A Companion in Joy

by Dorothy Mack

  “What were you doing at Rundell and Bridge, Nick?” the younger man asked, groping for a new topic when a pause had lengthened beyond what was comfortable. “Going to deck Kate out in jewels?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have just purchased a little trinket for her that they made up to my design.” He slowed his footsteps and dived a hand into an inner pocket of his coat.

  “That’s pretty.” Robin admired the gold pin gleaming on the viscount’s outstretched palm. “May I?” At his brother’s nod, he picked it up to examine the workmanship. The pin was no more than an inch and a half long and was in the shape of two overlapping hearts. A single fine ruby was set in the space where the hearts intersected.

  “Very nice indeed,” repeated Robin, returning the pin to the viscount, “and so is the message it conveys.” He laughed at the slight discomfiture on his brother’s face. “No need to colour up, old boy, nothing wrong with being happily married.”

  Nicholas passed this off with an acknowledging smile, but the truth was that his embarrassment was due to the fact that another piece of jewellery with a “message” was also reposing in his pocket at that moment. He had purchased a costly diamond and pearl bracelet for Lady Montaigne to assuage the pain of parting. It didn’t make his conscience a damned bit easier, but he thought he owed her something for a pleasant association.

  Cécile was not a member of the muslin company, but he entertained a shrewd suspicion she would not be averse to accepting the costly bauble. No doubt his delay in visiting her had given her cause for thought, but he dared not count on this making his task easier. In any case, he must not postpone the meeting much longer.

  He jerked his mind back to the present and made some tentative approach to discovering what Robin had been up to lately, but again found his usually loquacious brother reticent on the subject. They parted shortly and Nicholas headed home, eager to see Kate’s reaction to the little heart brooch.

  Had he been privileged to witness his brother’s next accidental encounter, however, it is unlikely that he would have postponed his visit to Green Street for even one more day.

  Robin was strolling toward his own lodgings when he very nearly bumped into Lady Montaigne on the flagway. He had been presented to her on one occasion, but they were on no more than bowing terms. He doffed his hat and smiled a greeting with the intention of walking on, but Lady Montaigne stopped her companion with a touch on her arm and returned his salutation with a degree of civility that surprised him.

  After inquiring about each other’s health, the beautiful redhead said with a casualness that did not quite ring true, “And how do you find your brother these days, Mister Dunston?”

  “Nicholas is quite well, I thank you, ma’am,” replied Robin, beginning to experience a slight wariness.

  “And the new Lady Torvil, is she also well?”

  “Kate is in splendid health also.” Robin’s unease deepened as it occurred to him that his brother’s mistress was intent on pumping him about his marriage. Nick must have stopped seeing her, the Lord be praised, and she was hoping to discover if there was any chance of resuming the affaire. If it would help Kate, he would do his best to discourage her efforts along those lines. Consequently, when Lady Montaigne, with superb nonchalance, asked if all was well with the married couple, Robin took pains to answer in some detail.

  “If the pin Nick has just purchased for Kate is any indication, I would say the marriage is prospering.”

  “A gift for the bride? But how charming.” Lady Montaigne’s voice was still elaborately casual, and Robin hastened to hammer home his point.

  “Yes, Nick designed it himself, two gold hearts intertwined with a perfect ruby linking them.” That should make things clear to her.

  It seemed he was correct, if the sudden veiling of her eyes and thinning of her mouth were any indication of her feelings. “A delightful expression of sentiment, even if a trifle obvious for a man of Nick’s experience.”

  Robin gave her full credit for keeping her voice light and even under the circumstances. He passed on with polite farewells, rather pleased with his good deed on behalf of his sweet sister-in-law. It was eminently satisfying to know, should the need of that loan arise, that he had been able to make some small return to Kate, even if it was something she would never learn about.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “Nicholas, how exquisite! I just love it, and it’s so light and graceful I’ll be able to wear it with almost everything, even this ball gown if I remove the garnets.” Suiting the action to the words, Kate unclasped the string of garnets from her neck and pinned the brooch to the ivory lace of her gown. “There, is that not perfect?” She whirled to display the effect for her smiling husband.

  Nicholas had called Kate to his bedchamber while he finished dressing and had presented the small pin.

  “It’s merely a piece of trumpery, you know, not very valuable,” he replied indulgently, mentally contrasting her pleasure in the little pin with her reception of the pearls he had selected for her wedding gift. How everything had changed since then!

  “It’s valuable to me,” Kate declared, entwining her arms about her husband’s neck and smiling tenderly into his eyes, “especially since you designed it yourself. I’ll treasure it always. Thank you, Nicholas.” She pressed her lips to his in what was intended to be a brief salute, but he wrapped his arms around her and gathered her in a close embrace that threatened to crush both Kate’s silk ball dress and the cravat he had just painstakingly tied.

  “I wish I were going with you tonight, but I promised Ollie I’d appear at his card party,” he sighed, releasing her reluctantly while he prudently removed his coat from the back of the chair that Ulysses had just selected upon following his mistress into the room to watch the proceedings. “That cat thinks he owns the place!”

