Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 02]

by One Night of Scandal

  Deb looked at her, but did not say anything. The silence was eloquent. They were both remembering their father’s determination to marry all his children off advantageously, a determination that brooked no opposition.

  ‘If not cousin Harry, then someone else,’ Deb said bluntly. ‘You know that he will not be happy until he sees me safely—and legitimately—married.’

  Olivia grimaced sympathetically. She tilted the brim of her straw hat against the sun, which was creeping round the edge of the roof.

  ‘So what will you do? You cannot avoid returning to Bath for Guy’s wedding, unless you invent some fictitious illness.’

  It was on the tip of Deb’s tongue to tell her sister that it was not an illness she planned to invent but a fictitious betrothal. She just managed to hold her peace in time. Despite Olivia’s surprisingly broadminded stance on the subject of taking a lover, Deb knew that she would be shocked to know that her sister had advertised for a fiancé. It simply was not done. It would be time enough to tell Olivia what she planned when she had found a suitable gentleman, even then, she was certain that her sister would cut up rough.

  ‘I do not know what I shall do,’ she said, ‘though I am certain that I will think of something. Oh, if only there was not this annoying threat of invasion to add weight to Papa’s argument! It is most inconvenient.’

  Olivia laughed. ‘What is inconvenient? Bonaparte’s plans? Do you think that he should have consulted your convenience before he assembled his fleet off Boulogne?’

  Deb gave a little giggle. ‘No, of course not. How absurd you are! I merely mean that Papa does not consider it safe for me to be living alone with only Clarrie and the servants, for all that you and Ross are but a few miles away.’

  ‘You may come and live here with my blessing,’ Olivia said drily. ‘You would not be getting in anybody’s way and it would be nice to have someone to talk to.’

  Deb gave her a troubled look. ‘Truly, Liv, is it so bad? I know that there was a time when you hoped to give Ross an heir…’

  ‘Not much chance of that now,’ Olivia said, even more drily. ‘I have yet to learn that it is possible to conceive an heir when the husband spends all his time improving his estate and the wife spends all her energies on her garden. We may be designing a most elegant home, but we are not propagating a future generation to appreciate it—’

  She broke off, looking flustered for the first time in Deborah’s memory. Ross Marney had come through the folding French windows and out on to the veranda just as his wife was speaking. It was impossible to tell how much of the conversation he had heard.

  ‘Good afternoon, Ross,’ Deb said, seeing that Olivia was rendered temporarily speechless. She got to her feet. ‘May I pour you some tea?’

  Ross bent to kiss her cheek. He was of sturdy build, with black hair and intense blue eyes. When Olivia had first married him, Deb, then an impressionable sixteen-year-old, had had quite a crush on him. These days she could laugh at her girlish infatuations, but she still considered him a handsome man.

  ‘I think that you should allow your sister to dispense the refreshments,’ Ross said, with an unfathomable look at Olivia, ‘since she is complaining that that is all the propagation that she is permitted to do.’

  An awkward silence fell. There were two spots of colour high on Olivia’s cheekbones as she poured the tea. The spout of the pot rattled against the china as her hand shook slightly, and Deb felt a rush of sympathy. It was too bad of Ross to make his wife feel so uncomfortable. He should have pretended that he had not heard.

  ‘We were speaking of our trip to Somerset,’ she said, trying once again to break the silence. ‘It is only two months until Guy’s wedding.’

  ‘Plenty of time for him to reconsider, then, before he makes a decision he may live to regret,’ Ross said. He took his cup with a curt word of thanks and strolled away down the grassy slope on to the lawn.

  Deb was halfway out of her chair when Olivia put her hand on her sister’s arm.

  ‘Deb, do not!’ she implored in a whisper. ‘I know that you only mean to help, but it does not do any good…’

  Deb subsided back in her chair. She picked up her own cup and drank the cooling liquid. Sometimes in the past she had interfered in Ross and Olivia’s disagreements when her sister’s refusal to stand up to her husband had so infuriated her that she could not let a subject pass. Olivia had never reproached her, but sometimes Deb had had the impression that her intervention had made things worse rather than better. She felt exasperated. Olivia was a pattern card of goodness and Ross Marney was a nice man, handsome, generous and kind. So why, oh, why was it not possible for the two of them to co-exist in harmony? She wanted to bang their heads together.

