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Chapter Fourteen

The Alburys set out in good time for Lady Grayson’s soirée, their carriage bowling swiftly through the darkness.

‘If you had known how long your business would take, you could have dined in town and met me there,’ remarked Dominique.

Gideon pressed a kiss upon her fingers.

‘But I prefer to dine at home with my wife.’

A little bolt of pleasure drove its way through Dominique and she leaned closer, hoping for a more intimate embrace. When it did not come she stifled her sigh and asked him in cheerful tones, ‘And was your business in town successful?’

‘I believe so. I delivered Father’s letters and every one of the fellows declared they would do their best to help.’ He squeezed her hand, adding gently, ‘That is not to say it will be good news, Dominique.’

‘No, Mama and I are both aware that Papa could be—that he might not be alive, but just to know the truth would help. We are very grateful, Gideon, to you and Lord Rotham.’

‘Yes, well...’ He cleared his throat and after an awkward pause he continued in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘Rogers and I had a good meeting, too. We decided that the town house should be shut up for the present. I think if Father ever came to town he would prefer to stay with us. What do you think?’

‘Lord Rotham would be very welcome at Chalcots, so I agree we do not need the Brook Street house,’ she replied, gratified that he should ask her opinion. ‘Perhaps it might be let out and the staff retained?’

‘Yes, that is an idea. And a good one, too. I shall suggest it to Father when I write next.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘Ah, we are here. Come along, my dear.’

* * *

Grayson House was packed that evening. The hall and stairs were crowded with guests, the ladies’ pale gowns a vivid contrast to the gentlemen’s dark coats. Dominique took off her fur-lined cloak to display her own low-cut, high-waisted gown of ruby satin, the hem fringed with gold and worn over a white satin petticoat with tiny puff sleeves and a quantity of fine lace covering the low neckline. Now, as she prepared to accompany Gideon up the sweeping staircase, Dominique wondered if such a strong colour was a mistake, but at that moment Gwendoline appeared and put all her doubts to flight.

‘My dear, you look positively dazzling in that gown! I knew we were right to put you in bold colours.’ Regardless of the watching crowd, Gwen enveloped her in a scented hug, murmuring wickedly, ‘And your figure is so much better since having little James. You are positively voluptuous, my dear!’

Dominique laughed and blushed at the same time, and when she emerged from Gwen’s embrace she found Gideon smiling and holding out his arm to her.

‘Time we met our hostess, don’t you think?’

Happily she accompanied him up the sweeping staircase.

‘I did not see the man escorting Gwen—’ She looked back. ‘Ah, there he is with her now...Mr Hatfield. Do you know him, Gideon?’

He glanced briefly down into the hall.

‘Hatfield? Yes, I know him.’

She was quick to detect the note of reserve in his voice.

‘You do not like him?’

‘Not particularly. He is a crony of Martlesham’s and a womaniser.’

‘Oh. Then should Gwen—perhaps we should warn her.’

‘My sister knows what she is about and is using Hatfield for her own purposes—I think she is trying to make Ribblestone jealous.’

Dominique looked again into the hall, where Gwendoline was now hanging on the arm of the rather louche figure that was Mr Cecil Hatfield.

‘Will it work, do you think?’

Gideon shrugged. ‘I have no idea. I have warned Gwen against pushing Anthony too far. He is an easy-going fellow, but he has his limits. As have I. Let me warn you, madam, that I should not tolerate you flirting with such a man.’

‘Would you not?’ She saw the dangerous gleam in his eyes and suddenly found it difficult to breathe. ‘What—what would you do, Gideon?’

She waited, eyes wide with expectation. Would he knock him down? Challenge him to a duel? The intense look faded and Gideon laughed.

‘I should lock you up,’ he declared, pulling her up the last few stairs to meet their hostess. ‘Ah, Lady Grayson, good evening, ma’am...’

* * *

Dominique did not know whether to be flattered or outraged by his comment, but she put it behind her and set about enjoying herself. She was happy for Gideon to go off to the card room and leave her to join her many acquaintances.

* * *

It was some time later that she was momentarily alone and heard an unmistakable voice in her ear.

‘So, Cousin, you have provided Albury with an heir. I congratulate you.’

She swung around to find the Earl of Martlesham at her shoulder. His insolent gaze swept over her.

‘Marriage suits you, Cousin. You have blossomed. But then it is surprising what marriage to a wealthy man can do.’

