The Devil You Know

by Sophia Holloway

  *

  In the comfort of the library Lord Inglesham leant back in a chair, a glass of brandy in his hand, and looked hard at his friend.

  ‘So.’ It was the sort of ‘so’ which indicated that he expected to hear Ledbury unburden himself.

  Ledbury ran a hand through his hair and groaned. ‘Where do I start? You could have told me not to be a damned fool and get leg-shackled, Henry.’

  ‘Not sure you would have listened to me. You were saying you might have to dispose of half your racing string only three weeks past, and you were ever the one to act upon impulse.’

  ‘I know, but… a loan one can be rid of, but a wife is a different matter.’

  ‘Why should you want to be rid of her?’ Inglesham extended one booted foot towards the fire.

  ‘Good God, Henry, you have seen her.’

  ‘I have, and whilst she is not in your normal style she’s no antidote. Seemed quite quick witted too.’

  ‘Sharp tongued, you mean. She is ordering this place about as if she…’

  ‘Lives here? Well, she does. And some quiet dab of a thing would never interest you.’

  Ledbury scowled. ‘By day she is no dab but… it isn’t as though I don’t understand women, I’ve known enough of them over the years, and… I never thought a night would be that bad. I might as well have been next to some alabaster effigy in the parish church.’

  Lord Inglesham coughed, discreetly.

  ‘Not wishing to be… personal and all that but… firstly, George, you have known far too many women, and none of them innocents.’

  ‘You ought to applaud that. I never seduce innocents or women in love with their husbands.’

  ‘True enough. Which also means you have no experience of a “wedding night”. Look at it from another point of view.’

  ‘Is there one?’

  ‘Yes. Your new wife’s. You said she is Bidford’s older half-sister, so she must have lost her mother very young. I have no idea if Bidford’s mother was interested in her or not, but even if she was, she has been dead some years. I’ll lay you a monkey there was no older woman to… advise her. She was probably terrified, or totally confused, and she barely knows you from Adam.’

  The scowl became a frown of thought.

  ‘Put that way I suppose she might have had a few nervous qualms.’

  Lord Inglesham shook his head.

  ‘You’ll make a mull of it, George, if you don’t make an effort.’

  ‘I’ve never had to make an effort before.’

  ‘You’ve never been married before.’

  Lord Ledbury sighed. ‘And I am now.’

  *

  If Lord Inglesham was quite impressed with Lady Ledbury, she found herself likewise quite impressed by him. He was not what she had expected, which had been yet another bachelor male with no thought for anyone but themselves and their pleasures. She was also grateful to him in several ways. The most important was that his presence improved Lord Ledbury’s mood instantly. The transformation from sulking curmudgeon to bantering host was quite remarkable, and the whole house felt the better for it. The second change was that she no longer sat alone at dinner with her lord with awkwardness lying between them. He conversed animatedly with his friend, to the almost total exclusion of his wife. Lord Inglesham made valiant efforts to be inclusive, however, and earned looks of gratitude from the countess.

  In the two days before any other guests arrived, Lord Inglesham had the opportunity to study his hostess, and what he saw gave him pause. He caught her watching Ledbury, when he was animated, with a mixture of the look he had encountered in his sisters when proud of their progeny behaving well, and a wistfulness. The latter he had seen before on the faces of women who watched his friend, and yet never had it been accompanied by efforts to keep out of his way. Most of Inglesham’s time was spent with Ledbury, but part way through the second afternoon the earl was dealing with his correspondence, and Inglesham went in search of Lady Ledbury. He found her in the small yellow saloon with a pattern book and swatches of material newly arrived from a London warehouse. She looked up, and smiled in surprise.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry, sir. You find me engaged in one of the more exciting aspects of restoring this house.’ She set the book aside.

  ‘It is I who am sorry ma’am, if I interrupt you. Shall I leave you to your decisions?’

  ‘Alas at present I fear it is mostly indecision, and besides, it will be nice to talk to someone other than about domesticity. Please sit with me for a while.’

  He sat, catching the regret in her voice.