  Kate smiled at his resigned tone. “He is really very well behaved. You know you don’t truly object to him,” she defended coaxingly, as she assisted him to shrug himself into the garment in question.

  “I strongly object to finding cat hairs on my coats, however,” he replied, standing still while his wife hastily removed several from the lapels of the blue coat.

  “I’m rather sorry I accepted for the Mendlesham’s ball,” Kate admitted. “It is bound to be a terrible crush and I don’t know them very well, but Mama wished to go, and I’ll have Deb to talk to, of course.”

  Several hours later, Kate’s doubts of the wisdom of attending the Mendlesham’s ball for their twin daughters were all in a strong way to being confirmed. None of her particular friends were present, and she was finding the affair dreadfully flat despite the presence of her mother and sister. In the interests of truth, it must be reported that she would probably have found even the most brilliant gathering flat without Nicholas. Not that this might by any stretch of the imagination be described as brilliant, she reflected waspishly as she headed closer to one of the long windows, searching for a breath of air, though the evening was so warm and sultry that the effort was in the nature of a forlorn hope.

  From somewhere close behind her came a lovely, low-pitched voice.

  “Why yes, thank you, I have been looking forward to meeting the new Lady Torvil.”

  At the sound of that well-remembered voice, Kate froze to absolute stillness for a second, or an eternity, before her trembling limbs would obey a command to turn around issued by her brain in defiance of a mad impulse to flee through the open window out into the safety of darkness. She knew the blood had drained away from her brain because she felt so light-headed, but she was momentarily powerless to conceal her plight from the redhaired woman whose ice blue eyes were glittering with triumph as they surveyed her person coolly. She concentrated fiercely on focusing a polite regard on the acquaintance who was performing the introduction. Lady Montaigne, so that was her name! How odd that it didn’t come as a surprise! She had always known she would be beautiful, of course, so that wasn’t a surprise either. Why then this muscular para
lysis, this refusal of her limbs and brain to function except at a dragging pace that belonged to a nightmare? It seemed an inordinately long time before she achieved a conventional murmur of acknowledgment, but the two women did not seem to notice, and her voice, though strange sounding in her own ears, apparently passed as normal also.

  Lady Montaigne extended two fingers, and Kate forced herself to meet them with her own for the bare minimum of time demanded by good manners.

  “I have been acquainted with your husband for an age, and I’m delighted to meet you, Lady Torvil.”

  “You are too kind, ma’am,” Kate murmured, watching in helpless horror as their mutual acquaintance drifted away, doubtless to perform another good deed. Her paralyzed tongue seemed unable to form even one of the polite remarks suitable to the occasion — if there were suitable remarks when a woman met her husband’s mistress for the first time. A faint, bitter twitching of her lips accompanied this insight, but Lady Montaigne was continuing with perfect ease in a tone which nicely blended casualness and condescension.

  “Not at all. I consider Nicholas to be one of my dearest friends.”

  “Indeed?” Kate managed the one word and hoped desperately that it conveyed complete indifference to this sweetly uttered shaft.

  “Oh yes,” Lady Montaigne produced an attractive trill of laughter. “I see you are wearing the little gold brooch. Isn’t it the most charmingly elegant trifle? I was persuaded it was just what you would most like.” The beautiful redhead nodded smilingly, but her light blue eyes held an alert, watchful expression.

  Kate’s dazed intelligence was struggling to cope with what her senses were reporting. This could not be happening! Lady Montaigne could not be smilingly intimating that she had selected the little heart pin for her lover’s wife. This was nightmare material. She had to stop her hand in mid-air to prevent it from covering the brooch with an instinctive protective gesture.

  From somewhere she found the resourcefulness to transform this action into a wave as she said to Lady Montaigne in a low voice in which she tried without measurable success to infuse some warmth or regret, “I do beg your pardon, ma’am, but I fear you must excuse me. My sister has been trying to attract my attention for some few moments. It may be that my mother is feeling unwell. She had a touch of the headache earlier this evening.” She nodded to the woman, uncaring now whether or not Lady Montaigne believed her invention so long as she succeeded in escaping from her presence. She had spied Deborah across the room and now headed purposefully for the spot, but her brisk pace slowed as she widened the distance between herself and the other woman.

  The numbness was starting to wear off now, leaving a throbbing mass of anger and pain in its stead. How dare Torvil allow his mistress to select a gift for his wife! The callousness of such a gesture was almost beyond comprehension. If Lady Montaigne had been unsure whether or not Kate had learned of her relationship with Nicholas, she had certainly chosen the most effective and humiliating way possible of conveying that information short of a public announcement. And she was every bit as beautiful as Kate had feared!

  Her shining globe of happiness shattered beyond repair by a few well-chosen malicious words, Kate strove to blot out her feelings and focus her attention on what she must accomplish in the next few minutes if she was to escape from this place without making the world privy to her desolation. She knew she was pale; since she could do nothing about this, let her pallor work for her. Accordingly she approached her sister, and when Deborah exclaimed at her appearance, she explained in a weak voice that she had a raging headache. Her complexion bore mute testimony to her claim. Deborah located Lady Langston and managed their departure with a minimum of fuss and a good deal of quiet efficiency, so that the three ladies were driving through the streets toward the young couple’s residence within fifteen minutes.