‘We are very happy, I assure you.’

‘And how is my dear aunt?’

‘Much better now that she is away from Martlesham,’ retorted Dominique. ‘You tricked her into thinking you were franking her mail.’

‘What does that matter? By the time I became earl there had been no news of your father for years. Why should I humour a madwoman?’ He leaned closer, hissing, ‘And that is what she is, writing her interminable letters, hoping to find Rainault. Any sensible person would have given up long ago and accepted that he was dead.’

Hot rage flooded her and she glared at him before turning away with a shrug of indifference,

‘It matters not. She is at Rotham now, where she is respected and valued. Neither of us need concern ourselves with you again.’

He caught her wrist.

‘So you think yourself safe now, do you, Mrs Albury? Well, just be careful that this idyllic world you have created does not come crashing down about your ears!’

With another fulminating look she wrenched herself free and stormed across the room towards Gwen, who saw her approaching and immediately sent her cicisbeo away.

‘Whatever has upset you?’ she murmured, linking her arm through Dominique’s and carrying her off to the supper room. Gwen procured two glasses of wine and a small table in one corner, where they could talk undisturbed. Gwen listened while Dominique described her encounter with Max.

‘It was not so very bad,’ ended Dominique, her anger fading. ‘He treated Mama abominably, but she is out of his reach now. Yet still he is not satisfied. He cannot bear the thought that Gideon and I could be happy.’

‘Then he must learn to live with it,’ replied Gwendoline stoutly. ‘No one who sees you and my brother together could doubt your felicity.’

‘And yet...’ Dominique bowed her head. She leaned across the table, lowering her voice. ‘And yet—oh, Gwen, he—he avoids my bed.’

‘Oh, my poor girl.’

Dominique was obliged to blink away a tear.

‘I th-think he still yearns for his actress—’

‘No, no, this is my father’s doing,’ said Gwen. ‘He has convinced Gideon that—how would he phrase it?—“carnal knowledge” of one’s wife is detrimental to her health.’

Dominique felt her face burning.

‘But Dr Bolton sees no harm—’

Gwen squeezed her hand.

‘You must remember that Gideon was a witness to Mama’s protracted ill health and her early demise. That is a much stronger argument than any the good doctor can put forwards. Papa told Anthony the same thing—I had left the drawing room one evening, soon after we were married, and when I returned Father was giving his new son-in-law the benefit of his advice—keep your lust for your mistress, my boy.’ Gwen added, a little wistfully, ‘Not that Anthony had a mistress, apart from his politics.’

‘So, am I not alone?’ murmured Dominique, thinking of the poor French Queen and the salacious accusations against her. ‘Am I not w-wicked to have such strong feelings?’

‘Not wicked at all, love. But I have told you before— sometimes men need a little push to show them just what is under their nose. You should set up a flirt. There are any number of men here who would oblige you.’

‘But I do not want a lover!’

‘Not a lover, Dominique, merely someone to show you some attention and make Gideon realise how desirable you are.’

‘There was such a person in town last year,’ said Dominique miserably. ‘A Frenchman. I nearly made the most terrible mistake, but Gideon f-found me just in time, only he was not the least bit jealous.’

‘Well, that was last year. Gideon thinks a lot more of you now.’ Gwen looked up. ‘Hush now, he is coming.’ She cast a mischievous glance at Dominique and beckoned to Gideon. ‘So you have found us, Brother. What do you think of your wife tonight? Is she not exquisitely ravishable in that red gown?’

‘Gwendoline!’ Dominique’s protest was no more than an outraged squeak.

‘Exquisite, certainly,’ returned Gideon. He held out his hand. ‘The singing is about to start, my dear, and I think you would enjoy it.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She rose with alacrity. ‘Thank you, Gwen, for your advice.’

‘And what advice would that be?’ Gideon quizzed her as he bore Dominique away.

‘She says I should make you jealous,’ she offered, slanting a look up at him.

Gideon laughed.

‘I am not the jealous type, so you would be wasting your time, my dear.’

* * *

No, thought Dominique as she accompanied Gideon to the music room. Jealousy argued a strong passion and, apart from their wedding night, so very long ago, Gideon had shown no passion for her at all.

* * *

By the time the singing had ended the evening was well advanced and Dominique was happy to agree when Gideon suggested they should go home. They sought out Lady Grayson to take their leave of her and found their hostess deep in conversation with Gwendoline.