  ‘You have had a very busy time since your marriage.’

  ‘Yes, but it keeps me…’ there was a momentary pause, ‘occupied.’

  ‘The duties of the lady of the house are frequently underestimated and undervalued by new husbands, ma’am.’

  ‘Yet you seem to appreciate them, my lord.’

  ‘I am not a bachelor. I was married, some years back.’

  The tone and the fleeting shadow that crossed his face meant that Kitty did not delve further.

  ‘I am sorry. I did not know.’ She coloured, and her guard slipped. ‘I do not know so many things.’

  ‘You appear very competent to me, Lady Ledbury.’ He sounded cheering, but in truth he felt pity for her.

  ‘And even that seems to be accounted a fault.’ She sighed.

  Lord Inglesham found himself in a difficult position. Interfering in a marriage was both unwise and unforgivable, but this marriage seemed to be non-existent beyond the legal state.

  ‘I consider it a good thing, as is patience, and I think patience is needed. Forgive me speaking this way but you are in unknown territory, so to speak, and so is Ledbury. I am aware of the circumstances of your marriage. You are barely acquainted with each other and yet thrown together. Getting used to each other, learning, takes time.’

  Kitty gave a sad smile.

  ‘My husband has no interest in “getting used to me”, sir. He simply wants to pretend I do not exist. From the very little I know of him, he is not a man weighed down by regrets, but I am one.’

  ‘And it matters to you.’ Inglesham’s sympathy broke her reserve.

  ‘Yes, but I know that is my fault, my weakness. I will conquer it.’ Her voice rallied, and she pointed at the open page of the book. ‘Whilst he hates the disruption now, I shall devote myself to making Melling Hall a place in which he will feel comfortable and be able to take pride when he stays here.’

  Inglesham frowned. It did not strike him as very satisfactory, and he was puzzled as to why a young woman who did not seem pusillanimous or weak willed had accepted such a solution so swiftly, especially since she admitted to caring. He could not, would not, probe deeper, and so lightened the atmosphere.

  ‘Then I for one will be in your debt, ma’am. Last time I stayed I left feeling like a smoked fish.’

  ‘Oh dear, the chimneys.’

  ‘Indeed. One does not like to complain, and Ledbury is a good host, but…’

  ‘Never fear, my lord. Not only are the chimneys being swept, but other measures taken to diminish the draughts. I can only assume my lord’s chamber is miraculously spared, and those rooms he uses most. When you visit again, and I do hope that you will do so frequently, you will not feel like a fish, smoked or otherwise.’ She smiled, and he laughed. The laugh brought the earl to the chamber.

  ‘I was looking for you.’ He was gazing at his friend, and Inglesham had the strange sensation he was actually blocking out the presence of his wife.

  ‘I found her ladyship pondering over fabrics and papers.’

  ‘And found them amusing, it sounds.’ There was the veriest hint of displeasure in his voice, and it made Lord Inglesham wonder.

  ‘Hardly that, my lord.’ Kitty was torn between a desire to appease him and anger that he should resent her having a conversation with a guest he reserved as purely his own. Anger won. ‘We were merely considering smoking chimneys.’

  Lord Led
bury looked at her as if she had been conjured up out of thin air.

  ‘I see. Disparaging my hospitality must obviously be amusing.’ He smiled, but it was not a nice smile, and promptly dropped the subject. ‘I thought we might take out a couple of guns, Henry, and see what we can flush out of the west coverts.’

  ‘Sounds a capital idea. Let me go and change into something more practical. If you will excuse me, ma’am?’

  ‘Of course, my lord. I wish you good hunting, both of you.’ Her eyes thanked him.

  When the two gentlemen left, Kitty sat for some minutes, not looking at the book. It struck her that if her lord had given her the time and attention that his friend had just done, she would have accounted it a pleasure that would have coloured her entire week. She resolved to be stronger, but buried her face in her hands.