  ‘I suppose that I should go,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Do not hurry away on Ross’s account,’ Olivia said, and Deb heard the note of bitterness in her voice ring clear as a bell. ‘He won’t speak to me of this. We never do talk.’

  Deb wrinkled up her face. Her knowledge of married life was small, consisting of five weeks before Neil Stratton had departed to the wars. That month had hardly been the bliss that she had been expecting. Even so, she knew that if a husband and wife never spoke to each other then they could hardly expect other aspects of their relationship to improve. She opened her mouth to offer some advice, saw the expression on Olivia’s face and closed it again.

  ‘You do not understand,’ Olivia said rapidly. ‘Please let it go, Deborah.’

  Deb got up and hugged her sister hard, spilling Olivia’s tea in the process. Her sister bore the embrace stoically, even going so far as to give Deb a brief, convulsive hug in return. She dabbed at the tea stains on her dress, head bent. All the animation that Deb had seen in her earlier in the afternoon had vanished.

  ‘Would you care to take the carriage back to Mallow?’ Olivia enquired. ‘It is hot to be walking.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Deb said. ‘I shall go through the woods. It will give me time to think.’

  A faint spark of amusement lit Olivia’s face again. ‘About Richard Kestrel? You do not fear to find him lurking behind a tree waiting to pounce again?’

  Deb laughed. ‘If he does, he will get all the odium that should rightly be reserved for Ross. It would be poetic justice.’

  Olivia put out her hand quickly. ‘You will be here for my musicale tonight?’ she asked, and Deb could hear and understand the pleading tone in her voice. It was the first time she had seen a crack in Olivia’s perfect façade and it made her fearful. The marriage must be in dire straits indeed.

  ‘I was not planning to be here,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Is it that Estelle creature from the theatre in Woodbridge who is coming to perform?’

  ‘Miss Estella La Salle,’ Olivia said reprovingly. ‘It is quite a coup for me that she has agreed to sing for us, Deb. She is much sought after and very fashionable in the Prince of Wales’s circle.’

  ‘Only because the Hertfords have made such a fuss over her,’ Deb said. ‘They must be tone deaf! I love you dearly, Liv, but I am not sure that even for you I can sit through Miss La Salle’s caterwauling.’

  ‘You are the one who is tone deaf,’ Olivia responded. Her tone changed. ‘Oh please, Deb…’

  Deb caught sight of Ross disappearing into the shrubbery. He was swiping at the tops of some of the rose bushes and looked to be in a very bad mood indeed.

  ‘Oh, very well,’ she said hastily. ‘I shall be here for as long as I can stand it!’

  Olivia gave her another brief hug and Deb went down the shallow bank and on to the lawn in the same direction that Ross had gone. She was not intending to speak to him for she was not certain that she could be civil, but as she made her way down from the veranda, Ross came across the lawn and fell into step beside her. After giving him one angry, speaking look, Deb tolerated his company in silence. In this manner they walked across the lawn and reached the wooden gate that led out of the garden, across the ha-ha and into the surrounding par
k.

  ‘You may leave me here, Ross,’ Deb said tightly. ‘Thank you for your escort.’

  Ross put his hand on the gate to prevent her exit. ‘Deb, I am sorry.’

  ‘I am not the one to whom you should be apologising,’ Deb said, raising a hand to shade her eyes from the sun so that she could glare at him all the better. ‘I do not know how Liv has endured your behaviour for so long, Ross. If I were in her shoes, I would have taken my gardening shears to you before now.’

  ‘I know,’ Ross said. There was a look of deep unhappiness in his blue eyes.

  ‘And you would deserve it!’ Deb added.

  ‘I know that too.’ A rueful grin touched Ross’s mouth, lightening the tired lines of his face for a moment. ‘Dear Deborah, it is so refreshing to have these sisterly chats with you! You go straight to the heart of the matter instead of pretending that there is no difficulty.’

