk shawl out as well, in case it gets chilly later on.’ She picked up Heloise’s hairbrush. ‘Shall I start on your hair while you finish your drink, to save time? And if I bring the plate of biscuits to the dressing table you can carry on eating, too.’
‘A good idea,’ said Heloise, settling on the low-backed chair.
‘It’s going to take me a month of Sundays to remember the names of all the people who work here,’ Sukey muttered through a mouthful of hairpins.
‘Me also,’ agreed Heloise with a rueful smile.
‘And have you ever seen so many trees? Not but what we don’t have trees in London, but at least they are in nice straight lines along the side of the road, where they give shade in the summer,’ she grumbled, swiftly working the brush through Heloise’s tangles. ‘I reckon they must be downright gloomy when it rains.’
‘Do you dislike it so much here?’ Just because she was doomed to misery, it was not fair to condemn her maid to the same fate. She felt a flicker of panic. ‘If you want to return to London …’
‘I dare say I will get used to it!’ Sukey said hastily. ‘I didn’t mean to complain. I’d much rather be a lady’s maid, even if it is stuck out here in the middle of all this nothing, than go back to blacking the fires in London!’
Regency Innocents Page 18