‘You may return later. I wish to speak with her ladyship.’ He spoke with the calm assurance of one who was not disobeyed, though Wootton, looking daggers at him, then glanced for confirmation at her mistress. Kitty nodded wearily. She looked a trifle pale, and the plait of her hair lay thick upon her shoulder. He came and sat upon the bed as the door shut behind the tirewoman, frowning slightly.
‘You are in less than full bloom this morning, my dear. I am sorry for it.’
There was a pause. He reached and took the smooth plait between finger and thumb, stroking its softness almost idly, and gazing upon it rather than looking into her eyes.
‘Yesterday… I suppose I forgot that how I act reflects upon you, and I embarrassed you.’
‘That was a part, yes. But it was more that I thought I had seen that you were not really like that.’
‘Like what? Tell me.’
‘Uncaring. Interested only in yourself.’
‘I told you at the beginning I was selfish. I never pretended I was not.’
‘I know, but I was beginning to feel that perhaps you were just believing your own act.’ Her voice was heavy with miserable disappointment.
‘Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but I really am selfish. I do not excuse it, but it is part of me, and will not change, not deep down.’ He looked at her, his face serious. ‘We did not marry for “love”, Kitty. We cannot pretend otherwise. We did not even know each other. You might say it was a poor basis for a marriage, but I think it might be rather better than some of those where the couple are dewy eyed and blind to all faults. In such cases, when the glow of “falling in love” dulls, the shock of discovery that their idol has feet of clay must be shattering. I would rather build from truth. You still have much to understand about me, and I you, but if this is to work you will have to realise that even if I try to be the man you would have me, I will fall far short. My feet, however well shod, are most definitely of clay. You cannot turn a devil into an angel.’ He gave a twisted smile. ‘The golden wings would be damnably inconvenient.’
‘I do not need an angel, my lord, but you showed no interest in the unhappiness you had caused.’
He demurred at that.
‘Unhappiness? I scarcely think the callow youth spent the evening sobbing, nor that the Erith chit wrung her hands. If they were unhappy it was most transitory. Do not ask me to wear a hair shirt over it. You may check if you wish with Whicham, but I can guarantee you there is not one in my extensive wardrobe.’
‘Can you not feel contrition?’
‘Would it do any good if I did?’ He raised an eyebrow and then shook his head.
‘So you are saying that it is best that I just forgive your faults, ignore them like I should ignore…’ She halted, and blushed.
‘…My former mistresses? To be honest, I do not feel in need of forgiveness for what occurred before we met, but ignoring them would be wise… the mistresses, that is. I am a realist. Sometimes you will not be able to ignore my faults, but do not be disconsolate because they remain. Yesterday you were angry. I do not blame you for that.’
‘Why, how generous of you.’ There was a spark of irritation.
‘Let me finish. All I am saying is life will be miserable if each day dwells upon the misdemeanours of the day before.’
‘So we are back to “forgive and forget”.’
‘Should not forgiving be part of a marriage?’
‘But not one-sided.’
He let out a crack of laughter.
‘So, my paragon, the moral high ground is all yours. I am sorry, I am unused to viewing perfection and so…’
‘That is not what I meant.’
‘Well, I must tell you, madam wife, you are not perfect,’ His voice softened to a caressing whisper, ‘but then, I have never desired perfection.’ He leaned and kissed her cheek, lingering a moment before murmuring, ‘The morning ride will not be the same without you, Kitty.’ He squeezed her hand, stood up, and left without another glance.
Kitty sat in bed with her mind in disarray. She had woken with a headache still, and full of resentment. Her cynical self said that what she had just experienced was her husband at his manipulative best, and yet he had made it feel very genuine. He had not promised to be good, promised what he could not deliver, pretended what was not there. He had not pleaded forgiveness, but rather advocated it for pragmatic reasons. In one respect she thought he was quite right.
By what right should she resent his past affairs before he knew her, before she was his wife? The answer was none, and yet the resentment lay like a coiled snake in the bottom of a pit. Let it see light, and it would rise, hissing and poisonous. He had said he would miss her on his ride. They had enjoyed their previous mornings and she did not doubt he meant what he said, but it was not just a comment for today. What he wanted, what she felt deep down that he wanted, was her to ride again with him in that peculiar togetherness that they only seemed to truly experience when out riding. Yes, he played games with her then, seductive games, but he was enjoying them too, playfully, not just as a means to an end. It struck her, for the first time, that perhaps he had never found that with a woman. She was not beautiful, not worldly wise and flirtatious as his conquests had been, but there was a camaraderie when they rode side by side.
*
Her husband’s expression, when taking his exercise, was not conducive to him being joined by anyone as her replacement. Since he rode early, the mere saunterers were not about, but Sir Jenkyn Firth, who passed him with a nod and a smile, confided to his friend Lord Gressingham that he thought Ledbury had been trying to ride off a heavy night.
‘Sick as a dog, and a scowl like Zeus about to launch a thunderbolt. Won’t have worked, of course. Only way to get over a head like that is brandy, egg yolks and lots of pepper, or is it paprika? Hmm, I think it is pepper. Must ask my man.’
