Читать книгу The Earl Plays With Fire - Isabelle Goddard - Страница 7

‘You’ve not forgotten that Lady Russell is to collect you at eleven o’ clock?’ her mother prompted the next morning, whisking through the hall on her way to consult with the housekeeper.

‘Lady Russell?’ Christabel grappled with the name for a moment.

‘Sir Julian has arranged it, has he not? The tickets for Montagu House?’

‘Ah, yes, I remember now,’ she said heavily, ‘He was keen that we view the Marbles that Lord Elgin has brought back from Greece.’

‘A stuffy museum and Lady Russell all in the same morning,’ interjected Sophia as she emerged from the breakfast room in one of the eye-opening ensembles she had purchased yesterday. ‘Rather you than me!’

Her mother rounded on her sharply. ‘You’re becoming far too pert for your own good, Sophia. You must learn to keep a check on your tongue or you will fare badly in society.’

This was an important consideration for an aspiring belle and Sophia looked suitably contrite. ‘I’m sorry, Mama, but, from what I hear from friends who are already out, Lady Russell is a gorgon.’

‘That’s as may be, but you had much better keep your opinions to yourself. And, Christabel, you must hurry. You will need to dress in something a little more demure.’ Christabel glanced down at the low neckline and French trimmings of the apricot sarcenet and sighed. Her mother was right. Lady Russell was a stickler for correctness and only a simple day dress of sprigged muslin with a high neck and a matching spencer would satisfy that matriarch.

It was weeks ago that she’d agreed to the visit. At the time she’d been feeling more guilty than usual at her lack of enthusiasm for Sir Julian’s company and he’d been so touchingly anxious that she become better acquainted with what small family he possessed that she’d felt forced to consent. Since then she’d acquired a genuine interest in the marble wonders that had travelled all the way from Athens and, were it not for Lady Russell, she would be looking forward to the morning’s expedition with pleasure.

Sir Julian’s sister was punctual to the minute, an erect figure in a heavy but serviceable barouche, awaiting Christabel outside the Mount Street house with scarcely concealed impatience. The severe grey kerseymere gown and dreary poke bonnet that she wore did nothing to lighten the atmosphere. Her greeting was perfunctory. She was not at all sure that this young woman was a suitable wife for her brother. She was altogether too beautiful, and beautiful women usually meant trouble. And there was that unfortunate business years ago when her name had been bandied around the town as a tease and a jilt by every wicked rattlejaw. Her modest behaviour since had done much to redeem this unsatisfactory reputation, but still one never knew when old habits would surface.

You only had to look at that hair—wild to a fault. But Julian was evidently head over heels in love with her and you could hardly blame him. Men could be very stupid, never seeing beyond what was in front of their eyes.

‘Are you looking forward to viewing the Marbles, Miss Tallis?’ she eventually asked her companion as the barouche rolled smoothly forwards. Her smile was one of gracious condescension.

‘Indeed, ma’am, I am. I have been reading a good deal about them and my interest has been greatly stirred.’

Lady Russell unbent slightly. At least the girl had some intelligence, which was all to the good. It was necessary that Julian marry a woman who was serious enough to understand and tolerate his charity work. As far as Lady Russell was concerned, her brother’s projects for the labouring classes remained wholly inexplicable.

‘I have learned,’ she remarked magisterially, ‘that a special gallery has been built for these statues at a vast cost so we must hope that they warrant such expenditure.’ The faltering conversation was effectively closed down.

Once the carriage left Mayfair and was bowling towards Bloomsbury, the roads became a great deal clearer and they reached the entrance of the British Museum only a few minutes later than expected. It did not stop her ladyship tutting loudly at her groom, who had made the journey to Montagu House in record time and was even now negotiating a difficult manoeuvre to bring the carriage exactly to the bottom of the flight of steps which led up to the impressive panelled entrance.

A steep staircase, a spacious entrance hall and they were upon the Marbles almost before they realised. Two long whitewashed galleries had been constructed for the purpose with exhibits laid out on either side. The monumental size of many of the statues was staggering and both ladies paused on the threshold to adjust their perspective. Then they began a slow inspection of the initial gallery, first down one side and then the other, with Lady Russell insisting on reading aloud every handwritten label the curators had provided.

