The Devil You Know

by Sophia Holloway

  ‘You know I do not. I do not dislike the idea, sir, as long as you do not intend to arrive purely to make me look an even bigger fool than I must appear to many present.’

  ‘A fool?’

  ‘Why yes. Who but a fool would be Lady Ledbury.’ Her face contorted as if in a spasm of pain. ‘I have no control over your actions, any of them, my lord. Do as you think fit.’

  She repressed the urge to flee from the room, and walked with measured tread to the door.

  *

  The Countess of Ledbury who was bowed within the portals of Almack’s appeared cool and calm, but her heart raced as it had in years past, although from a different cause. She feared her husband’s arrival, at the same time as wishing for the dream of being able to walk upon his arm and feel exalted. A woman who had his love, real love, might do so. Sadly, too many would have knowledge of lesser intimacy. Lady Jersey, coming forward all smiles, perceived a lady very taut and on her guard, and wondered why. She thought it ought to be a night of triumph, as she whispered, confidentially, to her.

  ‘You will be the envy of many, my dear. Ledbury has eluded matrimony so many years.’

  ‘That makes it sound as if I set a snare in the woods for him.’

  ‘No, no,’ Sally Jersey laughed, ‘but there will be noses out of joint I assure you.’ She grew serious for a moment. ‘Do not heed all you hear, will you. Reputations, even wicked ones, may be exaggerated.’

  ‘Of course not. I never gave a moment’s credence to the idea that there is an “orphanage” full to overflowing with the results of his peccadilloes.’ Kitty spoke lightly, but was taken aback at the response.

  ‘Well, everyone knows that would be a hum. His features have never yet appeared in another cradle, I am sure. But dear me, how inappropriate a topic. Do come and let me secure you a first partner, if you feel at all nervous. Thereafter I am sure there will be plenty of gentlemen keen to dance with you.’

  ‘But I am with the matrons.’

  ‘Not the Pushing Mamas. There are plenty of younger married ladies here for pleasure. Now, there is Mr Marsden, whom I can guarantee will not crush your toes. He will do very well.’

  Kitty was introduced to this gentleman, who gave every impression of being delighted with his partner, and Kitty let herself cease thinking and simply enjoy the dance and light, inconsequential conversation. Mr Marsden set her at her ease, and thereafter she appeared more approachable, until, a little after ten thirty, she found herself standing beside Lady Yarningale. How that lady had manoeuvred herself so close without her noticing she could not say, but the bright friendliness of her manner was a very thin veneer. Kitty held back.

  ‘What a charming gown, Lady Ledbury. It must be so liberating to come here in colours.’ The sly dig at her years of spinsterhood was accompanied by a sickly sweet smile. Kitty forced back the thought of her husband in this woman’s arms, and more.

  ‘Lady Yarningale. I had not expected to see you here.’ The slightest stress upon the last word was full of meaning, and Louisa Yarningale’s smile became more fixed. Her indiscretions had always been just discreet enough for her not to be cast out from the hallowed halls of Almack’s.

  ‘Oh, I assure you, ma’am, I attend most regularly. You should have asked your husband.’ The eyes glittered. Yes, that struck home and proved that the new Lady Ledbury was aware of the liaison.

  ‘I do not bore him with unimportant matters.’ Kitty held her nerve, but Lady Yarningale had been far longer upon the Town.

  ‘No, he is easily bored with words. I always find he prefers actions.’ She used the present tense to sow that vital seed of doubt, and then left the matter, turning the topic back to Kitty herself. ‘You look a trifle heated, ma’am. Would you care to take my arm and find a chair? It will set tongues wagging, because of course you are bound to be under such scrutiny, brides always are here, and especially being Ledbury’s new wife.’ Lady Yarningale patted her arm. ‘If there is one thing to occupy the matchmakers other than pairing off progeny it is seeing signs of a happy event. Were ladies in clubs like the men there would no doubt be a book kept with wagers upon how long it would take before so-and-so presented her spouse with an heir.’ Her voice dropped to an even more intimate whisper. ‘And of course in your case, my dear Lady Ledbury… it will probably not be your fault, but the woman is always blamed if nothing comes of a union.’

  Kitty had an awful thought that her husband had discussed their marital arrangements with his, at best, erstwhile mistress, but the next words provided an even greater concern.