  5

  Lord Ledbury’s other guests arrived as he said, over the next few days. Kitty was not sure that she liked being in an entirely male environment where there were so many of them, for once they were together they were inclined to forget her presence. Lord Ledbury himself devoted himself to his guests assiduously, leaving his wife feeling little more than an elevated housekeeper. The last arrival was Lord Duddon, accompanied by Sir John Curdworth. Duddon apologised to his host for bringing along a gentleman not specifically invited.

  ‘Thing is, Ledbury, poor Curdworth is feeling rather low. Something wrong with his ear it seems, so he cannot hear very well and is dashed uncomfortable. When I got your invitation he was dining with me and sounded so miserable. He said he had been to Melling Hall before and… I thought you would not mind?’ He ended on a hopeful question.

  ‘As long as he isn’t expecting me to provide him with a mount. Last time he lamed one of my hunters.’

  ‘Oh he won’t be up to the hunting field, dear boy. I know you said you wanted cheering up, but I think his case is worse.’

  Kitty, descending the stairs at this inopportune moment, heard Lord Duddon’s artless comment, but other than paling a fraction, did not show that she had done so. She glided forward to be introduced, and his tongue tied itself in knots. She smiled, taking pity upon him. He had intended no insult, and he seemed a kind-hearted, if not particularly bright, individual. What harm could there be in one extra guest?

  They were to find out at dinner.

  *

  Kitty went down before most of the guests, and found Lord Inglesham alone with a glass of sherry, and a thoughtful expression, with his back to the fire and enjoying the brief peace and quiet. He smiled at her as she entered, and she wished, for the hundredth time, that her lord might do such a thing upon seeing her.

  ‘Another evening as a rose among thorns, ma’am?’

  ‘A rose?’ She smiled back at him, ‘I think you mean a buttercup or a daisy.’

  ‘No, no. You do not do yourself justice, ma’am. No pasture flower I assure you.’ She reddened. ‘I am sorry, I did not mean to put you to the blush.’ He changed the subject. ‘Your army appears to have won significant battles against dust and decay.’

  ‘My army? Oh, do they seem so many, or so organised?’

  ‘Determined, I think is the term. I came across two petite maids attempting to move a large, and I must say, rather unappealing, carved wood armchair. They reminded me of ants in their focus upon their task. Nothing was going to stop them moving that chair.’

  ‘I have encouraged the staff to regard this as a good challenge rather than a burden of labour put upon them, but I would hate to think any tried to do something physically dangerous.’

  ‘I saw one of the male staff a few minutes later and sent him to lend them a hand.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  The door opened and the earl entered accompanied by Viscount Poole, whom Kitty did not really care for, since whenever he looked at her she had the sensation he was gazing through her gown. They were in congenial dispute over the result of some horse race, and his lordship, with a casual acknowledgement of his wife, instantly requested Lord Inglesham’s corroboration of a date. Kitty withdrew into herself. Barring the bare civilities it would be as previous evenings, and she would become invisible to the male company.

  Tonight, however, she was wrong. Everyone except one had assembled, and Norton was in whispered discussion with his mistress as to how long they might delay the announcement of dinner, when Sir John Curdworth made his appearance. He made his apologies for his dilatory arrival, claiming he had fallen asleep upon his bed, having taken a little laudanum and woken in darkness to find the hour far advanced. What was clear, however, was that either the effects of the laudanum persisted, or he had taken a fair quantity of spirituous liquor to ameliorate his discomfort. He was not perfectly steady upon his feet, and seemed puzzled in his surroundings. Kitty decided it would be best not to delay dinner at all, and hope that food might prevent the gentleman becoming top heavy too soon. They adjourned to the dining room, where she took her seat adjacent to Lord Inglesham and Lord Chertsey. Sir John Curdworth was, thankfully, placed by the end of the table so she would be spared having to engage in conversation with him. Any hope she had that the meal might therefore pass off without incident was shattered almost immediately. Curdworth looked preoccupied. He stared down the table at his hostess, and frowned.

