Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance

by Janet Louise Roberts

  She smiled, though the mention of grandchildren still gave her a pang. Deidre continued to wear her black, but as she went out to dances and village affairs quite freely, no one considered her in mourning.

  Valerie had begun to think seriously about gifts for Christmas. She had been secretly knitting a cashmere shawl for her mother-in-law, in a pretty shade of blue, with an elaborate fringe knotted around the edge. When it was completed, she purchased more wool in the village, and began scarves for Malcolm and her father-in-law and for Louis. She had little money and was too proud to ask for any. She used what she had earned from her articles and stories for the wool.

  Deidre was a puzzle. She would not care for shawls, she thought they were unfashionable, though comfortable. Valerie finally bought some fine linen, and fashioned three handkerchiefs, with tiny hemming.

  She busied herself about the manor also, helping with the decorations. They had always brought in branches of green, together with those of holly berries and mistletoe. Valerie set them about, carefully, and arranged fresh vases of flowers from the last of those in the gardens. Soon there would be some from the greenhouses as well, in time for Christmas and New Year.

  Deidre went out more and more. Malcolm sometimes accompanied her, though the earl frowned. She cannot go alone, thought Valerie, but why cannot the groom take her and bring her home? She has many friends.

  Valerie did accompany Malcolm to the village hall, for a grand dance before the holidays. She wore the rose dress with the gold gauze, and was pleased that she knew so many of the company. She was much in demand for standing up in the cotillion and the country dances. No waltzes were played.

  “I declare, you are more popular than Deidre,” Malcolm told her, when he finally found her again. “I have scarcely seen you this evening! I thought you did not care for such amusements!”

  “I do not care to go as an unwelcome third,” she flashed. “The other occasions, you went to Deidre’s friends, I was not invited! Should I push myself in unwanted?”

  “Nonsense,” he said, but he had flushed and looked uncomfortable. “Of course you are always welcome. You show so clearly that you do not care for such matters…”

  Deidre came up to them as Valerie was about to snap a reply. Deidre was with the squire’s son. “Do let us change partners.” She smiled graciously at them both, with a cold enquiring look to her blue eyes. “I have not had my usual dances with you, Malcolm dear!”

  Several older ladies were near enough to hear Deidre’s clear ringing voice. Looks were exchanged, curiously, and Valerie felt all were staring at the four of them. She turned abruptly away from Malcolm and Deidre, who was already hanging onto his arm.

  The squire’s son bowed, smiled, and led Valerie away. “I say,” he said in a low tone, “she can be downright rude! And everyone is talking, that they go together to occasions, and leave you at home. Is this the way the London beaux act?”

  “I suppose so,” she said, with an attempt at a smile. She was stiff with humiliation.

  He was kind enough to change the topic again, to the preparations for Christmas, to the children’s party at the manor, and so on.

  Valerie was more than ready to leave before Deidre could bring herself to say her farewells. She stood in her cloak and bonnet at the entrance for quite half an hour before Deidre reluctantly went for her cloak.

  On the ride home in the carriage, Malcolm sat opposite the two girls. Valerie was silent, her hands clenched inside her pretty swansdown muff. Deidre’s elegant gloved hands were in a muff of white fur. One might think she was the Viscountess, thought Valerie miserably, staring out at the white-frosted fields.

  “Poor Valerie is exhausted,” said Deidre, lightly. “She is not accustomed to such late hours. You must sleep later in the mornings, my dear! You will not keep such early hours in the city! Only country people do so.”

  Valerie stiffened again, and could not bite her answer back. “For those who have no work to do, late hours will answer,” she said crisply. “I imagine you often sleep late, Lady Deidre! You seem to have nothing better to do, than to amuse yourself, and run around the countryside! I should be ashamed to behave the guest for such long months, with no tasks or work done, to pay for my lodging!”

  “Valerie!” breathed Malcolm. “You forget yourself! Your manners are shocking! Deidre is a guest, she is not to work! No one thinks she should.”

