Читать книгу Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow - Anne O'Brien, Anne O'Brien - Страница 14

As fate would again have it, both Lord Joshua Faringdon and his lady attended the Prussian Ambassador’s ball, if separately and unaware of the other’s intention. Joshua out of necessity to meet some prearranged contacts, Sarah, as she had planned, in a fit of defiance.

Joshua found it in his way to speak discreetly to a number of individuals, all of whom claimed to know nothing of subversive groups acting within the city and certainly not of any plan of assassination, but all warned that something unpleasant was in the wind.

Sarah found it in her way to dance every dance and gossip brightly with her sister and other ladies of her acquaintance in between. She agreed to go in to supper with a titled French gentleman who found the English lady both charming and elegant and willing to flirt as well as to converse at length and in a spirited manner on a range of topics.

Both Lord and Lady Faringdon, with remarkable ease, found it possible at so large an event to ignore each other and pretend that they were not aware of each other’s existence. Joshua out of a frozen horror at what he could possibly say to this woman—his wife—whom he had just discovered was the only woman he could ever love and whom he had insulted beyond bearing. Sarah because… well, she did not quite know exactly why, but she had no wish to even recognise this infuriating man who had the power to engulf her body in flame and equally sear her soul with his harsh words. Even if she deserved them. Which, in retrospect, she was sure she did not!

‘Your wife is here tonight, Sher, if you had not noticed,’ Nicholas informed his sombre cousin with an expression that Joshua could only describe as a smirk.

‘I am aware.’ He would not rise to the bait. Of course he had seen her, in a glory of deep blue satin. Diamonds glinted on her breast and around her slender wrists, but no more than the fierce glow in her eyes. She looked quite beautiful.

‘Have you spoken with her?’

‘No.’

‘She might grant you a dance, if you ask her. But she seems to be much in demand.’ Nicholas watched Sarah execute the waltz in the embrace of a handsome dark-coated individual with assured steps.

Joshua turned his back on the sight of her in another man’s arms. It was far too tempting to stalk across the floor and claim her for himself with a few well-chosen words for the man who dared hold her so close. And what a scandal that would make. ‘You dance with her, Nick. I think tonight she would prefer it.’

‘I would have to agree.’ Nicholas grinned at Joshua, refusing to show him any sympathy in this situation that he privately considered to be of his cousin’s own making. ‘You are not exactly good company.’

‘No. I am not.’ Joshua’s lips curled in an expression not unlike a snarl.

‘And, Sher, you are a fool. Go and talk to your wife!’

Joshua merely glared at his cousin, who punched him lightly on the arm, and abandoned him to take up a hand of whist with a group of like-minded gentlemen.

* * *

And then Joshua’s evening disintegrated further into deep depression as a consequence of his setting eyes on the dark lady of the carriage. She was present, once again in the company of the little group of friends. Despite the very public occasion, given their previous history Joshua knew that he must speak with her, so made his way through the crowded ballroom to where she was a lively participant in a conversation, wielding a large ostrich-feathered fan with flamboyant agility. As he recalled, she had always had a leaning to the flamboyant. She turned at his approach, clearly, from her expression, waiting for him, expecting him to single her out.

‘Madame?’ Joshua inclined his head, his greeting posing the merest question.

The lady smiled her quick understanding. ‘Lord Joshua. It is some years since we had the pleasure of meeting, is it not? Perhaps I might introduce you—this is my husband, the Marquis de Villeroi. Charles, allow me to present Lord Joshua Faringdon, from London—he is, as you would say, a family friend.’

The elderly gentleman bowed. As did Lord Joshua.

‘Lord Joshua and I have a connection going back many years, have we not, my lord.’ There was a pronounced glint—perhaps of mischief—in those dark eyes. Her voice was delightfully husky with its French intonation.

‘We have.’ There was no amusement in Lord Faringdon’s face. ‘I trust you are well, Madame la Marquise.’

‘As you see.’ She waved the fan languidly. It was clear that this conversation would be conducted in the collective eye of the beau monde, but the lady placed a hand on his lordship’s arm to lead him a little distance for her group.

‘I did not expect to meet you here.’

‘No. I have not been to Paris for some years, my dearest Sher.’ She kept her voice low, intimate even. ‘But now my husband, who has some business interests here, wishes me to accompany him. I am not unwilling to reacquaint myself with the city.’ Dark lashes swept her cheeks. ‘Or with yourself.’

