Читать книгу From London With Love: Disgrace and Desire / The Captain and the Wallflower - Lyn Stone - Страница 16

Eloise’s head snapped around. She watched Jack Clifton walk into the room, tall and elegant in his black swallow-tailed coat and buff pantaloons. He looked relaxed and at his ease, and she schooled her own features into a look of bland indifference as she rose to her feet. More people were coming into the room and Mrs Renwick hurried away to greet them, leaving Eloise with the major.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as he bowed to her.

He raised his brows.

‘Renwick invited me. Do you think I should remove myself because you do not want me here? I am a guest, madam, as you are. You will have to make the best of it.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Smile, madam, we are in company; you do not want anyone to suspect an intrigue, do you? Or perhaps, considering your reputation, it is of no matter to you.’

‘Your being here is no matter to me, Major,’ Eloise flashed back at him. She gave him a smile as false as his own and swept away to meet the other guests.

With the exception of Alex Mortimer, the party was complete, and when Eloise sat down to dinner it was with the almost certain knowledge that her tormentor from Vauxhall Gardens was amongst the guests. She glanced around the table as the servants came in with the first course. She discounted Mr and Mrs Renwick from her list of suspects and, reluctantly, Major Clifton. Lord and Lady Parham were inveterate gossipmongers, but she did not think either of them capable of such subterfuge. Sitting near her were two other couples, both related to Mrs Renwick, plus Sir Ronald Deforge. Then there was a gentleman called Graham with an unfortunate taste in florid waistcoats and her late-husband’s cousin, Mrs Margaret Cromer, an iron-haired lady whose forbidding countenance was relieved by a decided twinkle in her grey eyes. At the far end of the table was Mr Renwick’s sister, her clergyman husband and two pretty daughters. Eloise knew them slightly, but since Mr Briggate and his family had travelled from Dorset to join the party at Renwick Hall she hoped she might discount them.

With a sigh she turned her attention to her dinner. In truth, she had no idea whom she should suspect. She must not relax, even for a moment. She pushed a piece of chicken across her plate, sadly aware that her appetite had disappeared.

After dinner the ladies withdrew to the long gallery, where fires blazed in the two fireplaces. They disposed themselves gracefully on the elegant sofas while they talked and gossiped, and during a lull in the conversation Eloise wandered off to look at the numerous pictures that covered the walls.

‘We have some very fine paintings here, Lady Allyngham,’ said Mr Renwick, leading the gentlemen into the room at that moment. ‘However, they don’t show to advantage in the candlelight: you are best looking at them during the day.’

‘I should like to do so,’ she replied.

‘And I should be delighted to escort you,’ replied her host, smiling. ‘Or let Clifton be your guide; he knows as much as I about the pictures here at the Hall.’

‘You flatter me, Charles,’ said Jack. ‘I do not claim to be an expert.’

‘But you have an eye for a beautiful work of art,’ returned Mr Renwick.

‘And for a pretty woman,’ added Mr Graham, walking by.

‘And that,’ Jack replied gravely.

He was about to turn away. Eloise said quickly, ‘You consider yourself a connoisseur, perhaps?’

‘Of art, madam, or women?’

‘Oh, Clifton is decidedly a connoisseur of women!’ laughed Mr Renwick, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

‘I take leave to question that,’ muttered Eloise, so quietly that only Jack could hear her. She found his dark, unsmiling gaze resting on her.

‘I have enough experience to know when beauty is merely a sham, a bright veneer to cover a tarnished character.’

Colour flamed through Eloise’s cheek. She turned away, furious with herself for challenging him. It was a game she could not win. She fixed her eyes on a large portrait, pretending to study it while she struggled to regain her composure.

‘What—’ Jack was standing at her shoulder, his words quiet in her ear, ‘—has the Glorious Allyngham no laughing riposte for me?’

She drew herself up and turned to him, masking her anger with a glittering smile.