During this prolonged examination, the room had been gradually filling up and by the time Christabel was ready to tackle the second gallery a considerable crowd had gathered. She looked across at Lady Russell, who appeared weary and a trifle disenchanted, and was not surprised to hear her excuse herself, saying that she would await Christabel in the spacious hall beyond. The carriage, she reminded her severely, would leave promptly at one o’clock.

Christabel nodded assent, happy to be rid of the older woman’s irksome presence. With a new sense of purpose she crossed into the adjoining room; almost immediately her attention was caught by the statue of a woman, a large sculpture of Iris which had once decorated the west pediment of the Parthenon.

She stood enthralled, marvelling at the precision with which the intricate folds of the goddess’s dress had been carved—the marble seemed to sing out life. The harmony of the carving and the sheer exuberance of the goddess was a joy. Lost in thought as she was, the voice at her elbow startled her.

‘It’s so sad, isn’t it, that she has lost her legs and her arms?’

She turned to her questioner. It was Domino, looking freshly minted in primrose-figured muslin and carrying a matching frilled parasol.

‘She may not be complete,’ Christabel agreed, ‘but it doesn’t seem to matter. She possesses such enormous vitality, don’t you think?’

Domino gave a small laugh. ‘What must she have been like as a whole woman, Miss Tallis!’

‘Very powerful, I imagine, particularly as she enjoyed such a prominent position on the top of the Parthenon.’

‘Poor thing, she must find it very cold in London.’

‘No doubt.’ Christabel gave an answering smile. ‘But if she’d been left to bask in her native sun, we wouldn’t have been able to see her today in all her glory.’

‘I don’t think I would have minded too much,’ the younger girl divulged. ‘There are so many statues to see and some of them are just fragments. I don’t find them particularly inspiring.’

‘You didn’t wish to come to the exhibition?’

‘Not really, but Aunt Loretta said I should as all of London is talking about it. She said that if I’d seen the statues I would be able to join in conversations and not sound too silly.’

‘Aunt Loretta has a point.’

‘I know, but to be honest I would much rather have gone to Astley’s,’ she confided naïvely. ‘I’ve heard they keep troops of horses there who can re-enact scenes of war and that there are daring equestriennes who perform the most amazing acrobatics on horseback!’

‘I believe so,’ Christabel answered her seriously, though she was amused by the young girl’s enthusiasm for the less-than-refined pleasure. ‘The equestrian ballet of Astley’s is famous.’

‘A ballet on horseback?’ Domino’s eyes grew round with amazement. ‘I must see that.’

‘What must you see?’

A man’s voice broke through the female weavings of their conversation. It was Richard. He bowed unsmilingly at Christabel. He was looking exceedingly handsome in a claret-coloured waistcoat and light grey pantaloons, which fitted to perfection. The folds of his snow-white cravat were precisely arranged and held in place by a single small diamond stud.

‘Miss Tallis says there’s an equestrian ballet performed at Astley’s. Can we go, Richard?’ In her eagerness Domino tugged hard at her companion’s immaculate coat sleeve.

‘You must ask your aunt to take you. In the meantime, where is your taste for higher culture?’ and he waved his hand carelessly towards the statues on either side of them.

‘Aunt Loretta will never agree to go to Astley’s. It will be much too vulgar for her. Now she is even saying that she doubts we will go to the fireworks at Vauxhall.’

‘Then you must be content with more refined pastimes, child.’

Christabel was disconcerted by his tone. He sounded almost like a parent. The surprise she felt must have shown on her face because almost immediately he sounded a softer, even caressing note.

‘By all means put Astley’s on your list, Domino, and we will make every endeavour to get there.’

She clapped her hands in pleasure watched by Richard, an indulgent expression on his face, but his words were for Christabel.

‘Books yesterday, statues today, Miss Tallis. You appear to be an avid follower of cultural pursuits.’

‘I partake in them only as much as any other rational woman, Lord Veryan.’

‘But then how many women are as rational as you?’

She made no answer, but his eyes remained fixed on her. ‘Very few, I make sure,’ he continued sleekly.

‘I bow to your vast experience, my lord.’

‘Hardly vast, but enough—sufficient to suggest that logic and reasoning are not always becoming to a woman.’

She felt herself being forced into another confrontation and when she spoke, her tone was cold but measured. ‘I cannot imagine why you should find fault with rationality. My sex is usually criticised for precisely the opposite.’