‘I imagine not.’ The lines engraved beside his lordship’s mouth softened a little. ‘I regret the manner of our parting, my lady.’

The lady sighed. ‘And I.’

‘It was not what I would have wished.’

‘Nor I—but it had to be so—in the circumstances. As we both realised. We were not free to pursue our own desires, were we?’

Lord Joshua shook his head, unwilling to continue that line of conversation. ‘Will you remain in Paris long?’

‘It is my intention. Perhaps we shall meet again.’ She laughed, a low seductive chuckle. ‘But perhaps, my dear Sher, it will be best if you do not make it a formal call. It would not please everyone, if you take my meaning.’

‘No, it would not.’

‘Discretion is not always easy, is it?’ she replied enigmatically. ‘I hear that you have married recently.’

‘Yes.’

‘She is a fortunate woman.’

‘I think the fortune is all on my side. May I say that you are as attractive as ever?’ His smile a little wry.

‘But a little older and wiser, perhaps.’

‘Wiser, perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘Older I cannot accept.’

The lady turned her head as her husband approached. The brief encounter was at an end, and indeed there was nothing else for them to say to each other.

‘Thank you for your compliment, Sher. It is good to see you.’

‘And for me too, my lady.’

He kissed the fingers she offered him, and then, driven by impulse and strong memories of the past, which still had the power to move him, he kissed her cheek in a gallant gesture.

At which point Sarah, encouraged by some unhappy pricking of her conscience to search the crowd for a glimpse of her errant husband, watched the little tableau unfold.

And stared in horror at what she saw.

How could he! And not even in private! It was a very public salute on the lady’s cheek. And it was, unless she was very much mistaken, the dark lady from the Tuileries. The dark lady…

Sarah’s memory instantly cleared, as if a candle had been lit to cast a bright image. Of course she had seen the face before. And not merely in the Tuileries Gardens. It was the face that looked out so confidently from one of the portraits in Joshua’s attic in Hanover Square. So who was she—apart from being shockingly intimate with Joshua in the middle of a Parisian ball? A mistress? Highly likely! Well, if that were so, it would certainly clarify one recent development. If he was intent on taking up a liaison with this Unknown again—presumably a liaison of long standing—it would explain why the Countess of Wexford had been slighted. And that felicitous event, equally clearly, had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that he now had a wife. No such thing! He simply had another mistress. Sarah hissed out a breath, causing Theodora to glance at her in some concern, but Sarah pinned a smile to her lips.

How dare he flaunt Another Woman before her in such a manner! With this thought in mind, Sarah lost no time and no sensible thought on the content of the looming conversation, in waylaying her husband.

‘My lord.’

‘My lady.’

He was immediately wary of the frigid look on her face. Now what? He truly did not need another challenging conversation today.

‘I would have a brief word.’

‘Can it not wait until we are private at home?’

‘No!’

‘Very well.’ He led her to one of the little anterooms, much in demand by those who might pursue a secret liaison, away from prying eyes.

‘Well?’

‘Why did you bring me here to Paris?’

He waited with raised brows for further explanation. Flushed cheeks and a martial light in her eyes did not bode well. Sarah did not keep him waiting long.

‘Why did you insist that I accompany you, when you obviously have no need of me? More often than not you have absented yourself, giving me no idea where you might be.’ She conveniently, deliberately, overlooked his considerate presence before Thea’s arrival. ‘You appear to be surrounded by mistresses—’ with cavalier and deliberate exaggeration ‘—more than willing to entertain you, so you have no need of me. I am amazed that you find the time or the energy to come to my bed at all. And I remember that I asked, quite specifically, that I need not have to acknowledge them. And you agreed.’

All delivered in a low, clipped voice, quite unlike Sarah’s usual dulcet tones.

If the matter had not been so serious, Joshua thought that he might have laughed aloud at the picture painted by an irate and intolerant Sarah. His wife appeared to have amazing faith in his stamina. But there was no place for humour here. The evidence against him was growing daily, building stone upon stone, to create an insurmountable obstacle between them. But what to do would still seem to be out of his hands. He sighed a little against his own hurt, knowing that he was causing Sarah undeserved pain, and tried for words to placate.