‘I am amazed, sir, that you claim any expertise at all when it comes to our sex. In my experience you show no aptitude at all and see only what you want to see!’

With no more than a small inclination of her head Eloise moved away, back to the relative safety of the crowd.

It was still early so it came as no surprise when one of the younger members of the group suggested dancing. The party moved to one end of the room where the fine pianoforte was situated and footmen were called to roll away the carpet. With her nerves at full stretch, Eloise could not share in the general high spirits so she stepped up to her hostess and offered to play for the dancers. Mr Graham, overhearing her, immediately cried out at this, saying with a laugh, ‘Would you deprive us of the pleasure of watching you dance, Lady Allyngham?’

‘Would you deprive us of the pleasure of partnering you?’ added Sir Ronald Deforge.

She shook her head.

‘Thank you, but I am very happy to play tonight.’

Mr Graham was inclined to argue.

‘But, my lady—’

‘Someone else may take a turn at the pianoforte later,’ declared Mrs Renwick, the peacemaker. ‘I know Lady Allyngham to be an excellent pianist and it would be an honour to have her play for our little party.’

Major Clifton carried a branched candlestick across to the pianoforte.

‘Out of sorts, Lady Allyngham?’

She gave him a frosty look and turned her attention to leafing through the music piled on a nearby table.

‘I am not always so flighty as you think me, Major.’

‘Perhaps you are missing Alex Mortimer.’

‘Oh, do go away!’

She ground her teeth as he sauntered off, laughing.

Seating herself at the instrument, Eloise began to play. Her fingers flew over the keys, her lively playing accompanied by the happy laughter of the dancers.

After an hour even the most energetic of the young people was glad to take a break and while they refreshed themselves with cups of wine, lemonade or ratafia, Mrs Renwick and her husband were persuaded to sing a duet. This was so successful that their audience clapped and cheered and demanded more. Mrs Renwick beckoned to Mrs Cromer.

‘Meg, my dear, come and join us to sing the trio from Così fan tutte. Do you remember, we saw it together at the Haymarket in the year Eleven and immediately purchased the music so we could learn it.?

Margaret Cromer stepped up.

‘I remember it well and will sing it, with pleasure, if Cousin Eloise can play it?’

‘I can,’ said Eloise, waving her hand towards the side-table. ‘If I can find the music.’

Before she could get up Jack picked up a large book and carried it across to the piano.

‘You will need someone to turn the pages for you, my lady.’

‘That is not necessary, Major Clifton, I shall manage.’

‘Do not be so stubborn,’ he murmured, placing the music before her. ‘Would you have the performance ruined because you will not accept a little help?’

Knowing he was right, she set her jaw and began to play. The soft, haunting notes soothed away her anger. Soave sia il vento, ‘May the wind be gentle’. She knew the song well, a beautiful, sad farewell sung by two sisters to their soldier sweethearts. The ladies’ voices blended beautifully, with Mr Renwick’s rich baritone adding depth to the gentle, lilting melody. Eloise concentrated on the accompaniment, trying to ignore Jack standing so close, his arm stretching past her as he turned the pages. She was calmed by the music, and by the singers’ sweeping cadences rising and falling, imitating the gentle breeze of the Italian lyrics. She was almost disappointed when the last notes died away and the applause began. While everyone was praising the singers for their splendid performance, Eloise remained very still, enjoying the sinful sensation of Jack Clifton’s presence beside her, his lean body so close she could feel his heat. Energy emanated from him, making her skin tingle with anticipation. She jumped when he reached out to pick up the book.

‘Mr Mozart’s opera is clearly a favourite,’ he remarked, flicking through the pages. ‘Let me find you something…here it is.’ He replaced the open book on the piano and she looked at the aria he had chosen. ‘“Donne mie, la fate a tanti e tanti”,’ he read the title. ‘Perhaps you would like me to translate if for you: “my dear ladies, you deceive so many men…”’

Abruptly Eloise stood up.

