Those few days they’d shared such passion, which had given her such hope, might as well never have happened.
‘I must say,’ said Aunt Constance, strolling into the breakfast room, and up to the buffet table, which was kept stocked with a selection of fresh cakes and cold meats all day long, ‘that I’m really enjoying this house party. I haven’t had so much fun for years. To think I expected the usual dull round of family sniping, behind masks of polite, restrained behaviour. Instead of which there’s been a delicious undercurrent of torrential passion.’ She sighed, and lowered her eyelids. ‘Two indecently hasty marriages and a defenestration.’
‘I’m so glad,’ said Julia with a tight smile, ‘that we have provided you with so much entertainment.’
‘Oh, don’t poker up so,’ said her aunt, knocking back a glass of Madeira in a most unladylike fashion, and holding out her empty glass to the footman whose turn it was to make sure guests could have whatever reviving cordial they fancied, no matter the time of day. ‘I think the better of you for acting like a real woman instead of a plaster-cast saint. I used to think you so deadly dull, but now...’ She cast a speculative eye over Julia’s tense posture.
‘There is just one teeny little thing I feel I should tell you.’ She waited until the footman had retreated to a safe distance, having replenished her glass. ‘If your mama had lived to see you reach marriageable age she would have done so, but since you have no mama, and your other female relatives don’t appear to have the backbone to approach you,’ she said with a wry twist to her mouth, ‘it falls to me. Julia, my dear...’ she leaned in closer and lowered her voice ‘...you should never, ever dally with the help. Not until you’ve presented your husband with an heir, anyway. After that, nobody will bat an eyelid if you want to have a few adventures.’
Julia didn’t think that was the kind of advice her mother would have given her at all. But she didn’t like to say so. Aunt Constance was trying, in her own inimitable style, to be helpful, which was more than any of her other relatives had done.
‘I don’t suppose, after your little contretemps with your husband, there is any need for me to tell you to be a little more...circumspect in future. Men of our class don’t expect their wives to be wholly faithful. But they do expect discretion. They don’t want everyone to know they cannot keep their wives satisfied, d’you see? Reflects poorly upon their masculinity.’
If they didn’t want people to know they couldn’t keep their wives satisfied, they wouldn’t throw their wives’ lovers through windows, Julia wanted to say. Not that she’d had a lover. The very thought of Eduardo’s kiss made her stomach curdle all over again. To cover her revulsion, she turned slightly away from Aunt Constance on the pretext of picking up a plate.
‘When you next come up to town,’ Aunt Constance continued, blithely unaware she was talking arrant nonsense, ‘you must come and call upon me. I have a little group of friends, all married ladies, who meet together to study...literature.’ Her tongue flicked over her lower lip as she said the word, which made it come out sounding like a most lascivious, and improper pastime. ‘You would enjoy it.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Constance,’ said Julia politely.
Aunt Constance went off into a peal of laughter.
‘I do declare you look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth! You are priceless!’
‘Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me?’ She stepped towards the selection of Cook’s fancy cakes. The little treats were about the only things keeping her going through the day. Her stomach churned so much when she sat down to any table at which her husband was also seated, that she could do little more than push the food round her plate. Consequently, she’d wake up starving in the middle of the night and wish she could ring for a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast. But she didn’t have the heart to wake any of the servants. They needed their rest. So she lay there, wishing there was something she could do to fill up the hollowness. Wishing she’d had the foresight to order someone to bring her a loaf and a toasting fork before she’d climbed into bed. Which inevitably led to her recalling the interlude by the fireplace, during which she’d come to think of Alec as someone with whom she could be friends.
But he’d gone, now, that friendly, affable man. The man who’d held her through the night, keeping her warm. She’d huddle further down under the covers, but nothing could dispel the chill that seemed to emanate from her very core. She was starting to think she would never feel warm again.
She finished her first slice of plum cake, and helped herself to another. Though it didn’t make any difference. She was going to feel hollow, she suspected, for a very, very long time. Until she grew accustomed to losing the respect of her husband. Which wasn’t going to be easy. Because, deny it as strenuously as she might through the hours of daylight, during the empty, lonely nights she couldn’t hide from the truth. Which was that she’d started to fall in love with him. Every time she dozed off, she would jerk awake, reaching for him, then recoiling in anguish when all her questing hand found was emptiness. She hadn’t felt so alone since her mama had died. No—even then she’d had her doll to clutch to her chest. But grown women couldn’t have dolls. Instead, they took lovers. Men who’d make them feel desirable at least, if not actually loved, for a few short hours.
But she didn’t want a lover. She wanted her husband. She wanted Alec.
They could have had a good life together if only Eduardo hadn’t...or if Lizzie hadn’t...or she had...aargh!
What she’d felt when she’d discovered David had betrayed her had been nothing like this. She’d been angry, yes. Insulted. But not...shattered. What she’d thought had been love was a feeble imitation of the feelings she had for Alec.