‘You asked, quite specifically, that I should not introduce you to any mistresses I might have or bring them into our house. I have done neither.’ And will not. I do not have a mistress. I love you, if you did but know it.

‘You do not have to introduce them.’ Sarah looked down her nose, which Joshua recognised to be very much in the style of Lady Beatrice. ‘It is clear to me by the way you look at them. It is an insult to me that you should flaunt them in this way!’

‘Sarah—just who are these mythical creatures?’ There was a heavy weariness in his voice.

‘The Countess of Wexford, for one.’

‘She is nothing to me. Neither then, despite all appearances. Nor now.’

‘And the dark lady, tonight, in this very room—you kissed her cheek!’

‘So I did.’ What point in denying it? He was aware of nothing but the bleak chill creeping though his veins as the web of deceit pulled more tightly around him, binding his limbs, his choice of words. Ice cold, numbing, whilst his unbelieving wife burned with anger and humiliation. And it was his fault. Even if by omission, a failure to push for the truth so many years ago.

‘And I know that you have her portrait hidden away in the attics of Hanover Square.’

Ah! So that is it. What could he possibly say to explain that away? In the end he did not even try. ‘That also is true. But she is not my mistress.’

‘Oh? So what is she?’ Sarah was aware of nothing but the bleak cold in the silver eyes that held her gaze when he delivered that statement. And she would have given all she had to believe it. But how could she, with the evidence of her own eyes?

He stepped back, a clear sign of retreat, perhaps even of defeat. Such a little gesture, but it well-nigh broke Sarah’s heart. She had heard nothing from her lord that might reassure her or tear holes in the weight of evidence against him. Instead he acted to put distance between them once more

‘I will not answer such accusations, Sarah. Forgive me.’ The sense of betrayal was as if a forged band of metal tightened around his heart and he could not stop the bitter words. ‘I did not realise when I married you, my lady, that you were so suspicious, so given to unfair judgements, without true evidence. I hoped that you might trust me. It seems that I was wrong in my judgement of you.’

‘Whereas I,’ she retaliated, quick as the deathly strike of a viper, ‘knew of your reputation from the very beginning, my lord. I should have taken heed of it, should I not, and should never have married you.’

After which, there was no more to be said from either side.

They left the anteroom with a black cloud of mutual suspicion and condemnation between them. And, on both sides, a terrible premonition of blighted love.

Sarah returned to Theodora’s side with a swish of her satin skirts, to take a healthy gulp of champagne, cheeks becomingly flushed, but with a demeanour far from composed.

‘What is it?’ Thea had already caught sight of Joshua’s furious figure across the room, where he stood to watch his wife with compressed lips.

‘Not a thing!’ She took another drink and spluttered a little against the bubbles.

‘So why are you drinking that champagne as if it might save your life? And why is Joshua glaring at you across the dance floor as if he could happily wring your neck.’

‘Joshua and I have had a… a disagreement.’

Theodora paused in sipping her own champagne at what was obviously a bald understatement. ‘What? Only one? Nicholas and I thrive on them, at least one a week!’

That forced Sarah to choke on what might have been a laugh, which was Thea’s intent as the glassy expression and the suspicion of tears in her sister’s eyes were a matter for some concern.

‘I think—I know!—that Joshua has just renewed his liaison with one of his mistresses.’

‘And why should you think that?’

So Sarah finished the champagne in the glass and told her. A somewhat garbled tale of public kisses and pictures in attics.

‘It does not sound likely to me,’ Thea advised with deliberate calm and lively curiosity. ‘Why keep her picture in the attic if she is his mistress, where he cannot see it? Are you sure it is the same lady?’

‘Yes. Perhaps it was to hide it from me!’

‘Mmm. But he did not hide the Countess of Wexford, did he?’ Thea cast an eye around the ballroom. ‘And you say that the lady is still here at this incredibly tedious event?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does Joshua say?’

‘He denies it.’ Sarah blotted a stray tear with her satin glove. ‘But I would expect no other.’

‘Well. I suppose he would. In my experience, gentlemen do not enjoy having to admit to faults and failings.’ Thea thought for a long moment, eyes narrowed on the golden bubbles remaining in her glass. ‘In my opinion, there is only one thing to do. Ask the lady.’

‘I can’t do that!’

‘Well, I would if I found a portrait of an attractive woman in Nick’s attic at Aymestry and then found him kissing her.’