‘In general it’s an excellent quality for a female to possess, I agree, but taken to extremes rationality can destroy a woman’s natural affections.’

‘I think that unlikely,’ she retorted.

‘Do you? Then consider the case of a woman who decides “rationally” to prefer one man to another on the grounds that he is likely to be a bigger matrimonial prize. When logic leads, a woman’s heart is prone to wither.’

Fire began to simmer within the green depths of her eyes and her whole body tensed for combat.

‘By that reasoning, sir, only women who are witless can know affection.’

‘That’s a trifle crude, but the sentiment is not entirely without merit. I think it likely that many men, including Sir Julian Edgerton, would agree with me. By the way, does he accompany you this morning?’

‘He is still out of town.’

‘Dear me, he appears to spend an inordinate amount of time away from London.’

Christabel took a deep breath and replied as levelly as she could, ‘Rosings is a large estate and takes a good deal of his time.’

‘Of course, he would have to have a large estate.’ His expression was sardonic, a trace of a sneer on his unyielding mouth.

Domino looked from one to the other, aware of the tension which crackled between them, but bewildered as to its cause.

‘As you appear interested in the trivialities of my life, sir, you may wish to know that I am accompanied this morning by Sir Julian’s sister.’ Christabel’s perfectly sculpted cheeks were flushed an angry pink. ‘She is waiting close by so I must beg you to excuse me.’

And with a hasty bow to them both, she walked briskly towards the entrance hall, her mind seething and her form one of unexpressed anger. The frills on her muslin gown tossed as though caught in a tempest and the wayward auburn curls began to tumble out of the restraining satin bandeau she wore. It seemed she was to be followed at every opportunity and forced to submit to any taunt or goad he wished to aim. It was insufferable. She was truly reaping the whirlwind she had sowed all those years ago.

Still standing beside the figure of Iris, Domino wore a puzzled look and her tone was one of concern.

‘Do you not like Miss Tallis, Richard?’

‘I neither like nor dislike her.’

‘I think you made her angry.’

‘I would be sorry to give offence, but if she was angry, it was quite unnecessary.’

She frowned at this. ‘She was offended and I don’t think it was unnecessary. I think she had good reason. You seemed to want to upset her. But why?’

Richard contemplated pretending ignorance, but then said, ‘It’s an old story and not for your ears.’

‘Then you knew her before you came to Argentina—from when you were last in England?’

‘I’ve known her all my life.’

‘How is that possible?’

‘Her family’s estate runs alongside mine in Cornwall. We played together as children—like brother and sister,’ he ended drily.

‘Then you should be friends.’

‘Oh, we were, very good friends.’

‘So what happened? Why are you so unhappy with each other now?’

‘A betrothal.’

‘A betrothal? Whose?’

‘My betrothal to Miss Tallis. We were to be married.’

‘You were betrothed to Christabel Tallis!’ Domino gaped with surprise. ‘What happened?’

‘We decided that after all we did not suit each other.’

‘But if you were both agreed, why are you still so unhappy with her?’

Richard sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘It doesn’t seem that complicated to me,’ she said with decision. He saw that he would have to tell her the full story or at least enough to satisfy her.

‘I was away at Oxford for three years,’ he began, ‘either at the university studying or staying with friends in the holidays, so I didn’t see her for a long time. When I finally returned home to Cornwall, I found her very changed. She’d always been a tomboy, a thin, gawky girl with her dresses usually torn and her hair in a tangle. But now she was this amazingly beautiful young woman. I could hardly believe my eyes the first night I saw her again. She was the toast of the county, worshipped by Cornish manhood from Penzance to St Austell—and that’s a long way, Domino.’

He paused for a moment, remembering that evening when he’d walked into the drawing room at Lamorna and found her waiting, a slender vision of cream lace and gold roses. When she’d glided forwards and laughingly put her arms around him in welcome, she’d taken his breath away.

‘I suppose I was irritated,’ he continued. ‘Whenever I visited Lamorna Place I tripped over some lovesick swain clutching a posy of flowers or reading her the latest bad poem he’d written in her praise. It was comical, but also annoying. She’d always been my particular friend and now I was supposed to share her company with all the fops and dandies from miles around. So I decided to woo her myself, win the prize and delight my parents—it was what they’d been hoping for since we were children.’