‘I can translate it very well for myself,’ she muttered, turning away from him.

She forced her lips into a smile as Margaret Cromer approached her.

‘You play most beautifully, Cousin, but you have a delightful singing voice, too. Will you not let us hear it?’

‘Thank you Meg, but I do not think—’

‘Oh, my dear ma’am, do say you will sing for us,’ declared Lady Parham, beaming at her. ‘Mrs Cromer has been telling me that you were used to sing regularly for the guests at Allyngham.’

Eloise tried to decline, but other guests came up, adding their persuasion. Mrs Renwick took her hand and led her back towards the pianoforte.

‘Come along, my dear, you have played so well for us it is your turn now to shine—Mrs Cromer will accompany you, will you not, Meg?’

‘Of course, I should be delighted to play for Eloise—such a beautiful voice you have, Cousin! Now, what will you sing for us, my dear?’

Eloise hesitated, looking around at the happy, expectant faces. To decline would be impolite. She smiled.

‘Something else from Mr Mozart, I think. The Marriage of Figaro.’

‘We have it!’ cried Mrs Renwick, pulling another book from the pile.

Eloise nodded and looked at her cousin.

‘Can you play “Porgi, amor,” Meg?’

‘Oh heavens, my favourite aria!’ declared Lady Parham. ‘Do be quiet, everyone, and listen!’

An expectant silence settled over the room as Mrs Cromer played the short introduction. Eloise ran her tongue over her dry lips and composed herself. Many of the guests had pulled their chairs into a semi-circle to watch. Her eyes strayed around the room, noticing tiny details such as Sir Ronald leaning forwards, hands on his knees, Mr Graham sitting at the back of the group, picking his teeth, Mr and Mrs Renwick sitting shoulder to shoulder. And Jack Clifton, standing a little apart, his face in shadow. She must forget them all.

Eloise began to sing the Countess’s heartbreaking aria about the pain of losing her husband’s love. She had chosen to sing the English translation, but it was still beautiful and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to be swept away by the evocative words and music.

Jack stood in the shadows and listened, entranced. He was familiar with the opera but it had never before had such power to move him. Eloise sang the countess’s role with dignity and restraint, her full, rich voice filling the long gallery. There was such longing in her voice, such sadness in her blue eyes that he could almost believe her sincere. Almost. As the last, lingering notes died away he found himself swallowing hard to clear some constriction in his throat. There was a moment’s silence, then the room erupted into cheers and applause. Lady Allyngham was blushing, accepting their praise with modestly downcast eyes. Jack scowled as Sir Ronald stepped up to take her hand and kiss it. Damnation, the woman had bewitched them all!

There was a few moments’ stir and confusion. Renwick’s young nieces came up for their turn to perform and the mood lightened considerably as they sang a selection of folk songs. Jack watched Eloise move away from the crowd and he stepped quickly up to her.

‘So you identify yourself with the wronged countess, my lady.’ His tone was harder than he had intended. She cast one brief look up at him and he was taken aback to see her eyes glistening with tears.

She hurried past him without speaking and slipped out of the room while the company’s attention was fixed upon the young performers. In two strides Jack was at the door and following her along the cold stone corridor.

‘Lady Allyngham—Eloise!’

She stopped at his words but did not turn.

‘Will you not leave me alone?’ she muttered as he came up to her. She was hunting for her handkerchief. Jack handed her his own.

‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to upset you.’

‘Did you not? I think you delight in upsetting me.’

He heard the bitter note in her voice. There was a sudden upsurge of sound as the door to the long gallery opened again. Eloise looked up, startled. Jack caught her arm and pulled her to one side, into an unlit corridor. There was a half-glazed door at the far end, through which pale moonlight gleamed and fell in silvery squares upon the tiled floor of the passage. They stood silently in the semi-darkness, listening to the soft sound of footsteps hurrying past. When the silence settled again Eloise realised that he was still holding her arm and tried to shake him off.