‘Well… put like that…’

‘Especially if, through marriage, they were my attics too… ‘

‘I suppose…’

‘Come along. There is nothing to be gained by dwelling on the unknown and the unknowable. We will find out what we can.’ Thea took her sister in hand, very much the diplomat’s daughter. Sir Hector Wooton-Devereux, she decided, would have been proud of her. ‘I will come with you. All we need is the opportunity to speak to your dark lady alone…’

The opportunity presented itself only a little later in the evening when groups of people began to make their way into the banqueting room, laid out for a light supper. For a brief moment the dark lady was seen to be alone, separated from her escort. Sarah with commendable courage and considerable outrage made her way across the ballroom in that direction. Theodora would have followed, but her path was blocked by a familiar figure.

‘Theodora—I know what she is about. In God’s name, stop her.’

Theodora looked up at the striking Faringdon face, troubled by a range of emotions she could not even guess at. She could not help but allow her heart to soften. The difficulties might be of his making, but she found herself prepared to give him far more sympathy than had her husband. Such was the Faringdon charm, she supposed, although there was little evidence of it at present in the stern expression.

‘I doubt that I can.’

‘It would be better for all.’

‘Are you sure of that?’

‘No. I am not sure of anything at this juncture.’

‘Well, I am. I don’t know what you told Sarah and I don’t know what the truth is, but at the moment she thinks the worst of you!’

‘I know it.’

‘Tell her the truth, Sher,’ urged Thea, deliberately picking up Nick’s affectionate family name. ‘It cannot be worse than Sarah believing what she does, and Sarah can deal with the truth. Better than lies and charades. We had too many of those in the Baxendale family to accept them with any degree of comfort.’ As she remembered her own attempts to hide her Baxendale connections from Nicholas. What a disaster that had been.

Theodora patted his hand and followed her sister to discover the truth.

Sarah had approached the dark lady and come to a halt beside her.

‘Madame. Forgive the intrusion, but I would beg a few words with you.’

‘Do I know you?’ The lady appeared surprised, but not unfriendly.

‘No, you do not. I am Sarah, wife of Lord Joshua Faringdon.’

‘Ah.’ The straight dark brows rose with some hauteur, but there was a distinct sparkle in the lady’s eyes.

‘So I think you know of me,’ Sarah prompted.

‘I do indeed…’ The lady inclined her head. ‘I am the Marquise de Villeroi.’

‘Yes… I mean….’ What do I say now? Are you my husband’s mistress? Sarah discovered the dangers in Thea’s plan to confront the lady. But as she became aware of Thea’s presence beside her, she gathered all her courage and used the only possible opening. ‘I wish, my lady, to know why your portrait is in the attic of my home in London.’

The Marquise smiled. But with no hint of shame or discomfort, or even of surprise. ‘That seems a perfectly reasonable request to me,’ she remarked. ‘I think that we should find a private corner where we might sit—and I will try to explain what I can.’

So the little anteroom was witness that night to a second fraught conversation. The ladies drew the enclosing curtains against any who might be tempted to seek out the private space, and sat on the delicate gilded seats.

‘Well, my lady…’ the Marquise took up the initiative immediately as she spread her skirts and disposed her gloved hands in her lap, before embarrassment could set in ‘…I did not know until tonight that Joshua had remarried.’

‘Yes.’ Sarah was not inclined toward trivial conversation. ‘Some weeks ago. But I would know—what are you to him?’

‘Sarah—may I call you Sarah?’ The lady lifted her hands in what could have been seen as a plea. The hauteur had vanished. Instead there was a warmth here, a depth of understanding, and not a little melancholy. ‘I presume that you and Joshua are at odds over this. I am sorry for it, for the blame is partly mine. I think it will solve all your problems if I tell you my name. I am Marianne.’

Sarah’s lips parted on a soundless ‘Oh’. Theodora’s fan paused in mid-sweep. The two ladies who heard the admission looked at each other in obvious astonishment.

‘I was Joshua’s wife, as you will be aware,’ the Marquise de Villeroi continued, amusement now curving her lips at the stunned silence that resulted.

‘We thought you were dead. The whole family believes you to be dead,’ Thea exclaimed.

‘Not so.’

‘We thought,’ Sarah added, still trying to order her wayward thoughts and come to terms with this development, ‘that perhaps you had been murdered. There have been rumours to that possibility. Murdered by Joshua himself!’