‘That really works?’ Lord Gressingham looked dubious.
‘You feel the devil when you take it, but afterwards the headache seems less, and you do feel you will not repeat the mistake.’
‘Ah, now that I can believe. Never could face an egg looking like an egg unless it was with a good slice of gammon in the morning.’
Their conversation became culinary.
*
It was not Lady Yarningale’s ideal commencement to a morning, but she told herself that it was worth it for the prize. Lord Ledbury’s matutinal habits were well known to her, and there had been times the previous year, when many had left the metropolis, that she had risked the adverse effects of rising unusually early to ride in the park for an assignation. For once she had not petitioned her husband, remaining in Town upon government business, to let her withdraw to the country, but had lingered, and been entertained.
She did not enjoy riding, but knew she showed to advantage in a habit, and that made it better. This morning she was fussy with her maid about the exact angle at which her daringly mannish hat was placed, and set off with a groom in decorous attendance to ‘accidentally’ meet Lord Ledbury. She had no knowledge that he had taken to riding with his lady. For almost a full circuit she thought she had wasted her time, but then she saw him ahead of her, and she was not put off by his expression. In fact she delighted in it, for the last thing she wanted was him contented with life. It did not even worry her that his mouth set in an even more uncompromising line as he saw her.
She half-smiled, a look she had perfected to hint at intrigue beneath a veneer of modesty, and inclined her head in acknowledgement. She would let him think she would pass him by. Having done so she wheeled about and trotted up beside him. The groom, well paid for turning a blind eye, hung back a little. Her ladyship’s ‘games’ were lucrative.
‘Now do not tell me you do not want company, my lord, because I simply will not believe you,’ she announced, brightly.
‘How unfortunate, but then you and truth are not well acquainted, Louisa.’ He did not look at her, and she saw a muscle moving in his jaw.
&nb
sp; ‘For shame, sir. Is that the way to greet such a close friend?’
‘Close we were, I do not deny it, but did either of us ever mention friendship?’
‘Well,’ she gave her tinkling laugh, ‘we had better things to occupy us than talking. Now, do not be a crosspatch, George. Is married life so bad that it makes your day start so badly? Poor George.’
‘I do not want your sympathy, madam.’ He was curt.
‘No. I know what you want, what you need. I understand it, perfectly,’ she purred, barely above a whisper. ‘So few women really understand men.’
‘You do not understand them, merely their base instincts.’
‘But my dear, in most men that is all there is.’ There was a touch of bitterness in her riposte.
‘Not in me.’
‘Goodness, do not tell me so, George. It would be so disappointing. It even smacks of morality, and we both know how deadly dull that can be.’ She smiled, but was castigating herself for playing the encounter badly. She had not intended to cross swords with him. She softened her tone to a velvety croon once more. ‘I am sorry. You are no doubt still playing the loyal new husband, but sadly it offers few rewards, marital loyalty, especially with a wife who does not understand you. And do you know I would have enough money to buy a ravishing new hat from Maison Elisabeth if I had a guinea for every time a man had told me his wife did not understand him.’
‘I would be wary, my lady. If men start offering you money you have taken up a profession, and no lady should have a profession.’
Her gloved hands tightened upon the reins and her horse jibbed as the bit pulled in its mouth.
‘Do not be naughty, George, just because you are in a bad humour. Fighting it will not do any good you know, and being offensive is merely boorish. You have to accept what you are, who you are. Marriage does not change us. There are those in whom the blood flows strongly, who have passions, needs, and those in whom it is alien. “Marry in haste and repent at leisure” so they say, my lord. I fear you have done so, but all is not lost. There is still passion to be enjoyed, and it may even have an additional frisson to it. Today you are struggling to be virtuous, and it really does not suit you, but just for you I will be patient, my dear. When you can keep up the facade no longer, you know where to find me, and I can promise you will feel so much the better.’ She kicked her horse into a canter before he could respond, and left him, with a smile upon her face. It had not been as easy as she had imagined, but having failed on her previous encounter, she was sure she had planted a seed firmly and had little doubt it would grow, given judicious watering.
*
Lord Ledbury let his horse walk on a loose rein. Louisa Yarningale had indeed planted a seed, but not the one she had intended. It was more a seed of doubt about himself. He was certainly not a man given to introspection, and he found it about as pleasant as having a tooth drawn, which experience he recalled from childhood. She saw him as ruled not by head, nor yet by a heart, which he had frequently denied possessing, but simply by his body. It struck him that if true, it was nothing of which to be proud. Was he a slave to his own desires? He told himself he was not, for was he not waiting patiently for his wife? Perhaps the adjective was going too far, for he had to admit he did not have patience. He also knew it was not just a matter of his own pleasure. If he could not please her then it would be worthless to him. He had spoken of never having been ‘friends’ with Louisa, and it was true, nor was his wish to be friends with his Kitty a casual thing. Day by day it was becoming more important to him. He was not sure he could remain forever faithful as a husband, never having been in such a position before, but he was conscious of a deep desire that he and his wife should remain on good terms. He wanted her to smile when he looked at her, jest with him, share unspoken thoughts, and if sometimes she chastised him as yesterday he might even learn to accept it. Had he explained these wishes to Henry Inglesham, that gentleman would have smiled, and said he was learning what love was all about. He was still in this pensive mood when Lord Inglesham did in fact approach, not on horseback but taking a morning constitutional, having awoken early and in a peculiarly ‘pleased with the world’ humour. This had not been occasioned, he convinced himself, by the fact that Miss Sudbury had danced the cotillion with him the previous evening, and confided guilelessly that until that moment the evening had been proving very dull. He lied to himself, most successfully, that his interest in the young lady was purely avuncular, heightened by an understanding of her grieving state.