  Lady Langston subjected her elder daughter’s face to a rather unnerving scrutiny, but Deb was merely gently solicitous. Kate sat quietly in her corner, keeping the door shut on all thoughts but the practicalities of attaining solitude. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she forced herself to respond to Deb’s inquiries, touched and faintly comforted by her sister’s concern. She gave an involuntary shiver. Strange, she had found the ballroom overpoweringly stuffy, but now she felt leaden and cold to the tips of her fingers. She hastened to reassure her relatives that she was certain the headache would have gone off by morning and endured a lecture on the strength and duration of migraines from Lady Langston.

  The short ride seemed to take forever, but at last the carriage drew up in front of Lord Bartram’s house. She declined — politely, she trusted — her mother’s offer to have Deborah stay with her overnight and bade both a relieved goodnight. Thankfully, Mudgrave was the only servant in view as he opened the door for her. At his faintly questioning look, she explained again that the ballroom had been hot and stuffy and had given her a slight headache. There was now only Hawthorne to face before she could hope to be alone. Nicholas would not be in for hours, thank goodness. Nicholas! She decided she would not think about her husband tonight. It was essential to concentrate on taking one step at a time. Hawthorne was next, and there was no one in the world she would liefer avoid with the exception of Nicholas himself, but there was never any evading of Hawthorne. She submitted to the dresser’s ministrations with exemplary patience, meekly accepting the powders she pressed on her to relieve the alleged headache, and enduring a shortened version of the nightly routine. Her control was superb, but that was because she felt nothing. She tested this absence of feeling by questioning herself and found it perfectly true. Tears no longer threatened and the burning sensation behind her eyelids had ceased. The poets were mistaken about hearts breaking. One might sustain a severe emotional shock and hardly miss a beat physically. She was living proof of that. Though still cold, she was experiencing no aches or pains at all, not even in her head. Most probably everything would be fine once Hawthorne left. She was tired, she would sleep and defer the problem until morning.

  Finally Hawthorne was gone and the longed-for solitude achieved. Kate climbed carefully into bed, arranged two plump pillows with meticulous care, and disposed her limbs for sleep. Five minutes later, she admitted the futility of denying her problem through this avenue of escape. Her eyelids refused to remain closed, and her spine persisted in retaining the rigidity of a bar of steel on the bed. She stared dry-eyed into the darkness, seeing again the beautifully carved features and gorgeous red hair of her husband’s mistress. Odd, she had been almost exclusively concerned with maintaining her composure in the face of a devastating shock, yet she carried an image of Lady Montaigne in her mind’s eye that was detailed enough to serve as a model for her portrait. She closed her eyes tightly in a vain attempt to erase that image. She didn’t wish to think about Lady Montaigne! She wanted to forget about her very existence, to pretend they had not met at that accursed ball. If only she had never accepted that invitation!

  Life with Nicholas had been so wonderful lately that she had allowed the fact that he had a mistress to slide from her memory. Incredible as it seemed at this moment, she bad completely forgotten the existence of a mistress. It was a bitter irony to recall how she had searched each gathering before her marriage, wondering if the unknown mistress would be present. At that period, she had almost expected to be confronted with the woman daily. There would have been very little surprise attached to the event then, but tonight’s encounter had left her stunned, violently bereft of the quiet joy that had welled up in her when Nicholas had presented her with the pin of linked hearts. It had seemed to mean so much, and her rival had helped him select it. Oh, Nicholas!

  And now the enormity of her error in believing that Nicholas had come to love her burst over her head like waters released from a dam. Without warning the tears flowed, unresisted now, as Kate surrendered to her misery and wept unrestrainedly. She cried until sheer exhaustion caused a halt to her tears. She wept for shattered dreams and lost illusions but al
so for her own colossal stupidity in allowing her husband’s charm and apparent sincerity to overcome her carefully erected barriers. It would have been sad but understandable had she known nothing of her husband except what anyone could see, but she had possessed special knowledge from Nicholas’s own lips. Kate writhed among the now sodden pillows, her weary brain trying unsuccessfully to reconcile the picture of her husband’s tender pride tonight in her pleasure over the gold pin with that of a man who could permit his mistress to advise on a gift for his wife. It made no sense, but the facts could not be denied. Lady Montaigne had been quite odiously explicit. At this point, the tears she thought totally spent began afresh. Were all men like this then? Could they pretend to be wholly in love with one woman yet still desire another? Her own happiness these past weeks could never have existed had she not seen it reflected in all her husband’s actions. He was happy; that was obvious to the dullest eye, but it would now appear that his joy arose not from the love of one woman but from the satisfaction of having two women in love with him.

  These unhappy conclusions were squirreling around in her head when a soft sound in the next room pierced the cloud of misery that pressed down on her like a physical weight. Her exhausted body stiffened instinctively, and she rolled onto her stomach, allowing her hair to cover her tear-stained face while she strained to follow the faint sounds issuing from the other room. She held her breath when the door opened, then forced herself to breathe lightly and evenly as she felt Nicholas approach her bed.