‘Never that!’ The Marquise laughed. ‘Murdered by Joshua? It is a suggestion quite nonsensical, is it not?’

Thea and Sarah again exchanged glances. ‘The family was given to believe—by Lord Joshua himself—that you were struck down by some virulent disease and buried here in France.’ Sarah frowned at the lady who sat before her, in no fashion discomfited, clearly in perfect health.

‘No. As you see. Our marriage ended when a divorce was arranged. Discreetly and to our mutual agreement.’

‘But why? Why the secrecy?’

The Marquise leaned forward to touch Sarah’s hand with fingers heavy with jewels. ‘Forgive me, my dear. That is not my secret to tell. You must ask Joshua. I think that he will tell you now that he knows that we have met.’

‘But why could he not tell me before? Why should he deceive his family? You cannot imagine the difficulties caused by the rumour that he was a murderer!’

‘I think I can.’ The Marquise increased the pressure of her hand on Sarah’s in eloquent sympathy. ‘But as for why he would not… It was, I think, to protect me. He is a man given to gallantry. Or perhaps he was simply under orders to keep silent concerning sensitive matters. We all know what it is like to be held at the whim of those who hold the reins, do we not?’ She shrugged elegantly, a particularly French gesture. ‘But now it no longer matters.’

‘I still do not understand,’ Sarah replied, as much in the dark as ever.

‘It is a complicated affair, a tapestry with many tangled strands.’ The Marquise rose to her feet. ‘Tell Joshua to tell you the truth. Tell him that the truth can no longer hurt me. That I am no longer engaged in the activities I was before. Tell him, if you will, that my brother is dead. He will understand.’

‘Very well.’ A pause, then Sarah felt compelled to ask, ‘Did you love him, my lady?’

Her reply was immediate. ‘Oh, yes. He is so very handsome and so utterly charming—I could not have chosen a better husband, even if I had been given that freedom.’ She shook her head as if regretting her somewhat strange admission. ‘But Joshua will also explain about that too. As for the rest—it is all in the past. I have been married to Charles—the Marquis de Villeroi—for more than a year now. There is nothing between Lord Joshua and myself to concern you.’

The solemn gravity of the Marquise’s assurance brought another image into Sarah’s mind. The dark intensity was, of course, all Beth.

The Marquise smiled a little as if she read her thoughts. ‘Tell me of Celestine. It is the one aspect of this sorry and involved tale that I regret.’

‘She is well.’

‘Is she happy? I had to let my daughter go, you see. I was not allowed to see her. It was not thought to be desirable.’ For the first time in the conversation the lady’s composure was no longer secure.

‘Yes. She is happy. And she has found a friend in my son.’

‘That is good. Will you care for her? Love her for me? I know that Joshua will, but she will also need a mother’s care.’

‘I already do love her. She is growing fast. She is a true Faringdon, but her eyes are yours. Now that I know, I see it clearly. I did not see it in the portrait.’

‘No.’ The tension in the lady’s manner relaxed a little. ‘I think it was not a good likeness!’

They moved towards the archway and Thea drew back the drapes, letting in the world once more.

‘Shall we meet again?’ Sarah asked.

‘I do not know.’ And the Marquise made no promises. ‘But I am glad that we have done so. It has drawn a closure to something that should never have happened. I did not deal well with Joshua.’ She turned quickly and, to Sarah’s amazement, lightly kissed her cheek. ‘It has been my pleasure to know you, Lady Faringdon.’

And then she was gone.

‘What will you do?’ Thea raised her hand to attract Nicholas’s attention as they made their way back into the ballroom.

‘Ask Joshua, of course! But not here.’ Sarah frowned at the crowds that still thronged the reception, even at this late hour. If Joshua was still present, she had no knowledge of it. ‘I shall go home. It seems that there is still much to be explained.’ She thought for a moment or two, before adding softly, ‘And we both have some apologies to make.’

Sarah waited in her bedchamber for Joshua’s return. She deliberately divested herself of neither jewels nor the elegant aigrette in her hair. If this was to be a confrontation with her husband—which it undoubtedly was—Sarah decided that she would need all her confidence and dignity. Which would not be gained from donning a loose wrapper or unpinning her ringlets, despite the fact that it was long after midnight.