‘My dears, Lady Ribblestone has been telling me of the delightful burletta that is playing at the Theatre Royal,’ said Lady Grayson, when they came up to her. ‘What is it called, my dear?’

‘Midas,’ Gwen replied. ‘We are all mad to see it, Gideon, and I am putting together a party for Friday night. Will you join us?’

Dominique held her breath, but Gwen met her eyes for a moment before she handed Gideon a leaflet, saying innocently, ‘I obtained this playbill. You will see that the cast is quite unexceptionable.’

Gideon unfolded the paper and Dominique peeped across as he read it. She wondered whether he was relieved or disappointed to find that Agnes Bennet’s name was not there.

‘Why, yes, I suppose we might go,’ he said at last. ‘Will Ribblestone be there?’

Gwen replied with an elegant shrug, ‘No doubt he will be at the House until all hours, so I shall not wait for him. But you must all come and dine in Grosvenor Square first. What do you say?’

‘I should be delighted,’ responded Lady Grayson. ‘What about you, Mr Albury?’

‘Very well, unless my wife has any objections?’

‘No, sir, none.’

‘Then it is settled,’ cried Gwen, clapping her hands. ‘We shall all go to Drury Lane on Friday!’

* * *

The idea of the theatre party occupied Dominique’s thoughts all the way back to Chalcots. She was so lost in thought that when they reached the house and Gideon asked her if she wanted to take a glass of wine with him before retiring, he had to repeat his question.

‘Oh, I am so sorry, Gideon, my thoughts were otherwhere.’

‘And have been so ever since Gwen mentioned that comic opera.’ He laughed and put his hand under her arm. ‘Well, perhaps it is a little late. Let me escort you to your room, my dear.’

‘I have never been to the theatre, you see,’ she confided. ‘We did have travelling players that called at Martlesham when my uncle was alive. I thought their performances quite magical, but I was only a child then, of course. In recent years the only theatricals have taken place during private house parties and Mama deemed them unsuitable for me to attend.’

‘Yes, I can believe it.’

His dry comment reminded her that he had probably been part of those same house parties and she said no more, anxious not to awaken unwelcome memories.

* * *

Gideon glanced down at the silent figure beside him as they made the short journey along the passage to her bedchamber. She had discarded her cloak and the ruby satin was almost black in the dim light of the wall candles, throwing into relief the white trimming of the décolletage and the creamy skin rising from it. She had filled out a little since having the baby and this gown showed her curvaceous figure to advantage.

When they stopped at her door he paused. He wanted to drop his head and kiss her neck, run his mouth along the fragile line of her collarbone until he reached that fascinating indentation at the base of her throat, to touch his lips to the little pulse that beat just beneath her ear. Desire burned within him—it was so long since he had lain with her, tasted the sweet fragrance of her skin, buried his face in her hair.

She was looking up at him now, her eyes inviting, trusting him. Mentally he drew back. She was too precious. He would not risk weakening her with another baby so soon.

It does not need to result in a child.

The thought flashed through his brain, but it was closely followed by his father’s warning. A wife was a delicate creature, to be nurtured, protected. Not for them the carnal lusts of the body.

‘Gideon?’ She spoke softly, putting her hand up to his cheek. ‘Gideon, will you not come in...?’

He reached up and caught her hand, planting a kiss in the palm.

‘Not tonight, my dear.’

* * *

Dominique watched him stride away into the darkness. She was sure she had seen desire in his eyes, certain he had been moments away from sweeping her into his arms. She clasped her hands together. Oh, how she wanted him to carry her to the bed and cover her body with kisses! She went into her bedroom and looked at herself in the mirror. What had Gwen called her? Voluptuous. Yes, it was true and Gideon had been tempted, but not enough. Not enough.

* * *

In Drury Lane the crowds jostled outside the theatre and inside everything was colourful and noisy and chaotic. Dominique clung to Gideon’s arm as they made their way through the press of bodies.

‘Wasn’t Cecil clever, to get us such an advantageous box?’ declared Gwen, when they took their seats. ‘No, truly,’ she continued, when Mr Hatfield modestly demurred. ‘I had thought there was no possibility of finding a ticket for this performance. I am sure we are all very grateful.’