  ‘It would be most unreasonable in this case, would it not,’ continued Lady Yarningale very softly, ‘since everyone knows how fortunate he has been in not producing physical proofs of his “flirtations”. There might be those that would say it was poetic justice if he could not fill his own nursery either.’

  Kitty felt sick. The whole topic was not one for discussion, and yet here was this brazen woman raising it without a blush. For all her distrust, she had no reason to disbelieve her, and to a degree interest in who might be in ‘an interesting condition’ had always been a female priority. She had not thought about it in relation to herself, but it suddenly added another load upon her shoulders. Lady Jersey’s words returned to her. Her relations with her lord were not just private, and whilst the common view was that failure to produce an heir was indeed the fault of the wife, would there be those ready to mock her husband if she failed to show signs of being enceinte within the first year? All she could say was that at the moment it was an impossibility. Her features remained impassive, but the fluctuations in colour told Louisa Yarningale, who could read her own sex even better than she read men, more than she could have hoped to discover. It gave her renewed hope in a situation where she had thought perhaps she might only create a little mischief. She knew George Ledbury well enough to guess that what she surmised was not to his liking, and that temptation, carefully paraded before him, would stand a great chance of success. She knew he had never actually loved her, nor she him, but it would be good to provide his source of pleasure and then be the one to reject him, utterly. Her smile became vulpine.

  ‘You must not let yourself be overset, my dear Lady Ledbury. Marriage is not the simple estate some people might believe.’

  ‘Or remember?’ Kitty flung back at her.

  ‘I have not found that a requirement.’ Had she hoped to put Lady Yarningale out of countenance, Kitty had failed. ‘And now I really must ask Mrs Glenfield what colour she calls her gown, then I can avoid it at all costs.’ With a tinkling laugh, Lady Yarningale withdrew.

  Kitty’s mouth felt dry. She made her way towards the refreshments, reaching them at the same time as a gentleman of middling height and wavy sandy hair. He took a step back to give her access, and bowed.

  ‘My apologies, ma’am. I am a clumsy country fellow unused to such squeezes.’

  ‘It is hardly “a squeeze” sir, merely moderately busy. I fear you are in for far worse if you attend the grandest balls.’

  ‘I thank you for the warning. Forgive me, I have obstructed you, but not been courteous enough to introduce myself. My name is Knowle, Sir Geoffrey Knowle, up from deepest Somerset and rather out of my depth.’ He sketched her a bow, which was not clumsy but did lack a certain finesse.

  ‘You are here under duress?’

  ‘Oh, you know, ma’am, one gets to an age where one’s relatives start pestering about when one will be setting up a nursery, and that is quite disconcerting. I have not felt the desire to remain up in Town for more than a fleeting visit, but the time has come for me to find myself a wife.’

  ‘Then your place, sir, should be upon the dance floor with some suitable debutante.’

  ‘Easily said, ma’am, but not easily done when I am already standing by the most beautiful woman in the room.’

  ‘Keep such blandishments for a potential bride, Sir Geoffrey. I am a married woman.’ Kitty blushed, but frowned.

  ‘Yes, but forgive me, I kn
ow who you are. You are the wife of George Ledbury, whose reputation has reached even Somerset. One wonders whether one should congratulate you or commiserate with you.’

  ‘That, sir, is impertinent.’ Her colour, already risen, heightened further.

  ‘I am sorry. I have given offence, and it was not my intention. My humble apologies, ma’am. I say what comes to my head and am not politic. Forgive my rustic clumsiness. Might I be permitted to request that you forget my intemperate words, and let me start afresh the next time we should encounter one another?’

  He looked so ashamed, so crestfallen, that Kitty nodded. Fortunately for them both, Lady Rowington was threading her way towards her friend, and Knowle was able to slip away quietly.

  ‘Who was your admirer, my dear Kitty?’ Lady Rowington spoke lightly, but Kitty winced.

  ‘A Sir Geoffrey Knowle from Somerset, and the sort of gentleman who, if he danced, would assuredly tread upon toes.’

  ‘Ah, then I have been warned. I think I espied your husband making a belated entrance, a minute or two ago.’ She paused, recalling the afternoon. ‘I hope… I mean… well, anyway he must be in a good humour now to come and be at your side.’

  Kitty wished she could believe it.