She moved away from the table lest people started accusing her of gluttony. And paused. Hadn’t she only just sloughed off the horrible feelings Marianne had induced, about her being greedy in contrast with the French girl’s bird-like appetite? Hadn’t she decided that comparing her fuller figure to Marianne’s delicate little frame all the time had been a serious mistake? Anyway, what did it matter if she was overweight? What did she care what anyone thought of her looks? Since her own husband couldn’t bear to look at her any more, and she was never going to go looking for a substitute, like a pitiful child running round begging someone to love her, then it didn’t matter what she looked like.
She turned, mutinously, went back to the table, picked up a mince pie and crammed it, whole, into her mouth.
If only Alec still looked upset, she could have deluded herself that she’d started to matter to him, too. But after an initial spell of glowering whenever she walked into the room, he’d made a remarkable recovery. Though he never spoke to her, he’d gone out of his way to have conversations with every single other member of her family. Even her older brothers. After an initial reticence they appeared to have accepted him as one of their own.
She might have known Nick and Herbert would bond with the man who’d hurt her so badly. So publicly. They’d probably congratulated him for taking her down a peg.
Perhaps the most telling thing of all was the fact that he’d made no attempt to regain admission to her room. Not even once.
Sometimes she saw him pacing the length of the terrace, head down, hands clasped behind his back—as though he was pondering some deeply perplexing problem. But for the rest of the day—when he wasn’t charming his way through her family, that was—he disappeared into the east drawing room with the young people, specifically his sister, she supposed.
And when she pressed her ear to the door, she’d hear gales of laughter above industrious noises of hammering and sawing. And flinch away, knowing that he was in there with all those others, enjoying himself immensely, while she...
She sighed, and absently picked up a Spanish biscuit. One good thing about the stand she’d taken in the orangery—at least he wasn’t angry with Lizzie.
In fact, by all accounts, Alec and Lizzie were getting on like a house on fire. There hadn’t been a single murmur about Lizzie in connection with Eduardo, either. Which there was bound to have been if anyone had even the tiniest suspicion anything untoward had happened. So this estrangement from her husband wasn’t utterly in vain.
It was small consolation, but all she had.
* * *
At last, it was Twelfth Night. She was eating the last family dinner of the season. And later, she would attend the last theatrical production. And then it would be over. Everyone would leave.
Everyone.
She pasted a bland smile on her face as her Uncle Maurice droned on about some horse he’d backed last race meeting. But her mind was completely taken up with what Alec intended to do once this house party broke up. She’d begun to think that wherever he intended going, he would be taking her with him. That they’d be starting a new life together. But now...?
A sick, roiling panic had her reaching for her wine glass and taking a large gulp. What would she do if Alec just walked away without her? Which was beginning to look increasingly likely. And she couldn’t even blame him. When she looked back at the things he’d said, when he’d caught her in Eduardo’s arms, the things which she’d found so insulting at the time, they were all looking more and more reasonable. She had seduced him in that very place, in mistake for another man. So she could see why he might think she had no discernment. And then she had leapt into the marriage bed with a sort of wild abandon that she couldn’t quite explain. Considering the reputation the Whitneys had for infidelity—which he must have learned of by now even if he hadn’t known before he arrived—coupled with the lack of regret she’d displayed over the loss of David—who was supposed to have been the love of her life—what was Alec to think except that she was a...well, she didn’t know what the word was to describe the female equivalent of a rake, but she had no doubt acted like one. Her behaviour must have looked fickle and heartless.
If only he’d come anywhere near her, once she’d calmed down and started to look at things from his point of view, she could have explained that it was impossible to pine for a man like David, once she’d seen through all his lies.
She could have told Alec that the feelings he evoked had swiftly eclipsed anything she’d felt for the disappointingly devious David. That even before they were married, it had been thoughts of Alec that filled her head, Alec to whom she reacted whenever he was near. Because Alec had been the man to awaken her passion. Not David. Who now held about as much appeal as a plate of congealing lard.
‘And so I told her,’ Uncle Maurice was saying. ‘Wonderful idea, don’t you think?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said politely, having no idea what the idea was, or why Uncle Maurice should think it so wonderful.
‘Capital, capital. Christmas is all about family. Nothing more important than that. I knew you’d see it the same way. Nobody more dedicated to the family than you. I’ll tell her you’re agreeable then, shall I? She had some silly notion that you might cut up stiff, but I told her you wouldn’t. That you are a good sort.’
She placed her wine glass carefully next to her plate, wondering what she’d just agreed to, while her mind had been wandering.
‘What, exactly, will it entail?’ she asked, feeling pretty sure that such a vague question wouldn’t alert her uncle to the fact she had no idea what he’d been talking about.
‘Oh, nothing much. Dressing up in a costume the girls have made. Reading your lines from a script. Not a taxing part, she said.’
Oh, so that was it. She appeared to have agreed to take part in the theatrical production the young people had been working on with such enthusiasm for the past few days. Under the supervision of the actors. And with Alec’s determined help. She wondered what he was trying to prove, with her family. He had the younger boys running around, saluting him, crying out ‘Aye-aye, Cap’n!’ He’d commandeered the estate carpenters and barred everyone not involved with the play from the ballroom, so that they’d all been intrigued by the renewed sounds of hammering and sawing filtering out from behind the locked doors. Anticipation was running rife. This year’s production, everyone was saying, was going to be something they’d all remember for years to come.