‘And Miss Tallis?’

‘I think she was flattered by my sudden interest. I was a welcome diversion from the cloying attentions of her local admirers, but only a diversion—until her come-out at the next London Season. But she never did come out that year. Her mother couldn’t leave the younger children to travel to London, so she deputed the task of presenting Christabel to a relative. Then the relative became ill quite suddenly and the plans were cancelled. Christy had to resign herself to staying in Cornwall and it was then that she agreed to marry me.’

‘So when did you find out that you had both made a mistake?’

‘When she made love with another man.’ Richard had not been able to stop his bitter denunciation. Domino looked shocked. ‘His name was Joshua,’ he said acridly, discarding any hope now of keeping the full story from his young admirer. ‘My mother had accompanied Christabel and myself to London to buy bride clothes. Instead Christabel purchased a very different item—the attention, for I cannot call it love, of a man I’d thought a friend. She confessed that she’d fallen in love with him. Perhaps she had: he was clever and handsome and the sole heir of a very wealthy uncle. She said that she could no longer marry me. I left for Argentina shortly afterwards. The rest you know.’

Domino considered his story for some time. Christabel Tallis had not seemed the kind of woman who would treat a man so shockingly, but there was no doubt Richard had suffered hurt.

She turned impulsively to him, but her question was tentative. ‘It happened such a time ago, Richard, can you not forgive her?’

‘There’s nothing to forgive,’ he said in a breezy voice. ‘It’s over.’

But it wasn’t, he thought, as he escorted his young companion to Gunter’s for her favourite elderflower ice. It was far from over. Christabel had come back into his life and the world he’d built for himself had begun to shatter. He remembered how in those early months in Buenos Aires, he’d walked around a stunned man. He’d lost so much, not just the girl he loved, but his entire life. Early one blisteringly hot morning, he’d walked on the beach when the world was still asleep and he was alone. Looking out over the limitless ocean, he’d willed himself back to his beloved homeland. But friends and family had gradually faded from view and he’d been helpless to recall them. He’d borne the rupture calmly, stoically, never allowing a hint of trouble to show, and he’d grown to love Argentina. He’d put down new roots, made new friends, taken new lovers. So why was he allowing such furious resentment to seep into his life and destroy the pleasure of his homecoming? After his scourging from the Tallis affair, he’d become adept at sidestepping deep feeling and for the first time in years strong emotions were crowding in on him. Ever since he’d seen Christabel. His constant need to provoke her, to disturb her, was a signal that he’d never truly overcome her betrayal. He’d simply shut it away. Seeing her afresh had reawakened feelings that he’d thought dead.

His anger was directed as much at himself for still being in thrall to her. If he were to know any peace, he must exorcise that demon and do so as quickly as possible. The lawyers, he’d learned, would be ready within a fortnight and last night he’d written to his mother to expect him shortly. But how to free himself of this unwanted legacy from the past? In the heat of their first unexpected meeting, he’d entertained some wild thoughts. But were they that wild? If he could prove Christabel unchanged, prove that she was the same inconstant woman, surely that would get her from under his skin.

Instinctively he knew that she was not wholly indifferent to him. Her face might remain immobile, but her eyes gave her away. He had the power to rouse this cold and remote woman to strong feeling—anger and love were bedfellows, after all. There was a lingering tie between them, he was sure, and he’d taken every chance to play on whatever jealousy Christabel might feel towards the young girl who walked beside him. He had done so in the hazy belief that he might force her into showing her true colours. But there had to be more. He would have to entice her into his arms, tease her, goad her, until she was ready to say she loved him, ready to be disloyal. Ready to betray Sir Julian Edgerton as she’d betrayed him. The man who had taken her arm so proudly would be forced to recognise her for the jilt she was. And if he could learn the same lesson himself, her power to perturb would be over. He would be free of her—for ever.

The Tallis family ate an early supper, for Christabel and Lady Harriet were engaged to attend Almack’s. Christabel felt no joy at the prospect. This morning her pleasure in viewing the Marbles had been spoiled by Richard’s antagonism and an evening spent at the exclusive club was no compensation. It would be a tedious few hours although largely effortless. Several glasses of lemonade, a number of country dances, a nod or two at acquaintances and then they would be free to return home. She’d never understood what made the place exceptional, but her mother always held it to be good ton to attend regularly and made a point of escorting her elder daughter every week. Sir Julian, too, was a frequent visitor and Christabel derived some comfort at least in knowing that tonight he was safely lodged at Rosings many miles away and she would be free of any threat of a marriage proposal.