  One hand went up to Deidre’s eyes, her voice came in a muffled broken way. “Ohhh … that you should imagine so! I feel myself at home here, not as a guest! You make me see how foolish I am to believe I am welcome —”

  “Nonsense!” cried the distracted Malcolm, scarcely knowing how to act with her. “You are as dear as my sister! Eustace adored you! If only you had married him when he begged you to do so, you should be really my sister now!”

  Deidre burst into real tears — careful, however, not to disturb her makeup. Valerie sat stiffly in her corner, as Malcolm leaned forwards, comforted her, offered his big handkerchief, and generally behaved as though he would wish to take her in his arms.

  Valerie went up to her room at once upon arriving home. She could face no more scenes. She knew she had behaved badly. However, one more word from Deidre, and she would have slapped her face! She was shocked at the violence of her own feelings.

  She heard Malcolm come to bed about two hours later, as she tossed and turned sleeplessly. He did not even come through her room, much less to her bed, but went directly to his own small bed in the dressing room.

  The next day, Malcolm scolded Valerie severely for her manner towards Deidre. Valerie took it in silence for a time, then she turned on him.

  “I wish you had married Deidre instead of me,” she said fiercely. “I wish you two would go off to London and amuse yourselves, and leave me alone! You two are of a kind — frivolous, born only to amuse yourself — a rake, a rake, yes, you are! You think nothing of the labour that goes into this estate, you care nothing for how hard your father must work! Well, I wish you joy of her, and you cannot leave with her too soon to suit me!”

  Malcolm stared at her, as though a small kitten had turned on him with claws bared. “Well!” he said, in a long-drawn breath. “That is beyond all! How can you say that? It would make a terrible scandal if I should go off to London with … besides, I have no wish to do so! Of all the nasty remarks, of the worst-thinking mind I ever heard…”

  “You are shocking the villagers,” she told him hotly, her brown eyes flashing fire. “I was told last night everyone wondered at you and at her! You make your name a laughing-stock! And they feel sorry for me — sorry for me! You are always escorting her about.”

  “You are jealous!” cried Malcolm, beginning to grin. “Ah, I see it now! You are jealous of all my attentions to her! Confess it, now, Valerie!”

  “I am jealous of my reputation,” she flashed. “And of your families’, both the Arundels’ and Lady Deidre’s. When all the village talks, they will soon say there is no smoke, but fire is about!”

  “You’re jealous!” he crowed, like a small boy taunting her. He grabbed her shoulders. “Confess it, you are jealous of her! Come on now, be honest!”

  She stood stiffly in his hands, unable to deny it. Her face spoke for her. He bent and kissed her mouth, fiercely, then laughed and let her go. “It’s all right, Valerie, I shan’t be angry at you any more. You’re jealous, I can understand that,” he declared sunnily. “We’ll get you some fine clothes too, and some diamonds — wait till you see your presents at Christmas! Then you shall not be jealous of her any longer. I have ordered some things for you.”

  “You may keep them!” she declared furiously, and wrenched herself away from his presence. She turned her back on him, her hands shakily going to a chair back to hold on to it. “Or give them to Deidre! I shall leave you as soon as I am twenty-one, I swear it!”

  “I swear you are the worst-tempered female of my acquaintance!” he shot back, and dashed from the room.

&nb
sp; As though in defiance, Malcolm escorted Deidre out again that very evening. They did not even tell Valerie where they would go. Valerie, her mouth compressed to keep back fury, went early up to her room. She worked at her desk for a time, then blew out the candles and crept into bed. Malcolm had not even listened to her, he cared not for his reputation.

  Probably in London, he had jaunted about as he wished. He had been a gambler there, a rake, quite the young beau. No doubt he longed for a return of those days.

  He meant to make a fool of her, she thought savagely. He would carry on his affairs. She wondered how far the one with Deidre had gone — and thought the worst. Deidre would care for nothing, so long as the money, the jewels, the fine dresses flowed in. These were loose times, Valerie had found from reading the London gazettes. All followed the example of the prince regent — and his mistresses were freely talked about.

