Читать книгу Innocent in the Regency Ballroom - Christine Merrill - Страница 16

When she awoke, light was seeping through the cracks in the bed curtains, which had been drawn at some point during the night. She could hear movement, and hushed voices from the other side. She sat up and placed her ear to the crack, so that she could listen.

Her husband. Talking to a servant, who must be his valet. Arranging for someone in the staff who would serve as a lady’s maid, temporarily, at least. Perhaps permanently, since he was unsure if her Grace had servants of her own whom she wished to bring to the household. He had not discussed the matter with her.

The valet hurried away, and the door closed. She could hear her husband approaching the bed, and she pulled back from the curtain.

‘Penny?’ He said it softly, so as not to startle a sleeper.

‘Yes?’

‘May I open the curtains?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was breathless with excitement, and she cleared her throat to cover the fact. As the light streamed in and hit her, she rubbed her eyes and yawned, trying to appear as though she had just awakened.

Adam was wrapped in a dressing gown, and she could see flashes of bare leg when she looked down. She must remember not to look down, then, for the thought that he was bare beneath his robe made her feel quite giddy.

‘Did you sleep well?’ He was solicitous.

‘Very. Thank you. Your bed is very comfortable.’ She glanced in the direction of the chair. ‘I am sorry that you did not have the same luxury.’

Which might make it sound like she had wanted him there. She fell silent.

He ignored the implication. ‘I slept better than I have in a long time, knowing that the financial future of my property is secure. Thank you.’ The last words were heartfelt, and the intimacy of them shocked her.

‘You’re welcome.’ She was in the bed of an incredibly handsome man, and he was thanking her. ‘And thank you. For yesterday. For everything.’

He smiled, which was almost as blinding as the sunlight. Why must he be so beautiful, even in the morning? A night sleeping upright in a chair had not diminished the grace of his movements or dented his good humour. And his hair looked as fine tousled by sleep as it did when carefully combed.

She dreaded to think how she must appear: pale and groggy, hair every which way, and squinting at him without her glasses. She reached for them, knocking them off the night table, and he snatched them out of the air before they hit the floor and handed them to her, then offered the other hand to help her from bed.

She dodged it, and climbed unaided to the floor, pulling on her glasses.

‘It will be all right, I think,’ he said, ignoring her slight. ‘We have survived our first day in London as man and wife. It will be easier from now on.’

Perhaps he was right. She went through the door to her own room to find it bustling with activity. Her clothing had arrived, and an overly cheerful girl named Molly was arranging a day dress for her, and had a breakfast tray warming by the fire. When she went downstairs, the first crates of books had arrived and were waiting for her in the sitting room. She had marked the ones that she expected to be the most important, opened those, and left the others lined up against a wall to obscure the decorating. The rest she could arrange on the shelves that had held the china figurines. She handed them, one piece at a time, to a horrified Jem to carry to storage, until his arms were quite full of tiny blushing courtiers, buxom maid servants and shepherds who seemed more interested in china milkmaids than in china sheep.

Jem appeared torn, unable to decide if he was more horrified by the overt femininity of the things or the possibility that he might loose his grip and smash several hundred pounds’ worth of antique porcelain.

She waved him away, insisting that it mattered not, as long as they were gone from the room and she could have the shelves empty.

She gestured with the grouping in her hand, only to glance at the thing and set it down again on the table, rather than handing it to the overloaded servant. The statue was of a young couple in court clothes from the previous century. The man was leaning against a carefully wrought birdcage, and had caught his lover around the waist, drawing her near. She was leaning into him, bosom pressed to his shoulder, her hand cupping his face, clearly on the verge of planting a kiss on to his upturned lips.

And Penny’s mind flashed back to the previous evening, and the feel of her husband’s hands as they had touched her back. What would have happened if she had turned and pressed her body to his?

Jem shifted from foot to foot in the doorway, and she heard the gentle clink of porcelain.

‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘You have more than enough to carry. I will keep this last one for now. Perhaps it can serve as a bookend.’ She placed it back on the shelf, pushing it to the side to support a stack of books. The Maid of Hamlet. The Orphan of the Rhine. She’d kept the Minerva novels. Her lust-crazed Germans were supporting a shelf full of fainting virgins.

She sank back on to a chair, defeated by rampant romance.

There was a commotion in the hall, breaking through the silence of the room, and coming closer as she listened, as though a door had opened and a dinner party had overflowed its bounds. She could hear laughter, both male and female, and her husband by turns laughing and attempting to quiet the others.