‘Let me go. We have nothing to say to each other!’

‘I think we do.’ Instead of obeying her demands, Jack caught her other arm. Her struggles to free herself were halfhearted. ‘Will you not hear me, madam? Please.’

She grew still suddenly, but did not raise her eyes. Jack breathed out in a long sigh and looked up at the blackness above him. ‘I don’t know why it is, but you bring out the worst in me.’

‘I have done nothing to warrant your cruel jibes.’

‘That is just it! To have spent the whole evening in your company and received not one warm look, one real smile. I confess I wanted to provoke you, to make you respond to me, even if it was with anger.’

‘Then it is better that we should not meet—’

‘No! At least, you must allow me to apologise—to say how sorry I am that Allyngham is dead. Your words when we last parted—that you wish I had perished on the battlefield instead of Tony—I had never before considered what you have lost, what you must have suffered. Watching you in there, hearing you sing, I realised how much you miss him.’ Jack looked at the still figure before him. She was trying very hard not to cry, her bottom lip caught between her teeth to stop it trembling. He said gently, ‘I do not pretend to understand your behaviour, madam, and if I have misjudged you, I pray you will forgive me.’

Even in the dim light he could make out the long lashes fanned out on her pale cheeks. Now those lashes fluttered and lifted slightly. Jack put two fingers under her chin and gently pushed her head up. He said softly, ‘My lady, will you not cry friends with me?’

She met his eyes for a moment, her own so dark and liquid he thought he might drown in them.

‘Not friends,’ she said quietly. ‘Too many harsh words have been exchanged for that. But it would be better for our hosts if we were not always arguing,’

He smiled, his spirits lifting a little.

‘A truce, then. And if I can help you discover who is sending those letters—’

‘No.’ She was withdrawing from him again. ‘I would not have you concern yourself with that.’

Jack was tempted to argue but he resisted: if she was not willing to confide in him then he would not force her. With time and patience he would win her round, he was sure of it. His instinct was to protect her. He wanted to carry her off, to shelter her from every ill wind. She was, after all, the widow of a valued comrade. With a little nod he stepped back.

‘Very well. But if you need my assistance, you only have to ask.’ He lifted his head, listening to the quiet strains of the pianoforte drifting from the long gallery. ‘They are dancing again. Do you wish to return?’ She gave a little shake of her head and his mouth twisted into a rueful smile. ‘No, nor I.’ Jack held out his arm to her. ‘Perhaps a stroll through the gardens, until you are more composed? There is a full moon tonight.’

Eloise opened her mouth to refuse, but it was as if someone else was controlling her voice.

‘Thank you, I would like that.’

Moments earlier she had been wishing Jack Clifton at Jericho, now she was taking his arm and accompanying him outside. The passage door opened on to a small cobbled yard at the far side of which a narrow gate in the low wall led the way into the rose garden. The bushes were overgrown with only a few late-summer blooms hanging on, but even so it looked beautiful in the moonlight. The only sound was the occasional cry of a fox from the park and the soft crunch of the gravel beneath their feet. Eloise felt her tension draining away. Despite their differences, Jack Clifton was the one man at Renwick Hall she was sure she could trust.

‘You seem to know your way about the house very well, Major.’

‘Renwick and I are old friends. I have stayed here many times before when I have been on leave.’

‘I understand you have quit the army now. What will you do?’

‘Yes, I have sold out. I have no family, My father died just a year ago, leaving me a pretty little property in Staffordshire, Henchard. It needs some work but it is a snug little house and the land could be very profitable, I think. Did I not tell you I shall become a gentleman farmer?’

She smiled at that.

‘Yes, I remember, but somehow I cannot imagine it!’

‘Oh? How do you see me?’

She thought for a moment.

‘As an adventurer.’

It was Jack’s turn to laugh. Eloise liked the sound, it was deep and rich and dangerously attractive. Just like the man.