  ‘Well, do not expect me to give you absolution,’ Deb said sharply. She drew him into the shade of a spreading oak that bordered the garden. ‘That is better. I cannot judge how repentant you are if I am squinting into the sun.’ She scanned his face. ‘Hmm. You do look a little bit cast down, I suppose. Well, you have only yourself to blame, Ross. I could shake both you and Olivia, you know. I am so fond of you both and I cannot comprehend why you cannot like each other.’

  ‘Oh, I like Olivia,’ Ross said wryly. ‘I like her a lot. That is half the trouble!’

  ‘I do not mean in that way,’ Deb said, frowning at him. ‘Men are all the same! You bring everything down to whether a woman is attractive to you or not and matters are never that simple.’

  ‘That is because men are simple creatures at heart,’ Ross said, looking out across Midwinter Marney land towards the sea. ‘All I desire is a home, a wife who cares for me and an heir…’

  ‘Try not to sound too maudlin,’ Deb said tartly. ‘You do not deserve those things unless you settle your differences with Olivia.’ Her face softened and she took his hand. She could never be angry with Ross for long, for she owed him a huge debt of gratitude and she knew what a very kind person he was at heart.

  ‘Dearest Ross,’ she said, ‘it grieves me to see you both so unhappy. You and Olivia have been so generous to me in the past. I do not know what I would have done without you after Neil died—’

  ‘Don’t,’ Ross said gruffly. His face set in hard lines. ‘You know that we would have done anything to help you, Deb.’ Anger darkened his eyes. ‘The only thing that I regret is that the fever got to Neil Stratton before I could call him to account.’

  Deb sighed and freed herself. ‘Don’t, Ross. It is all over and done with now. But I do know that you are a kind and honourable man, and that very fact makes your estrangement from Olivia all the worse! If you were a boorish oaf then I could understand it, but you are not! At least, not most of the time.’

  ‘Thank you, Deb,’ Ross said ironically. ‘That vote of confidence encourages me.’

  ‘You deserve my censure,’ Deb said. ‘You were positively churlish to Olivia just now. Can you not be nice to her for a change? Talk to her! Take her flowers…’

  ‘She has all the flowers she needs in the garden,’ Ross said glumly. ‘I tried giving her a bouquet once and she made some remark about preferring to see flowers growing rather than dead in a vase.’

  Deb sighed with exasperation. ‘That is unfortunate, but why give up as a result?’

  ‘Because I have no notion what it is that Olivia wants,’ Ross said, frowning heavily.

  Deb sighed again. ‘Then why do you not ask her, Ross? Must I tell you how to do everything? Sit down and talk to her one day. Take her to the seaside. Buy her a present! I don’t know…’ Deb shook her head at him. ‘Olivia needs you, Ross. She may appear cool and composed on the surface, but underneath she is as vulnerable as anyone else.’ She gave him a little push. ‘Now go and talk to her!’

  But when she reached the place where the path to Midwinter Mallow entered the beech wood, she looked back to see Ross striding away across the fields and could just make out the forlorn figure of Olivia still sitting on the veranda a quarter-mile distant in the opposite direction.

  With an exasperated sigh, Deb called down a curse upon the heads of all men and vented her irritation by kicking up all the old, dry beech leaves from the ground beneath her feet. It made her feel better, but she knew that something had to be done to help Olivia. Unless radical steps were taken to reunite the Marneys, and soon, she could foresee years of misery for her beloved sister and brother-in-law as they lived their separate lives under the one roof.

  In one way, however, she was obliged to acknowledge that Ross’s arrival on the veranda had been timely, for if he had not appeared, there was a chance that she might have blurted out to Olivia all about her decision to appoint a temporary fiancé and, even worse, about the newspaper advertisement. Deb frowned. For some reason, thinking of her fleeting fiancé made her think of Richard Kestrel again. She took a swing at an innocent spray of cow parsley beside the path. Lord Richard was exactly the sort of man who was the epitome of what she did not want in a counterfeit suitor. She needed someone who was moderate, agreeable and open to her guidance. Most certainly she did not need a man who was dangerous, forceful and devilishly attractive.