  Much later, she heard voices cautiously lowered in the hallway. They went on and on. She wakened from her drowsing, and lifted her head to listen. Was something wrong? Was someone ill? She heard a soft sobbing and rose from the bed, catching up her warm robe.

  Cautiously, she opened the door, and peered out into the darkened hallway. It was just light enough, from the candles at the end of the hallway near the stairs, that she could see the two figures standing there, together, very close.

  Then she saw them. Malcolm, holding Deidre in his arms, his hand stroking her light blonde hair caressingly. She was sobbing on his shoulder. Valerie could not hear the words.

  But she could see them, near Malcolm’s bedroom door. He stroked her hair, then lifted her chin, and talked to her softly. She shook her head, the blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. Her hand reached up, she touched his cheek.

  And he bent his head and kissed her cheek, then her mouth. They were clinging together.

  Valerie came out of her daze, to find herself standing cold and chilled. She shut the door, softly, turning the handle slowly so it would not even click.

  She was shivering, long deep shudders, as she stood there in the nightdress and robe, in the cold December night. Malcolm … kissing Deidre.

  She had imagined their embraces. The reality was much, much worse. Malcolm, his lean strong body half-bent over the slight curved figure of Deidre. His face against hers, his mouth seeking hers. Valerie pressed her fist to her own mouth, that had known his hungry demanding kisses.

  She was cold through, not just from the night air. Malcolm. He had taken Deidre as his mistress, then. It was reality, not just a fear.

  A door closed softly, the voices had ceased. She tensed again. She heard someone moving in the next bedroom, slowly, a murmur of voices. A door closed — the wardrobe, she thought.

  Presently, the bed creaked.

  Was Deidre there, in his bed? Was she? Right next door to his wife? Valerie longed to throw open that door between their rooms, confront them fiercely, scream aloud of their blatant affair.

  But she could not. She would not do it. They were callous and “sophisticated,” true Londoners, they would say. It would only hurt Malcolm’s parents — and herself.

  She crept into bed, curling up into a ball of pain. Her feet were cold, her legs, her whole body. How could she endure this? She could not, yet she must.

  The next few days were sheer torture. She went about in a daze. She smiled like a mechanical doll, she nodded, she spoke, she did not know what she said. She knew only that Malcolm continued to drive Deidre about the countryside, that they laughed together, talked for long hours.

  The weather had turned bitterly cold. She did not ride out, she said it was too cold for her, and remained in her room, reading and writing. She attended to her duties about the manor house with mechanical attention — the flowers from the greenhouse, the herbs to be planted in pots, a dinner planned and the guests arranged at table.

  Guests came, she smiled, she spoke, she was quiet. No one seemed to notice anything wrong. Even the countess had a subdued joy those holidays, with the house full, people coming and going, Malcolm, dear Malcolm home from the wars. Deidre had a hard, triumphant look on her face. At dinner she wore the most glamorous of gowns spangled with diamonds, her blonde hair high, a tiara on her curls.

  Sometimes Louis Kenyon looked at Valerie and seemed about to speak. Then he would stop himself, and shake his head. The earl was absorbed in his work, there was a party to be planned for the estate children, gifts to go out to the tenants. Valerie had helped choose and wrap them, he sent them out, and attended to seeing them all on the estate.

  Valerie completed the decorations of the drawing rooms and dining room with mechanical efficiency. There were green pine boughs on the mantels, red Christmas candles on the tables. She completed her gifts and wrapped them, with no pleasure in her.

  Christmas would be a hollow family celebration for her. New Year would come and go, and presently she would be twenty-one, and she might slip away, she thought. No one would miss her now.

  The countess was ill one day and did not come down to dinner. Deidre boldly slipped into her chair at the long dining table, and smiled at the earl. “I’ll just show dear Valerie how to do this,” she said sunnily. “She must have the experience one day, you know.”

  Valerie was too numb to protest Deidre’s arrogance in taking the countess’s place from her. She seated herself beside the earl as usual, her face contained, her head averted from the end of the table where Deidre sat.