  ‘You know she don’t look much like a paphian to me,’ he declared in a slightly slurred stage whisper to Lord Duddon, who was seated next to him. ‘Not up to his usual standard anyway. Remember that little ladybird the year before last, the dark haired one with the long legs. And where’s the rest of ’em? That’s what I want to know. You can’t just have one about the place.’ He pushed back his chair suddenly and peered under the table. When he sat upright again he shook his head. ‘None hiding there.’

  Lord Duddon looked horror-struck.

  ‘Not a paphian… wife,’ he hissed, reddening.

  ‘Whose wife this time?’

  ‘My own wife, Curdworth,’ growled the earl, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Meon’s wife? Thought she was older.’

  ‘He said his own wife,’ Lord Inglesham spoke calmly, and threw his hostess a sideways glance of pitying apology.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Ledbury ain’t married.’

  ‘I am now,’ boomed his lordship, thunderously.

  ‘Are you?’ Curdworth turned again to his neighbour. ‘You know, Duddon, he shouldn’t invite paphians if his wife is in residence.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Curdworth, there are no lightskirts in this house. None, do you hear me?’ Ledbury half-rose from his chair.

  ‘Of course I hear you, Ledbury.’ Curdworth peered a little owlishly at his host. ‘Not but that it seems a bit odd, being married and keeping your wife hidden away all this time.’

  ‘She is not hidden and we have only been married for under a fortnight.’

  ‘Must be a hum,’ declared Curdworth confidently. ‘A man don’t invite his friends on his honeymoon.’

  Kitty sat very upright, mortified. Curdworth was obviously foxed, and thus she knew what he said was not aimed at her, but it was in front of these other men, men who would remember. Perhaps they, when drink loosened tongues, might speak of it. That it clearly angered her husband did not make her feel any more charitable towards him. Nor did she exonerate him because this was not a man he had invited. Even before this evening she had felt ill at ease, but this was intolerable. Leaving during the meal was impossible, though she could scarcely face a morsel, and every time Curdworth opened his mouth she cringed. As soon as the repast was cleared from the table she excused herself and went straight up to her room. Whilst none of the other men had been inebriated, all had enjoyed their wine during dinner, and she had little doubt they were going to make a night of it, in typical male fashion. She was angry and she was hurt. Her husband treated her as if she was as invisible as one of the junior housemaids, and he was now exposing her to embarrassment, even shame. There was nothing she could do. Then a thought occurred to her. It was not a nice thou
ght. However much he might avoid her when sober, in his cups he might forget their first night and open the dressing room door again. The realisation that only when drunk was he likely to be able to face approaching her was lowering; the idea of being manhandled by a man reeking of brandy was repulsive. She climbed out of bed and went to the door. The doorknob turned easily, and she felt around to the other side, where her fingers met the reassuring chill of iron. She took the key, shut the door and locked it. She then placed the key in the bottom drawer of a chest, with a feeling of triumph tinged with guilt.

  *

  The earl opened one eye, very slowly, and even that seemed too much effort. His head felt as if it might explode, from the disgusting taste in his mouth it had clearly been used as a chicken roost overnight, and his stomach… best not even think about his stomach. He lay for some time in the one-eye-open state, mostly because he could not face the expense of energy in shutting it. Gradually, the swirls of inebriation which had clouded his thoughts dissipated, and he gathered together the end of the previous evening, which had lasted well into the early hours. It had definitely been a ‘good evening’ which his guests enjoyed, even if they too would be paying for it this morning, if it was still morning. There had been much talk of horses, and hunting, and then it had become a little fraught. Curdworth, despite the valiant attempts of the other gentlemen present, had returned to the subject of his lordship’s new wife, with all the determination of a terrier at a rabbit hole. George Ledbury was not known as a man who, when inebriated, became sleepy and affectionate. On the contrary, he was inclined to assume the manner of a bear with a sore head. The result had been a foregone conclusion. As Curdworth’s suggestions became broader, the earl’s scowl grew deeper, until eventually he had risen, only slightly unsteadily, and declared that host or not, if Curdworth said one more word about his wife he would knock him down. This eventuality was only avoided because, upon also rising, Sir John had swayed, declared he was about to shoot the cat, and promptly done so over Lord Inglesham’s feet.