‘Only she was insistent,’ Uncle Maurice continued, ‘that all the family have a part, no matter how small. And that the servants should be the audience. Said something about the Lord of Misrule, and turning everything upside down for one night. And I said that should have been Christmas Day but she’s got such a persuasive manner of speaking, and anyway your father has agreed so what could I say?’
‘She?’ Who was it that was organising things behind her back? Had she been so distracted these last few days that somebody else had taken over the organisation of this house party?
‘The Neapolitan Nightingale.’ Uncle Maurice sighed, a faraway look coming to his eyes. ‘That woman could turn a saint into a sinner.’
And didn’t she just know it! Where her Uncle Maurice was concerned, anyway.
‘I mean...’ He flushed guiltily. ‘Begging your pardon. But she very nearly has. I mean, your Uncle Algernon. Bishop and all that—’ He broke off, reached for his wine glass and took a hefty swallow.
Ah.
Somehow she didn’t mind if it was Nellie who’d taken charge of the Twelfth Night production. Nellie had probably noticed how distracted she was, how unhappy, and was trying to help by taking everyone’s eyes off Julia, and the way she was drooping round the place. She straightened up in her chair. She might be drooping in spirit, but she had no intention of letting anyone discern as much with poor posture. Nellie would know, of course, because the actress had been in the orangery both times Julia had got into hot water. She knew all Julia’s secrets.
Including the fact that she’d fallen in love with the husband who’d only married her under duress? The man who’d spoken of the relationship in terms of being press-ganged? And who now, after giving it his best shot to begin with, had decided there was nothing worth salvaging?
She wouldn’t be a bit surprised.
At last, the interminable meal came to a close, and she got to her feet to indicate the ladies could withdraw.
When they reached the drawing room, she was astonished to see a couple of wicker hampers set down under the windows, and various costumes strewn about over the backs of chairs.
Most of her aunts looked as bewildered as she felt. But her cousins looked as though they were going to burst with excitement.
Winifred went to the fireplace and clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention.
‘In honour of Twelfth Night, we have arranged a very special pantomime,’ she said. ‘All of the family are to take part. Well, nearly all,’ she amended. ‘We’ve made costumes for everyone.’
‘How can we take part,’ grumbled her Aunt Frances, ‘when we haven’t been to any of your rehearsals? Really, Winifred, this is too tiresome of you.’
‘Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport,’ said Aunt Constance. ‘The girls have clearly gone to a lot of trouble to put on some entertainment for tonight. It will be no worse than charades, I shouldn’t think. What do we have to do?’
Winifred looked at Aunt Constance with gratitude. ‘Just put on your costumes—each one has the name of the part and who is to play it, pinned on. And a copy of the lines you will need to say.’
‘This is going to be dreadful.’ Aunt Frances sighed. ‘You cannot expect us to perform a play without any idea what it’s about, or having a rehearsal.’
‘Trust me,’ said Nellie, striding to the hearth beside Winifred. ‘It will be a lot of fun. It may not be the kind of thing I’d ever want to put on at Drury Lane, but it is just right for a family party. The young people have worked very hard to make sure of it.’
‘Oh, very well,’ said Aunt Frances. ‘What am I to wea
r?’
For a few moments, everyone milled about, discovering their costumes, the names of their characters, and reading over the lines they had to say.
‘Thank you, Nellie,’ said Julia, as the actress came up to her. ‘For organising a sort of grand finale to this house party. I really should have done something. Something to include the young ones. And to thank the staff for all the work they’ve put in this year. More than usual, what with the weddings.’ Not to mention boarding up broken windows. Gatley had been furious to discover his precious plants had been put at risk of cold draughts. She’d feared there would be an end to citrus fruit for the dining table. But he’d simply tucked extra layers of fleece round all the delicate plants, and got the estate carpenter to board up the broken windows before night fell.
‘This will be wonderful, I’m sure.’
‘I certainly hope so,’ said Nellie, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘Your husband has put a lot of effort into it. He’s got all the cast fired up to play their parts. Even turned the younger boys into a sort of crew to work the scenery and such.’
‘Lovely,’ she said through gritted teeth. While she’d been mourning the stillbirth of their marriage, he’d been having what sounded like a perfectly splendid time. But there was no point in dwelling on her unhappiness. Best to keep busy.
With that in mind, she followed Nellie to a table on which were strewn various scraps of material and props. ‘Well, what part have you decreed I should play?’ She was already playing a part for her family. The part of unrepentant adulteress. How hard could it be to adopt one more role?
‘You are to be the princess,’ said Nellie, picking up what looked like a genuine diamond tiara, and setting it on her head. ‘You will have a little pageboy—played by your cousin Freddie. Whenever you have a line to say, he will hand it to you on a card.’
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