Lady Caro

by Marlene Suson

  “I am not turning her away. She may stay here as long as she wishes.”

  Abigail’s startled gaze flew up to meet Levisham’s. “But I cannot. My brother, when he learns that I am here, will never permit me to intrude on your hospitality unless I have a legitimate occupation to earn my keep. Nor,”—her head raised proudly—“would I want to.”

  The marquess gave her a long searching look. “I wish to be private with Abigail,” he told Caro sharply.

  Puzzled, Caro rose and went to the French doors that led into the drawing room.

  “Shut the doors behind you,” her father instructed her, “and see that we are not disturbed by anyone.”

  When the doors had closed behind his daughter, Levisham gestured toward the chair beside him which she had vacated. “Sit there, Abigail.”

  Reluctantly his visitor, casting a nervous glance at him from beneath her lashes, did as she was bid.

  He was torn between happiness at seeing her again and a fresh surge of anger at her rejection of the offer he had made her after his son’s death. Despite her having turned down several attractive proposals and her oft-stated determination not to marry and place herself under a husband’s uncertain domination, Levisham had thought that his own suit would meet with a warmer reception. When it had not, his consequence had been bitterly wounded. More surprisingly, so had his heart. Somehow, over the years, without his realizing it, Abigail had come to occupy a very important place in his affections and in his life. But it had taken her departure to Scotland for him to acknowledge this belatedly to himself.

  Abigail was toying nervously with the handle of her umbrella and said, “I am shocked that Caro has married Lord Vinson.”

  “Why should you be? They are well matched in birth and family.”

  “Does the heart count for nothing?” Abigail asked softly, her eyes meeting his shyly. “Vinson loves his mistress, who is an incomparable beauty. Why would he suddenly want to marry Caro?”

  “He did not. His father insisted that he must marry. The earl wants a grandson.”

  “Oh, George,” Abigail cried, her hands closing convulsively around the handle of her umbrella. “How could you marry your daughter to a man who wants nothing but to have her breed his child? What kind of life will she have?”

  “Vinson is an honorable man.” Levisham would not confess his own misgivings about the match he had arranged. Instead, he said defensively, “I believe that he will treat Caro always with great kindness and consideration.”

  “Will kindness and consideration be enough for Caro?” Abigail demanded angrily, a haunted look in her eyes. “What of love?”

  The marquess glared at her. How dare she question him when, to his thinking, she was as much responsible for his daughter’s marriage as he was. If only Abigail had accepted his offer. She was as sensible a woman as he had ever known (except for her one unaccountable lapse in refusing his suit), and he could have trusted her to protect both his daughter and her fortune. He would have been able to leave Caro in her stepmother’s custody rather than requiring her to make a marriage she did not want. Furthermore, by now he might have fathered another son who would have kept the odious Tilford from the succession.

  Although Levisham was not normally a vindictive man, he could not restrain himself, in the face of these unhappy thoughts, from telling Abigail, “You were a fool not to have accepted my offer. Had you married me, you would not be in this miserable situation.”

  Her head snapped up and for a moment there was a flash of her old spirit in her eyes. “Nor would I be in it had you not made me that wretched offer!”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “My father was so incensed over my refusing you that he altered his will to punish me, denying me control of my inheritance. He knew how important it was to me to be independent. Furthermore, I think it was your dreadful sister-in-law who gave Darrow’s wife the idea that she would be well rid of me.”

  Knowing Olive as he did, Levisham did not doubt that Abigail’s suspicion was well founded. “Damn that woman!”

  “That would do me little good now,” Abigail retorted with a hint of her old humor.

  Levisham studied her for a long moment, considering the question that had plagued him since she had rejected his proposal. Until now, his pride had prevented him from asking it. “Let us be honest with each other, Abigail. You told me a few minutes ago that you cared about me. Why then did you so blithely refuse my offer?”

  “I did not blithely refuse your offer, but if you were to ask me again today, I would still reject it.”

  “I do not understand. You said you cared.”

  Her blue eyes met his squarely. “I do care,” she said quietly. “I have been in love with you since I was Caro’s age.”

  He gaped at her, his emotions fluctuating wildly between happiness and bewilderment. “Then why did you refuse me?”

  “Because you do not love me. You never showed me the least interest during all those years until Brandon died. Then you offered for me only because you wanted an heir to prevent Tilford from inheriting.”

  He squirmed at the truth of her charge. Yes, that had been the reason he had offered for her. She was a pleasant, witty companion, and he had thought that they would deal well together. Over the years, he had become so used to having her about that he had rarely given her a second thought. Occasionally, it had crossed his mind that she would make an excellent wife and mother for his children, but, if the truth be known, he hated London and much preferred the reclusive life that he had led since his wife’s death. Were he to remarry, he would no longer be able to use the excuse of extended grief over her death. Both society and a new wife would expect him to reenter the fashionable world. It had taken the ramifications of his son’s death to end his lassitude.

  Abigail regarded him somberly. “I could not live my life with a husband who would always love the memory of another woman instead of me,” she said with a dignity that wrenched his heart.