  Deborah shook her head impatiently. Dwelling on Richard Kestrel’s attractions seemed a particularly pointless exercise at the moment and yet she seemed powerless to dismiss him from her mind. Nor was it helpful that the idle thought she had had of taking Richard as a lover had somehow taken root and would not be shifted. She knew it was a scandalous thought and one that she could not act on. It had better remain no more than a fantasy. And yet it still gave her no peace at all.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Deb! Deb, wake up!’

  The sound of her sister’s voice penetrated Deb’s pleasant doze. She stirred reluctantly and opened her eyes. The press of visitors in Olivia’s music room that evening had dissipated a little, for they had moved into the conservatory to take refreshments. Olivia had taken the rout chair next to hers and was leaning close, shaking her arm with a little impatient gesture. Deb yawned.

  ‘Has Miss La Salle finished?’

  ‘Ten minutes ago!’ her sister scolded. She shifted slightly and Deb saw over her shoulder that the infamous singer was now at the far end of the salon, partaking of a glass of wine and surrounded by admiring gentlemen. She smiled faintly.

  ‘Was it good?’

  ‘I cannot believe that you did not hear,’ Olivia said. ‘How is it possible to sleep through singing like that?’

  Deb laughed. ‘I found it difficult, certainly, but by no means impossible.’

  Olivia shook her head impatiently. ‘Well, never mind that now. I need you to find Ross for me, Deborah. He has not made an appearance for the whole evening. It is most embarrassing.’

  ‘Is he sulking,’ Deb enquired, ‘or is it merely that, like me, he does not care for music?’

  A hint of colour came into Olivia’s cheeks. ‘I do not believe that he has forgiven me this morning’s comments and thinks to punish me. And, yes—he does hate singing. He says that Miss La Salle’s voice reminds him of wailing cats!’

  Deb smothered a laugh. ‘Yet you wish to inflict this suffering on him?’

  ‘He must come,’ Olivia said, grabbing Deb’s sleeve between desperate fingers. ‘Everyone has remarked upon his absence. If I am obliged to listen to any more of Lady Benedict’s false condolences on having a philistine for a husband, I believe I shall run screaming from the room.’

  Deb frowned. ‘Why do you not simply request Ross to come and join you?’

  Olivia’s face puckered. ‘He will not pay any notice. You ask him, Deb!’

  ‘And if he does refuse, I shall give him a piece of my mind,’ Deb agreed. She stood up. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I think he is in his study,’ Olivia said. Her face relaxed. ‘Thank you, Deb.’

  Deb walked slowly out through the double
doors and into the hall. She felt exasperated and more than a little upset. Olivia was putting a brave face on matters, but it seemed that her relationship with Ross had degenerated even in the short time since that morning’s disagreement. If matters continued like this, they would be completely estranged in a matter of days. Deb, whose hot temper could never bear to let a quarrel fester, fizzed with irritation.

  She gave the door of the study a quick, perfunctory knock and burst in.

  ‘Ross, you must go and join Liv in the music room at once!’ she declared. ‘I do not know what has got into you today. You are acting in the most churlish manner—’ She broke off as the man sitting behind the desk rose from his wing chair and she saw him properly for the first time. It was not Ross Marney. It was Richard Kestrel.

  ‘Good evening, Mrs Stratton,’ he said.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Deb demanded, shaken out of good manners by both the unexpected sight of Lord Richard looking so elegant in his evening dress and mortification at what she had just inadvertently revealed to him. ‘I did not know that you were attending the soirée.’

  Richard bowed ironically. ‘Very likely you did not see me,’ he said. ‘I arrived late and you were already asleep by then.’

  Deb’s red face blushed an even more fiery colour. ‘You! Oh! I was not asleep!’

  ‘Yes, you were. I saw you with my own eyes. And what better way to tolerate Miss La Salle’s peculiar style of vocal gymnastics than to block them out with pleasant dreams?’

  ‘What? I…’ Deb frowned, distracted. ‘Does no one like her singing?’

  ‘Very few people, I believe, but as she is a protégée of the Hertfords, everyone pretends that she is marvellous.’

  ‘Well, I think that is ridiculous. But that is nothing to the purpose.’ Deb shook her head impatiently. ‘I was looking for Ross.’

  ‘I rather gathered that,’ Richard said. ‘I would not wish to be in his shoes when you find him.’