At last there was a knock on the closed door of her room before Adam opened it and said with amused exasperation, ‘Penelope, my friends wish to meet you.’

She did not know how she imagined the nobility might behave, but it had never been like this. The crowd pushed past the duke and into the room without waiting for permission to enter. The women giggled and pulled faces at the great piles of books, and one man leaned against a pile of open crates, nearly upending them on to the floor. Only the last to enter offered her anything in way of apology: he gave an embarrassed shrug that seemed to encompass the bad manners of his friends while saying that there was little he could do about it one way or the other.

‘So this is where you’ve been keeping her, trapped in the sitting room with all these dusty books.’ A pretty blonde woman in an ornate, flowered bonnet ran a critical finger over her library.

‘Really, Barbara—’ the laugh in Adam’s response sounded false ‘—you make it sound as though I have her locked in her room. I am not keeping her anywhere.’

‘She is keeping you, more like.’ An attractive redhead made the comment, and Penny stiffened.

The woman clarified. ‘I imagine the bonds of new love are too strong to break away, Adam. I wonder if you will manage to leave your house.’

Penny returned her cold smile. That had not been what she’d meant at all. It had been a slight on her wealth, followed by sarcasm. She was sure of it.

But Adam ignored it, smiling as if nothing had been said, and Penny vowed to follow his example.

Her husband gestured to his friends. ‘Penelope, may I present Lord John and Lady Barbara Minton, Sir James and Lady Catherine Preston and my oldest, and dearest, friend, Lord Timothy Colton, and his wife, the Lady Clarissa.’ He gestured to the cruel redhead and the man who had acknowledged Penny earlier. Adam smiled proudly at the man, and then looked to Penny. ‘You will get along well with Tim, I think, for he is also a scholar. Botany. Horticulture. Plants and such. No idea what he’s doing half the time. Quite beyond me. But I am sure it is very important.’ Adam waved his hand dismissively, and Tim laughed.

Penny didn’t understand the reason for her husband’s pretended ignorance or the meaning of the joke. But clearly it was an old one, for the others found it most amusing. The room dissolved in mirth. It was like finding herself in a foreign land, where everyone spoke a language that she could not comprehend.

When their laughter had subsided, Clarissa spoke again. ‘And what shall we call you?’ The woman reached out to her, and took both her hands in what seemed to be a welcoming grip. Her fingers were ice cold.

‘I know,’ said Lady Barbara. ‘We could call you Pen. For Adam says you like to write. And you were a book printer’s daughter.’

Lady Catherine rolled her eyes. ‘You write on paper, Bunny. Not in books.’

Clarissa looked down at Penny with a venomous smile. ‘Surely not “Penny”, for you are not so bright as all that.’ There was a dangerous pause. ‘Your hair, silly. It is I who should be called Penny.’ She released Penny’s hands and touched a coppery curl, smiling past her to look at Adam.

Penny watched, with a kind of distant fascination. Clarissa’s gesture had been blatant flirtation, and she seemed not to care who noticed it. Yet her husband, Timothy, paid it no attention. He seemed more interested in the books on the table before him than his wife’s behaviour to another man.

Adam ignored it as well, avoiding Clarissa’s gaze while answering, ‘But it is not your name, is it, Clare? Penny was named for the loyal wife of Odysseus. And she is worth far more than copper.’

There was an awkward pause.

Clarissa responded, ‘So we assumed. We can hope that you are worth your weight in gold, Pen, for you will need to be to equal your husband’s spending.’

And then they all laughed.

One, two, three … Penny felt shame colouring her skin compounded by anger at Clarissa and her own husband, and the pack of jackals that he had allowed into her study to torment her. She wanted nothing more than to run from the room, but it would only have made the situation worse. So she forced a laugh as well.

Her response would not have mattered, for now that she had wounded, Clarissa ignored her again and returned her attention to the duke. ‘Darling Adam, it is so good to see you back amongst us. It is never the same when you are not here. London is frightfully boring without you, is it not, Timothy?’

Her own husband was looking at her with a sardonic twist to his smile. ‘Would that you found such pleasure in my company as you do in Adam’s, my darling.’ He turned to Adam. ‘But I missed you as well, old friend. Without you, times have been sober, as have I. We must put an end to that sorry condition as soon as possible. White’s? Boodle’s? Name your poison, as they say.’