  For the first time, he comprehended how insulting his offer must have seemed to her. He had not presented it in romantic terms because he had not yet realized himself how much he loved her. He passed a hand over his face. How many mistakes he had made. Only now, when his future was so uncertain, did he realize them. He prayed that he would be permitted to live long enough to try to make up to Abigail for some of the pain and hurt he had caused her.

  His hands reached out and caught hers. “My dearest Abigail, what an incredible fool I have been. I do love you very much, but it took me a long time to realize it. I would like to make you another offer, but I must warn you that you run the risk of being a widow almost before you are a wife.”

  “Oh, George, that does not matter.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “To have you and your love for a little while would be so much better than never to have it.”

  A servant told Caro that her father wished to see her on the terrace. She hurried out to find Abigail and the marquess holding hands. When they told her that they planned to be married, Caro was delighted. “It is the very best thing for both of you!” she exclaimed exuberantly.

  Later, when she was alone with Abigail, she asked with her customary frankness, “How long have you been in love with Papa?”

  “For years, but he was so wrapped up in his memories of your mama that he scarcely noticed my existence.” Abigail’s smile faded. “I felt that I could never compete with her memory. But I was determined to marry no one but him. My father would never have permitted my remaining single for that reason. So I pretended to embrace Lady Fraser’s disgust for marriage. I insisted that I wished to devote myself to caring for Papa. Since his paramount concern was for his own comfort, which I saw to nicely, he was delighted for me to remain at his side.”

  “Your father did not deserve you!” Caro cried.

  Abigail shrugged. “It suited me to remain with him because it permitted me to be near your papa.”

  Caro was appalled by what her friend h
ad silently suffered for all those years: hiding her love for a man who did not return it while tending to a demanding old tyrant. “How unhappy you must have been.”

  “But no longer!” Happiness radiated from Abigail’s face, but suddenly it vanished like the sun behind a black cloud, and she cried in a choked voice, “Oh, Caro, your father looks so weak. I could not bear to lose him now. I love him so!”

  Caro’s heart ached for her friend. If only her father had made Abigail an offer years ago, instead of wasting all those years when they might have been happy together.

  When Caro expressed this sentiment aloud, Abigail replied in a voice laced with sorrow, “But he had to discover first that he loved me. Living with him without his love would have been too painful for me to bear. Oh, Caro, you have no idea how terrible it is to know that the man you love adores another, far more dazzling woman!”

  But Caro did know. Even now, Ashley was no doubt in the arms of Lady Roxley. The thought twisted in Caro like a medieval torture screw.

  Chapter 19

  Several days had passed since Ashley had called on Lady Roxley to tell her of his marriage, and she had not heard from him. Visions of the ruby and diamond necklace gave way to alarm in the lady’s mind. She had expected to be showered with flowers and trinkets and beseeching notes pleading for forgiveness. But she had heard not a word.

  Estelle, recalling the universal admiration still accorded the late, legendary marchioness of Levisham, wondered anxiously whether the daughter could be an Incomparable like her mother.

  It had not occurred to Lady Roxley initially that Ashley’s wife might have his heart because Estelle could not conceive that any man so sublimely fortunate as to be her lover could possibly notice another woman. Furthermore, Vinson had referred to his marriage as an onerous duty and assured her that his marriage “need have no effect on our connection.”

  Despite Estelle’s pique at Ashley’s marriage, she did not want to lose him. She had had other lovers before him, and none had been so satisfying, nor so generous and entertaining as Vinson. Years ago, when he had first fallen in love with her, she had wrapped him about her finger. But in the intervening years, he had changed, and for all the devotion he showed her, she was no longer so certain of her power over him. How she wished now that she had married him so that he would be legally tied to her for life.

  She remembered uneasily the way that he had looked at her after she lost her temper at the news of his marriage. If only she had not done so. Her servants, her children, and the rest of her family lived in terror of her temper, but she had always taken great care never to let Ashley see that unattractive side of her. Accustomed as she was, however, to unswerving male adoration, Ashley’s taking of a wife had been more than her pride could bear. She had been humiliated by the thought that everyone would talk about his defection from her.

  But after the first shock of his news had worn off, she realized that she could squelch such unflattering gossip by showing London that, despite his new wife, he was still hers. This task would be made easier by his not having brought his wife to London with him, an omission that was causing considerable speculation.

  Going to her rosewood-and-gilt writing table, Estelle penned a note to Ashley, bidding him to come to her house at noon the following day. They could not meet at the Brushes’. Lady Brush had been so lacking in foresight as to invite two dozen ladies of the ton there to hear Lord Byron read his poetry at the very time that Estelle wished to rendezvous with Ashley. He would not come to her house, however, if he knew that her husband was in town, so she refrained from informing him that this was the case.

  Even though Roxley was in town, his lady knew that she would run no danger of his discovering her with Ashley. Her husband spent his afternoons at his club, dining there before going on to whatever entertainments he had scheduled for the night. Estelle could not remember when he had last been home in the afternoon or when they had dined there together.

  She sent her invitation to Ashley around by hand. The footman returned with a reply that the viscount could not come at noon but would do so at four.