  Finally the Christmas period came, the holidays were merry for them. The earl was beaming, and told Valerie why.

  “At last, my dearest wish has been granted, my dear,” he said.

  Valerie stared at him. Was Deidre to have Malcolm’s child? But he was too complacent, not shocked at all.

  “Malcolm is selling his commission,” explained the earl. “He has agreed to take his place on the estate and learn the work. I know the battles will be fierce in Spain, and I told him I could not go through another such experience if he should leave us.”

  He looked at Valerie hopefully, waiting for her reaction. She could think only that Deidre had persuaded him, that he remained here because he wished to be with Deidre.

  “That’s fine,” she said dully. “I am … pleased … for you.”

  He showed his puzzlement, said jovially, “And for yourself as well, my dear! He will be at home with you…”

  Not with me, thought Valerie again, and turned away. Malcolm came into the study presently.

  “Did you tell her the news, Father?” he asked, looking towards the desk where Valerie sat, her shining brown head bent over her books.

  “Yes, I think she is dazed with the shock of it,” said the earl kindly. “Tell her again — assure her you mean to remain with us, that you will sell out.”

  Malcolm was still gazing at Valerie, beginning to frown now. She made herself look up, glanced past him rather than at him.

  “I am very happy with your decision, Malcolm,” she said, colourlessly. “Your father is most happy.”

  He came over and sat down beside her. “Truly? I wonder!” he said in a low angry voice. “You spend all your time to yourself, you never join us.”

  “Why should I? Is not Deidre enough company for you?” she snapped. “She has the time to amuse you…”

  “That again? Play another tune, my dear! I tell you this, I should rather be with my regiment than listen to your vitriol all the day! And they need me there in the Peninsula, I have read in the gazettes that old Wellington is expecting any day to meet the French. By God, for two pins I would go!” he ended violently.

  She sighed and finally put her hand on his. “No, Malcolm, I beg you, do not go. We worried about you so long,” she said sincerely. “I truly think we should not be able to endure it, should you depart again for the Peninsula.”

  His face softened, he raised her hand to his lips. She felt the warm mouth on her hand. “I swear I never will understand you, Valerie,” he said, for her ear alone. “Blow hot, blow cold. But you are
so nice when you wish to be. Come out with me today, I long for a ride in the carriage. We shall go wherever you say.”

  She hesitated, he began to frown again. She finally nodded. “I should like to go, Malcolm. We could take the gifts to the Parkers, I do enjoy visiting them.”

  He grinned, pulled her up. “Go get your cloak and bonnet, then, there’s a cold wind. I’ll be around with the carriage in fifteen minutes. Papa, where are the gifts for the Parkers?”

  The earl had been watching them anxiously from the corners of his eyes, pretending a great search over his desk for some papers. Now he gave a sigh of relief, got up to point out the pile of gifts for the Parkers, and sent a footman out with them to the carriage.

  In twenty minutes, they were on their way, laughing in the cold, crisp December day. Valerie’s heart felt lighter than it had for days, ever since she had witnessed that scene outside her bedroom door. The pain of it had lingered, to dig deep into her sensitive heart. Malcolm did not seem to realize what he did to her, how he hurt her. Perhaps this was the way of most men, that they could not be loyal, did not even think of loyalty.

  Must she be loyal then, without his loyalty? Must she love without being loved in return, content with the scraps of his attention when he wished to throw them to her? She could not answer. She loved him, but she despised herself for loving a rake and a gambler, a London beau who carried his ways to the country, and made their name a scandal.

  The Parkers were frankly surprised to see Malcolm, and welcomed them both heartily. Two of the young children were there, and Valerie took them in turn onto her lap, to tell them stories, and sing a song or two. Malcolm seemed surprised at her, and sat watching her thoughtfully between conversations about the spring plantings and the horses that were due to foal.

  They drove home in the dusk, silent, as they passed along the country lanes. Ice crackled on the branches, sometimes snapping with the report of a pistol shot. The fields showed brown under the frost and some patches of snow. A rabbit scurried from its burrow into their path, and out again, just under the hooves of the horses.