‘White’s, I think. This evening?’

‘Of course.’

Clarissa stamped her foot. ‘You will do nothing of the kind. I expect you to dine in this evening. With us.’ She made little effort to include her husband in her invitation. And none to include Penny, literally turning away to shut her out from the group.

Adam eluded her gaze again, speaking to the room rather than the woman before him. ‘We would, but I believe my wife has other plans.’ There was the subtlest emphasis on ‘we’, to remind Clarissa of the change in status. And then he glanced at Penny, waiting for her to confirm what he had said.

She tried to imagine herself responding as Clarissa had. She would say something clever, about how divine it would be to spend an evening at table with a woman who her husband held so dear. And there would be the same ironic tone that the others were using, to indicate an undercurrent of flirtation, and proof that she knew what was what. It would anger Adam, but he would admire her fearlessness. And it would enrage Clarissa. Which would be strangely pleasing, for Penny found herself taking an instant dislike to the woman.

Instead, she replied haltingly, ‘Yes, I fear I am most busy. With my studies. And will be unable to get away.’

‘You cannot leave your books.’ Clarissa turned and glanced down at her, then looked back at the others as if Penny’s social ineptitude had been more than confirmed. ‘But you do not mind if Adam comes without you, of course.’ The woman dared her to respond in the negative.

And here was where she must admit defeat, ceding the field with the battle barely begun. Although why she would feel the need to fight for this, she had no idea.

Before she could answer, Adam spoke for her. ‘My darling wife would have my best interests at heart, no matter what she might say, for she wishes to see me happy. And since I have already expressed a desire to go to White’s with Tim, she would not think to drag me into mixed society, no matter how pleasant it might be for her.’ He glanced back to his friend. ‘Eight o’clock, then?’

If Tim was relieved, he did not show it, only smiling in acknowledgement of the plan. And then he smiled at Penny with unexpected warmth. ‘Do not worry, my dear. No gels allowed at White’s. I will keep your new husband on the straight and narrow. As long as you have no objection to cards and whisky.’

Penny searched again for a clever reply that would not come. ‘Of course, not. Whatever Adam wishes …’

Clarissa was clearly piqued. ‘It does not do, Penelope, to give a man latitude in these things. It leads them to take one too much for granted.’

Adam snapped back at her, ‘On the contrary, Clarissa, a man is more likely to give his affection to one who can manage, on occasion, to put the needs of others before her own selfish desires.’ Adam was looking straight into the woman’s eyes for once, and Penny realised, with sickening clarity, why he had been avoiding the contact.

They were lovers. They had been, or soon would be—it mattered not which. While Adam might smile at the wives of the other men in the room and laugh at their foolishness, he dared not acknowledge Clarissa, for when he looked at her, the guilt was plain in his eyes for all who cared to see.

After the brief lapse, he looked away from her again, and proceeded to act as though she were not in the room with them.

Penny looked to the others, watching the silent messages flash between them. Those who were positioned to see Adam’s expression passed the truth to those who could not, with furtive glances and hungry smiles. Only Timothy appeared oblivious to what had happened, his attention absorbed by a volume of Aristotle.

And then the moment passed, and Adam stepped around Clarissa to stand behind his own wife. ‘I am lucky to have married such a gracious woman, and hope never to take the fact for granted.’

Penny felt the mortification rising in her, forming a barrier between her and the outside. Was she expected to put her needs so far to the side that she must condone his adultery?

And then her husband put his hand upon her shoulder, as a gesture of affection and solidarity, and she jumped, as though she had been burned.

There were more sidelong glances and more wicked smiles. Suddenly Lord Timothy cut through the silence, shutting his book with a snap. ‘Yes, Adam. We must offer you congratulations on your amazing luck. And it is good that you recognise it, for a man is truly blessed when he has the love and respect of such an intelligent woman.’ He turned to the others in his party. ‘And now, ladies and gentleman, we should be going, for we are quite destroying the peace of the household and keeping her Grace from her studies.’

‘Let me show you out.’ Adam took the lead, and the others fell obediently in behind him. Clarissa made as if to stay behind, but her husband held the door for her, making it impossible for her to linger.

When she was gone, Lord Timothy turned back into the room, and favoured Penny with another brief, encouraging smile. ‘Good day to you, Penelope. And good fortune as well.’ And then he was gone, shutting the door behind him.