Dominique agreed. They had dined at Grosvenor Square with Gwen and Lord and Lady Grayson and she had been a little apprehensive when Cecil Hatfield arrived, but since Gideon was perfectly polite to him she had soon relaxed. Their box commanded a good view of the stage and while they waited for the performance to begin she gazed around the auditorium, watching with interest as the audience poured in. Fashionable gentlemen and painted ladies jostled with apprentices in the pit, shadowy figures moved around in the upper gallery and the boxes were filling up, the lamplight sparkling and flashing off the jewels displayed by the ladies who were taking their seats. Max was standing at the front of a box opposite, but she ignored his exaggerated bow and took care not to look his way again, determined not to allow him to spoil her enjoyment of the evening.

The lights dimmed ready for the short farce that preceded the main event and Dominique gave herself up to the performance, applauding with enthusiasm when it ended. Lord Grayson took his wife off to spend the interval strolling in the foyer and Gideon slipped into the empty seat beside Dominique.

‘Well, what do you think?’

‘Oh, Gideon I am enjoying myself immensely,’ she told him, reaching impulsively for his hand.

Gwendoline laughed. ‘Then you have obviously been starved of entertainment, my dear! That was quite the poorest play I have seen in seasons. I am sure I have heard most of it a hundred times before.’ She put her hand on Mr Hatfield’s sleeve. ‘What thought you, Cecil?’

‘I, madam? Why, I saw very little of the farce, my attention was upon something quite different.’

He leaned closer to Gwen, laughing down at her in an intimate fashion that made Dominique uncomfortable. Her eyes quickly went to Gideon and she saw him frown.

He rose from his seat, saying curtly, ‘Hatfield, perhaps you and I should—’

Whatever Gideon was going to suggest she would never know, for at that moment the door of the box opened and the tall, lean figure of Lord Ribblestone appeared.

‘Good evening. I hope I am not de trop?’

* * *

The way Gwen and Mr Hatfield jumped apart reminded Dominique forcibly of the farce she had just seen, but she did not find it in the least amusing.

‘Anthony!’ Gwen began to fan herself nervously. ‘I—I did not expect—that is...’

‘I left a message that I should conclude my business in time to escort you here, did I not, my love? I would you had waited for me.’

As Lord Ribblestone came further into the box, Mr Hatfield edged himself to the door and, muttering something about seeing an acquaintance in the pit, he disappeared. Recovering her composure, Gwen tossed her head.

‘You are so notoriously unreliable, Anthony, I did not want to risk our being late and missing the farce. It is Dominique’s first visit to the theatre, you see.’

‘Ah, of course. Now I understand.’ Lord Ribblestone smiled at Dominique, who fidgeted uncomfortably.

She was aware of the tension between Anthony and his wife and was relieved to feel Gideon’s hand on her shoulder.

‘My love, no visit to the theatre is complete without promenading through the foyer. It will be a crush, but it is something you should do, at least once.’

Gratefully she accompanied Gideon from the box.

‘We are best out of the way,’ he told her as he shut the door behind them. ‘They can talk more freely if they are alone.’

‘I do hope they will not fight.’

‘I wish they would,’ muttered Gideon as he led her away. ‘Tony is far too complacent for my liking. He could put an end to Gwen’s little flirtations, if he would.’

Dominique frowned.

‘Perhaps he does not care for her.’

‘Of course he does,’ replied Gideon. ‘He is as mad as fire, did you not see it?’

‘I felt it,’ she affirmed. ‘But I thought I might be mistaken. And—and does Gwen care for him?’

‘Aye. Why else would she set up all these flirts?’

‘Perhaps she is lonely. After all, Lord Ribblestone is always busy with his politics.’

‘Well, she needs to tell him. A little plain speaking would sort the matter out.’

Dominique was silent. She knew only too well how difficult it was to speak plainly about intimate matters with a man who hid himself behind a wall of politeness.

* * *

As Gideon had predicted, the foyer was crowded and with her diminutive height Dominique found the experience suffocating. It was almost impossible to see beyond the bodies immediately around her and she was about to ask Gideon to take her back when she saw Lord Martlesham’s fair head approaching. Her grip on Gideon’s arm tightened.

‘It is my cousin. Must we meet him?’

But Gideon did not reply. He was staring at the dazzling beauty on Max’s arm.

‘Good evening, Cousin.’ The earl bowed, smiling. ‘You know Mrs Bennet, of course, Albury. Mrs Agnes Bennet?’