  *

  Lord Ledbury had entered the hallowed portals of Almack’s as though he did so every week and with pleasure, but every eye that turned upon him knew he attended but rarely, and usually whilst ‘hunting’. There were murmured asides. He went first to Lady Jersey, bowed low over her hand and made her dimple by the simple expedient of a compliment so outrageous that it had to be tongue in cheek but was yet deeply flattering. Lord Inglesham, at his side, surreptitiously scanned the ballroom for Lady Rowington and her sister. He caught sight of the latter, sombre-faced, making desultory conversation with a straw-haired damsel in an unbecoming shade of pink. He regretted that she should look so unhappy in a place where young ladies ought to bloom, and yet a reprehensible joy filled him for a moment as she happened to turn her head, no doubt following her companion’s gaze, and it alighted upon him, occasioning a flicker of a smile upon her lips. She was, he told himself sternly, merely pleased to see somebody she recognised.

  ‘Oh go on then, make a dashed cake of yourself,’ Ledbury murmured. ‘If you were a hound, your tongue would be hanging out.’

  His friend ignored the jibe. After all, he had been joshed over his perceived interest in Miss Sudbury for the last hour and a half. If Ledbury sought to put him off it would not work, not that he was interested in the young lady, for of course she would think him too old. She must be but eighteen and he was an old widower of thirty-four. Undoubtedly she saw him in an avuncular light. When he had said this Ledbury had laughed out loud and offered to buy him a bath chair.

  ‘I shall not make a fool of myself, merely offer Miss Sudbury the opportunity to dance with a familiar face.’

  ‘Not too decrepit to whirl about the floor, eh?’ The earl raised a questioning brow.

  ‘You may be my best friend, but there are times I long to plant you a facer, George.’

  ‘Couldn’t do it, and of course here you simply dare not. Think of the ignominy.’

  ‘Does not diminish the desire though.’

  ‘Very true. We must pop into Jackson’s and spar together. I am out of practice but…’

  ‘Still think you can better me. Thank you. Perhaps that bath chair will be needed.’ With which Lord Inglesham began to make his way over to where Miss Sudbury was trying to disengage from the blonde girl in pink.

  Lord Ledbury smiled, but wryly. He did not really want to wish his friend success, though he knew such a feeling was churlish. It was then he saw his wife, her colour a little heightened, and in conversation with a man he did not recognise. He stiffened.

  A red-headed lady in bronze-green appeared silently at Lord Ledbury’s elbow.

  ‘No, really, my lord. You cannot be jealous of a poor specimen such as Knowle. Such a dull and decent man, from the little one hears. Besides, your wife, and I do congratulate you on making a sensible choice in the end, still has that new-bride glow.’

  ‘Good evening, Harriet. I did not wed, by the by, to please you.’

  ‘No, I rather thought you did not, but perhaps a little to annoy Louisa Yarningale, yes?’ Lady Feltham’s lips twitched.

  ‘That was merely incidental.’

  ‘She never could see beyond the end of her nose.’

  ‘No, though I thought it pretty enough.’

  ‘She will make trouble, you know. I never understood what you saw in her. In me, it was easy. We had a good time, you and I, and I am happy to think we meet without rancour now, and I do wish your bride well. Louisa, however, has already been dripping poison, no doubt of it. I saw her at your lady’s side but ten minutes since, and I’ll vouch she was not giving household tips. Best you go and cheer your bride after Knowle. Oh, and I will not embarrass her or you by asking for an introduction. Be kind to her, George, if you can.’ With which admonition Lady Feltham moved away.

  Only for a moment did Kitty catch sight of the red hair and her husband’s bent head. It was enough. It flooded back to her, that evening when she, the shy debutante, ill at ease and trying to blend in with the wallpaper, had withdrawn to find a quiet retiring room, and begun to open the door only to catch sight of the flame-red hair of Lady Feltham, her head flung back, and the dark head of Lord Ledbury buried in her décolletage. That first Season he had been the man who caught her attention, though she soon realised such as she were of no interest to him. Despite his reputation as ‘a devil with women’ she had created a version of him in her head which was much nicer. It was shattered in a moment. Not only was he profligate but not even decent enough to keep his liaisons private. Her secret admiration had turned to dust. When now he approached her she felt almost faint with disappointment. Logic said that he was bound to meet old amours and it meant nothing, but Kitty was not feeling logical. The day that had begun so delightfully had soured and then become a nightmare.