She sank back on to the settee, weak with confusion. Adam had seemed so kind. He was good to her. Affectionate, in a distant sort of way. And in a short time it had become easy to imagine the affection blossoming into something warmer. Never passion. She could not hope for something so ridiculous. But love, in the classical sense. A respect for each other that might lead to a mutually satisfying relationship.

But how could she ever trust a man that would betray his best friend? And what did he mean for her, in any case? They had talked in Scotland about living as amiable strangers. And then he had paraded his lover under her nose, allowed her to be the butt of his friends’ jokes, then glossed it over with fine and empty words about mutual respect.

If this was how fashionable society behaved, then she had been right in her decision to turn her back on it. But what was she to do if society hunted her out and continued to harass her?

She could hear her husband’s step in the hall, and prayed that, for once, he would abide by his earlier promises, go to his study, and leave her in peace.

But instead he opened her door without preamble and shut it tightly behind him, then glared at her. He was angry. She could see it flashing in his eyes, and noted the stiffness of his back, as though his movements were containing some sudden physical outburst. His tone was curt. ‘I wish to speak of what just happened here.’

‘Nothing happened, as far as I noticed.’

‘Exactly.’ He frowned. ‘And those around us took note of the nothing. It will be quite the talk of the town.’

‘They took note of so many things, I am at a loss as to which one you refer to. Could it have been when you informed them of my monetary worth to you?’

‘I misspoke. I had intended to praise your virtues, and the words went wrong.’

‘Perhaps because I have so few virtues to extol. Since you cannot discuss my birth or my beauty, I should thank you on the compliment to my purse.’

‘Believe me, Penny, I do not wish to call further attention to your wealth. It is not a point of pride that my friends suspect I married beneath me to get to your money.’

‘Beneath you?’ she snapped. ‘When I discovered you, you were face down in a stable yard and under the horses. To marry beneath yourself, you would have to look quite a bit further than the daughter of a cit. There was not much lower you could have sunk.’

He flinched. ‘I will avoid fulsome praise of you in the future, for I have no talent for flattery. In any case, it is wasted on one who makes no attempt to hide her distaste of me.’

‘I have a distaste of you? Whatever do you mean?’

He glared at her. ‘I might have been face down in the muck when you found me, but in marrying me, you got control of your inheritance and bagged a title. You understand, do you not, that many men would not be nearly so tractable as I have been towards you? We get on quite well, considering. And I did not mean to insult you in any way, nor do I plan to in the future. But I expect the same in return.

‘It is one thing, madam, to refuse my affection, when we are alone. You avoided my hand this morning, but I thought, “Perhaps she is shy. I must give her time to trust me.” But it is quite another thing to shrink from my merest touch when we are in public.’

‘I did nothing of the kind.’

He reached to touch her hand, and she pulled away from him.

He smiled, coldly. ‘Of course not, my dear. You are just as welcoming now as you were before. I touched your shoulder, and you looked to all the world as if I had struck you.’

‘I thought it was agreed—’

‘When I agreed to a marriage in name only, I did not realise that you found me so utterly repugnant that you would deny me all physical contact. Nor did I expect that you would make the fact known to my friends.’

‘You do not repel me.’ No matter how much she might wish he did.

‘Oh, really? Then you had best prove it to me. Take my hand and assure me.’

She stared at the hand he held out to her, the long fingers curled to beckon, but she made no move to take it.

He nodded. ‘I see. Most comforting.’

‘I do not see why it is so important to you.’ You have her attention. Why must you have mine as well?

He stared back at her until she met his eyes. ‘I am a proud man. I do not deny it. It does not reflect well on either of us to have the full details of our relationship as public gossip. We are married, and I hope to remain so. The time will pass more easily for both of us if you can bring yourself to be at ease in my company, at least when we are in public. I will not bother you at home any more than is necessary.’

There was frustration and anger in his eyes, but they were still the same compelling blue, and just as hard to resist as they had been when she had trusted his motives. ‘How can I do this?’ she asked herself, as much as she did him.

His shoulders relaxed a little. ‘You could, on occasion, smile while in public. I would not expect unceasing mirth. Merely as pleasant a face as you wear when we are alone. And if my hand should happen to brush yours, you need not flinch from it.’ He raised his hand in oath. ‘I promise to treat you with the care and respect due my wife and my duchess.’ And then he offered it to her again.