  This vexed Estelle greatly, for she had planned to greet him in her dressing room. Despite this pedestrian designation, it was an elegant chamber. Its walls, which were hung with crimson and gold brocade, provided a flattering backdrop for her dramatic beauty. An alcove with a daybed in it occupied one end of the room. Crimson and gold draperies, which matched the wall hangings, could be drawn across the alcove’s arched opening to ensure privacy.

  It was on the daybed that Estelle had planned to greet Ashley, clad in her most provocative negligee, and to proceed to strengthen her hold over him with an afternoon of delightful improprieties in that cleverly curtained alcove. But although a negligee would seem unexceptional at noon, since that was the hour at which she normally rose, to still be wearing it at four in the afternoon would too blatantly broadcast her intent.

  So, the following afternoon, she was forced instead to don a new silk gown with a fitted waist, from which a full skirt billowed over several petticoats. In truth, it would have been more appropriate for an assembly at Almack’s than an afternoon in her dressing room, but she believed it was the most flattering gown she owned. The intense shade of rose enhanced the pearl like luster of her complexion; the fitted waist emphasized her own, which was amazingly tiny for a woman who had borne three sons; and the gown’s daring décolletage revealed two of her best assets.

  She was determined to be her most charming when Ashley arrived even though her husband had put her dreadfully out of curl that morning by announcing that he was having their sons brought to London from their country house in Dorset. They would arrive that night, and he would spend it at home so that he would be there when they came.

  It was just like that disobliging man to come home early on the one day when she wanted him out of the house for as long as possible. Estelle had never loved him, but when they were first married, he had adored her and had been only too happy to give her whatever she wanted.

  But as the years passed, he had grown increasingly irate over her extravagances until, after the birth of their third son, he had humiliated her by cutting off her generous allowance, making it known to the fashionable shopkeepers she patronized that they could expect no payment unless he had first approved her expenditures. None of her teasing and cajoling, or even her extravagant temper tantrums, had made him relent. Since she had married him only for his fortune and he was withdrawing its free use, she saw no reason why she should be his wife in anything but name, and she made it clear that the less she saw of him, the better.

  To her surprise, he had accepted her edict without argument. It never occurred to her that he might have come to feel the same way.

  When Ashley arrived, she received him in her dressing room. Skirts swaying gracefully, she moved to greet him with a seductive smile. He looked so dashing in his elegant frock coat of dark blue superfine over a striped blue waistcoat and a frilled white shirt.

  Seeing her, he stopped. “How beautiful you are!”

  This remark made her feel more confident of him. Extending her hands to him, she said in her most provocative voice, low and husky and enticing, “It has been days since I have seen you. I hope this is not how you mean to neglect me now that you are married?”

  He took her hands and kissed first one, then the other. “You told me at our last meeting that you could not bear the sight of me.”

  “You must understand the terrible shock you gave me: the love of my life marrying without so much as a word of warning in advance.” She continued to hold his hands, and her husky voice became softly chiding. “If only you had told me before you left how you felt about Levisham’s daughter.”

  “I could not do that then, for I had not yet met her myself.”

  Thoroughly alarmed by this answer, Estelle demanded, a hint of incredulity in her tone, “Are you saying that it was love at first sight?”

  Her question seemed to amuse Ashley g
reatly. “No, it was not.”

  Although relieved, Estelle continued to probe. “If it was not love, why did you marry her so quickly?”

  “For several reasons, but love was not one of them.”

  “No doubt she fell into your arms the moment she saw you,” Estelle said tartly.

  “As a matter of fact, she did,” Ashley replied, his lips twitching.

  Estelle, knowing how much he disliked aggressive young ladies, was delighted that his wife should have been so stupidly forward in her pursuit of him.

  Leading Ashley toward the alcove, Estelle cooed, “Oh, darting, I wish that you could have come at noon. Our time together shall have to be short.”

  “Why?” he asked with a frown.

  “Roxley is having the children brought to London, and they arrive tonight.”

  Ashley’s frown vanished. “I understand. Of course, you wish to be with your children.”

  “It’s not that at all,” she said, looking at him as though he were touched in the upper works. Motherhood had been as disappointing to her as marriage. She had detested pregnancy, with its morning sickness and the awkwardness and discomfort of growing huge, not to mention her intense fear of dying in childbirth. Then came the agony of birth—and all for wrinkled, red little brats so ugly that she could scarcely believe that they could have come from her exquisite body. Perhaps if they had been little girls, who could be dressed up charmingly in lace and frills like the dolls she used to play with, she might have found them more interesting. But sons were miniature whirlwinds always getting into things they shouldn’t. “I infinitely prefer your company to that of my sons. But Roxley dotes on his boys, and he plans to return home by six so that he will be here when they arrive.”

  “Good God, I thought he was out of town! I should not be here.” He looked about her dressing room with an angry frown. “I would not have come up had I known—”

  Estelle silenced him by the simple expedient of covering his mouth with her own in a passionate kiss.

  A knock at the door caused Ashley to set her firmly away from him.