  He saw the disappointment in her eyes, and misread the cause.

  ‘Yes, my dear, I have come as I said, however little you desired it. I am also going to waltz with you, as I am sure your dance card is not full.’

  ‘No, it is not. I am not a flame that draws moths, nor a flame head.’

  He did not pretend that he did not understand her.

  ‘That was long ago, and you need fear nothing from Harriet Feltham. We meet merely as acquaintances.’

  ‘I am not afraid of any of your past chères amies.’

  ‘However you would be wise to ignore the barbs of Lady Yarningale.’

  ‘If she is so “dangerous”, my lord, what did you see in her?’

  The floor was filling with those for whom the waltz was not too racy a dance. He took her hand and, holding it a little tighter than was pleasant, led her onto it before responding, as he took her in hold.

  ‘I was not married then.’

  ‘She was.’ Her response was instant.

  ‘In name only.’

  ‘As am I.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ The music had struck up, and his guiding hand at her waist seemed to burn through her gown. ‘Whose fault, madam wife?’

  She did not look at him, and he reprimanded her. ‘Not good enough, Kitty. You are meant to be playing the role of radiant young wife. You could at least look up adoringly at me.’

  ‘I am not an actress,’ she retorted, stung.

  ‘No, but you will obey me in this.’ His voice was barely even a whisper, but it compelled, and she gave in, looking up until their eyes met. If their mutual gaze held anger, then to the onlookers it was mistaken as passion. Several ladies fanned themselves and coloured, and one, who considered the waltz far too forward, allowed or not, shuddered and uttered ‘there’ in the tone of one whose point has been proven.

  Kitty was a proficient dancer, which, for no logical reason, surprised him. In fact she was dancing the steps automatically, as
if her feet were divorced from the rest of her. He was leading, assertive, making her twirl about the floor with him upon his will, and it felt as if it were symbolic.

  ‘You know it is a very trite thing to say a woman is beautiful when angry, but in your case, my dear, the compliment must be made.’

  ‘How fortunate then that you anger me so frequently, my lord.’

  ‘Yes, I thought just that.’ He sounded unconcerned. ‘I must also remark that you waltz very well for one so enraged. Should you wish to tread upon my toes, do remember that it is Whicham who will have the labour of restoring the leather.’

  She did not respond. When the dance ended he made her a graceful bow and threaded her arm through his own before she could remonstrate. For the next half hour she felt she was an exhibit, as he worked his way about the rooms, introducing her, showing her off, making it clear that she belonged to him. When he had done all he wished, he calmly announced that they were going home.

  ‘What if I am not ready to do so, my lord?’

  ‘But, my dear, you said yourself that you were merely “putting in an appearance”. I am playing the thoughtful husband.’

  ‘How novel that must be?’

  ‘Oh, it is, my dear, I promise you, it is.’

  She ground her teeth and he laughed.

  Within the confines of their carriage, she laid her head back against the squabs and fought the tears that threatened. Her head ached, she knew why, but blamed him for exacerbating it.

  ‘I shall not be riding in the park tomorrow.’ It was stated baldly.

  He opened his mouth to reply, but, casting a glance at her, refrained, and simply said, ‘Ah.’ Why she found this so infuriating she did not know, and ground her teeth in a most unladylike manner.

  15

  George Ledbury awoke feeling uncharacteristically guilty. His actions the previous evening had been the promptings of his inner devil, not a doubt of it. He had said that his wife looked well when angry, but he preferred to be in amity with her. He sneered at himself. ‘Amity’ was friendship. When had he ever wanted that from, or with, a woman? The answer was never, but he knew the desire for it now. And what was more, yesterday, which had begun so well, had set back his seduction, which was proving so enjoyable. A voice within insisted it was more enjoyable than ever before, but he dismissed it. He rose, and shaved, but then waved Whicham away and declared he would visit his lady. He sauntered, dressing gown-clad, to her chamber and entered without knocking. Wootton, who was attempting to coax her mistress into taking a little tea and toast, threw him a look which accused the entire male gender, and him in particular, of unspecified but heinous crimes. Her curtsey was begrudged. He made no effort to mollify her.