She had dressed with some care for the evening. After the unsettling events of the last few days she felt the need to look her best. The emerald silk gown opening to an underdress of the palest green gauze was a stunning creation, her hair flaming in contrast and the green of her eyes reflected in its deepest tones. A low bodice revealed the pale perfection of shapely breasts and shoulders as smooth as alabaster. Without immodesty, she knew from experience that she would attract the attention of most of the men there. Not Richard’s, though. He would certainly not be at Almack’s. Even in his youth it had been a place he’d always refused to attend, though she had often begged him to be her escort.

She looked across the table at her sister who was drinking soup with exaggerated care, intent on preserving her gown. With a start she realised that Sophia was dressed rather too elaborately for dinner at home and wondered why. The conundrum was soon solved.

‘Sophia will be coming with us,’ her mother announced with studied carelessness.

‘To Almack’s?’ Christabel asked blankly.

‘Yes, of course, to Almack’s.’

‘But what about vouchers?’

‘I have managed to obtain some. Lady Jersey was kind enough to bestow them on me at short notice. She understood the position and wanted very much to make Sophia’s acquaintance.’

‘Nobody gets tickets for Almack’s that quickly, Mama, so you must have known for some time that Sophia was coming to London.’

Her mother made no reply and the ruthless interrogation continued. ‘I thought you said that you and Papa had decided only recently that she should visit—in fact, you must have been plotting it together for weeks!’ The net seemed to be closing in on her ever more tightly.

Her mother’s telltale blush revealed her unhappiness at the deception while Sophia’s face was one of untroubled victory.

‘Hardly plotting, Bel. Sophia’s coming to stay was certainly not part of any grand plan. But when Sir Julian began to grow ever more particular in his attentions to you, it seemed sensible to introduce Sophia to ton society a little earlier than we planned. I heard only last week that your brother and sister were on their way, but said nothing. I knew you had a lot on your mind and thought it would be a delightful surprise.’

‘Delightful,’ Christabel offered drily. ‘But do you feel that the dress is quite right for the occasion?’

‘And what, pray, is wrong with my dress?’ Sophia asked combatively.

Lady Tallis, who had unsuccessfully tried to direct her younger daughter to one of the more modest creations hanging in her wardrobe, interjected gently, ‘Christabel has such refined taste, my dear, and she is familiar with what is most suitable for Almack’s. Why don’t you reconsider the magenta? The rose chiffon would become you so well.’

‘The rose is boring and I have no intention of being boring.’

‘You won’t be that,’ Benedict put in unhelpfully, ‘the whole world will see you coming at fifty paces.’

‘You have no notion of female dress, so hold your tongue,’ she spat.

‘I have no notion of going to Almack’s either so I won’t be the one who has to hand out the sunshades,’ her unrepentant brother grinned.

‘What is this, Benedict, of course you are to come with us,’ his mother chided. ‘You will need to put on evening dress. I assume that you brought it with you.’

‘But not to do the pretty at Almack’s,’ he grumbled.

After a good deal more in this vein he agreed reluctantly to squire his mother and sisters. Almack’s he stigmatised as being the waste of a good evening and issued a cryptic warning that he would be leaving pretty promptly as he had far more interesting prospects in view.

Almack’s was always crowded even at nine o’clock in the evening. The doors shut promptly at eleven and anyone arriving after that time, no matter how important, was barred. The patronesses controlled every aspect of the club with iron fists and Lady Jersey’s vouchers had been hard won. In the entrance hall Sophia stopped to preen herself in the Venetian mirror, which hung at the bottom of the red-carpeted stairs, but not for long. Her mother was soon ushering both girls upwards into the main salon, ablaze with a thousand candles hanging from crystal chandeliers and tucked into the wall sconces. People looked curiously at the small party, finding it difficult to believe that this new young woman was Christabel’s sister. There could be no greater contrast, one tall, willowy, an ice maiden with flaming hair, the other shorter, rounded and an undistinguished brunette. No wonder the gown had to be magenta. It was Sophia’s way of seizing some of the attention that always fell so unfairly to her sister.