She closed her eyes, knowing in her heart what his respect for his wife was worth, if he could not respect the marriage of another. Then she reached tentatively out to put her hand in his.

She heard him sigh, and his fingers closed over hers, stroking briefly before pushing her hand back until they were palm to palm and he could link fingers with her. He squeezed. ‘There. Feel? There is nothing to be afraid of. I mean you no harm.’ His other hand came to her face, and the fingertips brushed lightly against her cheek. ‘I only wish for you to leave others with the impression that there is some warm feeling between us. Nothing more. That perhaps we might share something other than an interest in your money. Help me undo my foolish words.’ His hand touched her hair and stroked to the back of her neck, and he moved close enough so she could feel his breath on her skin, and the change in the air against her lips as he spoke.

‘This is much better, is it not?’ His voice was low and husky, as she had never heard it before, barely more than a whisper.

She opened her eyes. He was right. When he was this close and looking at her, it ceased to matter how he looked at other women. She could feel the magnetic pull to be even closer. She had but to lean in a few inches, and his lips would be upon hers.

Which was madness. She had to resist yet another urge to jump away from him in alarm, and watched as his pupils shrank, and the soft smile on his face returned to its normal, more businesslike form. He withdrew slowly, with easy, unruffled grace. ‘Very good. That is much more what I had hoped for. I do not expect you to fall passionately into my arms as a false display for visitors. But if we could at least give the appearance that we are on friendly terms, I would be most grateful.’ His fingers untwined and his hand slipped away from hers.

‘Most certainly. For I do wish to be on friendly terms with you in more than appearance.’ She sighed, and hoped it sounded like a longing for her books, and not for renewed contact. ‘And now, if you will excuse me? I must return to work.’

‘Of course.’

Adam left the room, closing the door behind him, and moved quickly down the hall. Hell and damnation, it had been an unbearable morning. First, the invasion of his friends, before he’d had a chance to explain to Penny how things were likely to be. Although she probably suspected, what with the way Clarissa had been making a fool of herself, with no care for the fact that Tim was in the room with them.

Penny must think him a complete fraud. She had looked around the room, at his friends and at Clarissa, and had seen it all. She’d read his character in a glance and must regret her decision.

And he, who had always been so sure of his words, even when nothing else would go right for him, had stumbled so egregiously as to let it appear that he had married her for money. If possible, it was even worse than the truth to say such a thing. He had allowed her no dignity at all. And he had seen the mocking light in the eyes of his friends when she had flinched from his touch.

He had been foolishly angry, at himself and at Clarissa, and had taken it out on Penny for not offering affection that he had not earned. But what had he been about, just now? Had he been trying to teach her some kind of lesson? Hopefully, it had been lost on her, if he had. He should have come back to her and taken her hand in a most friendly fashion, and tried to mend the breach he had caused. He should have assured her that although he had been guilty of grave transgressions, it was all in the past, and that he meant to be a better man.

Instead, he had touched her hair and forgotten all. What sense was it to talk when there were soft lips so close, waiting to be kissed? And she had closed her eyes so sweetly, allowing him to observe the fine lashes and the smooth cheek and the sweetness of her breath as it mingled with his. It was a matter of inches, a bare nod of the head to bring them into contact with his own, and to slip his tongue into her mouth and kiss her until she reacted to his touch with the eagerness he expected in a wife.

He shook his head again. Had he forgotten whom he was speaking of? If he needed to persuade his own wife to let him hold her hand, then passion-drugged nights were not likely to be in the offing.

Not while he remained at home, at any rate. Perhaps it had been too long since last he visited his mistress. A man had urges, after all. And he was neglecting his if his own wife began to tempt him more than someone else’s. An afternoon relaxing in the arms of his paramour would clear his mind, which was clouded with misdirected lust, and make it easier to decide what to do about the impossible relationship with Clarissa and the unwelcome attraction to Penelope.

He called for a carriage and set out to regain control of his emotions.

As he passed out the door, he saw Penny’s manservant, who stood at the entrance to the house, wearing the Bellston livery as though it were as great an honour as a night in the stocks. He looked at Adam and bowed with as much respect as the other servants, while conveying the impression that the lady of the house was worth two dukes.

Adam glared back at him. ‘Jem, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, your Grace.’ And another bow.

Damn the man. Adam fished in his pocket and came up with a handful of banknotes and forced them into the servant’s hand. ‘I have an errand for you. Go to the bookseller’s. And buy my wife that damned copy of Homer.’