His morning’s pleasure had been marginally tarnished by a very brief encounter with Lady Yarningale, who had looked very smug, and had smiled at him in a way that made him feel acutely uncomfortable. That he should encounter his friend but a few minutes later made him wonder. Lord Ledbury, however, had no thought of hiding what had occurred from him.
‘Did you see her?’ He did not elaborate as to whom he meant, but his irritation was patent, and Lord Inglesham was astute.
‘I did, and looking like the cat that got the cream.’
‘Well, I damned well refuse to be her cream. Henry, what did I ever see in that woman?’
‘No idea, my dear fellow, but then I have never understood your amours.’
‘She cannot seem to understand that I have cut the connection. Cannot, or will not. Seems to think all she has to do is play the coquette and I will fall back into old habits. At least you are the only person who will have seen us, and you know the truth. I would hate my wife to hear unfounded gossip.’
‘Quite so. Er, her absence today is not a result of last night? I know you well enough, and I think her ladyship too now, and could tell there was some friction.’
‘She is indisposed, nothing serious, and is not in a huff, though I was a fool last night, a damned fool. I think there ought to be lessons in being a husband, because I think I am making a sad mull of it this far.’
‘One is bound to make mistakes. The art is to admit them, not just to oneself, but to one’s spouse.’
‘Well, I think I did that this morning.’ Lord Ledbury cheered up a little.
‘Only “think”, George?’ Lord Inglesham shook his head. ‘You are a sad case.’
*
Lord Ledbury’s confidence that nobody would be running with false tales to his wife was misplaced. It was true that no other person had witnessed the encounter, but he underrated Lady Yarningale. That lady was well aware that her own word would be seen as a slighted woman making mischief. She had therefore to achieve her aim by more roundabout methods. She needed someone who revelled in gossip but who considered herself superior, morally and in intelligence. It was the greatest good luck, therefore, that as she left Hyde Park she saw Lady Dunwich’s carriage waiting as a carrier’s cart impeded its exit from Mount Street. She caught the eagle eye of Lady Dunwich by the simple expedient of jabbing at her horse’s mouth and making it a little jittery. She then contrived to look very swiftly at her ladyship and act as if she was the very last person she would have wished to see. Lady Dunwich smiled, and nodded, and wondered. It was not common to see Lady Yarningale upon horseback, let alone so early in the day. Lady Yarningale forced her blush, and urged her mount into a trot. Only out of view did she permit herself an even broader smile. That would be just enough to have Lady Dunwich caught upon the hook of curiosity. She had little doubt that at their next encounter that lady would quiz her upon her early ride, and it would be easy to let slip just one damning detail. It would take a few days, but she felt sure that a delicious rumour would start that Lord Ledbury had not totally left behind his previous ‘interests’.
16
Kitty rose from her bed a little after ten o’clock, and sought to distract herself with her letter to Charlotte Rowington. As a distraction it failed pitifully, since she spent much of it apologising for her husband’s behaviour the previous day. He had annoyed her, and embarrassed her, and what she felt was worse was that she wanted to find excuses for him, as a mother might a doted-upon infant who
‘disappoints’ in public. Kitty pulled a wry face. She could scarcely say he had needed an afternoon nap, though the truth might well be that he would have been far better behaved had he spent some time in bed, most definitely not asleep.
Looking at matters rationally, which was far easier said than done, his reaction at Almack’s had been understandable if he believed her to be penalising him for his earlier behaviour. From sulking he had progressed to feeling hard done by. She could recall her half-brother behaving like that when in short coats. Her husband did not have the excuse of being an infant, but he did have that of his frustration. Kitty was increasingly aware that her failing to be a true wife was testing him to the limit. Part of her thought it would do him good, and the other dreamed that she might make it melt away in a night of passion in which he would be delighted by her new-found confidence in matters of the bedchamber. The only obstacle to this was that the confidence was imaginary, or rather it was outweighed by a fear of being a disappointment yet again and losing everything they had found together. The redecoration of her chamber had taken on a symbolic role, which was illogical but strong. When it was ready she would be ready, she told herself, and then shook her head at her foolishness. She did go to see how much progress had been made.
The room had a starkness to it, with its walls bare dark plaster, though she thought even that an improvement upon the cabbage roses. Syde, having been informed by a maid of her ladyship’s inspection of works, joined her to provide what details he could, and was thankful that the uncouth workmen were not expected back for a couple of weeks.
The Devil You Know Page 19