‘I have had enough of adventure. It is time I settled down.’

She nodded. He was a man of means, it would be very sensible to settle down, marry and have children. Her head jerked up. The thought of Jack taking a wife hit her with such force she felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over her.

He stopped.

‘Is something wrong? Are you cold, do you want to go indoors?’

‘N-no, a sudden chill, nothing more,’ she said quickly. ‘Do let us continue, the gardens have a different kind of beauty in the moonlight.’

‘Very well, but I cannot have you catching cold.’

He shrugged himself out of his coat and placed it around her, his hands resting on her shoulders for a moment. The action was so personal, so intimate that Eloise was obliged to set her jaw hard to stifle a gasp. The air, so calm a moment ago, now seemed charged with expectation. She knew a brief disappointment when he stepped back and waited for her to stroll on. She stole a glance at him. An exquisitely tailored waistcoat hugged his body, accentuating the broad shoulders. She was dazzled by the whiteness of his billowing shirtsleeves and the tumbling folds of his neckcloth. She found her eyes wandering down the tapering form. The slim hips and flat abdomen drew her attention, as did the strongly muscled thighs outlined by the pantaloons. Swallowing, she dragged her gaze back to his face, but the sight of his clean, chiselled jaw and raven-black hair gave her no relief from the sudden fire that was engulfing her. She realised Jack was watching her, a faint, glinting smile in his eyes. Heavens, had she considered him an adventurer? He was far more dangerous than that! She looked away and began to walk again, this time at a much quicker pace.

‘We should not linger, sir, or it is you who might catch a chill. I see a balustrade directly ahead of us. Is that the end of the garden?’

‘Yes, it runs along a high ridge. There is a fine view of the park from that point.’

Eloise walked on. The scrunch of the gravel beneath her firm step was reassuringly crisp and business-like. The major had fallen in beside her, his long legs allowing him to take a much more leisurely stride.

‘I understand Mortimer will be joining us tomorrow.’ His voice was perfectly calm. ‘Renwick tells me you particularly asked that he should be invited.’

‘Yes.’ Had she told him the real reason for coming here? She could not recall. ‘I did not wish to find myself here without any good friends to keep me company. Of course, I did not know then that you would be here.’

Eloise winced: that was just such a flirtatious remark as he might expect from her. She glanced up. Jack’s smile had disappeared, and he was looking directly ahead, his lips pressed firmly together. She sighed and huddled beneath his coat. She turned her head to rub her cheek against the lapel. The fine wool was soft on her skin and she breathed in the faint slightly spicy scent that she now associated with Jack Clifton.

The balustrade was soon reached and she gazed out in genuine admiration at the park stretching out before her, bathed in moonlight. They were standing on a ridge with the land falling away on all sides. The full moon sailing high above cast a silvery sheen over the landscape.

‘It is beautiful,’ she breathed.

‘Yes. Renwick’s grandfather planned it all and planted the trees.’ He pointed. ‘Down there to the south, just beyond the lake, is the deer park.’

Eloise looked around. ‘And what is that building on the promontory over there?’

‘That is the Temple of Diana. The family used to hold dinner parties there, but now I think it is employed mainly by the ladies of the house for their sketching. The path between the temple and the house is thickly wooded, but the views on the other three sides are magnificent. Would you like to walk there now?’

The temptation to accept was very great, to prolong this magical time together, but she knew she must not. She shook her head.

‘Thank you, but no. I think it is time we returned to the house. They will be serving tea soon.’

She took one final look at the little Temple of Diana with its elegant cupola outlined against the night sky. The shallow steps and graceful columns looked most romantic, and the idea of being there in the moonlight with Jack sent a little shiver of excitement down her spine. All the more reason to return to the safety of the house, she thought, setting off back along the path. Without a word Jack fell into step beside her and they walked in silence back through the gardens. She laughed to herself: if she had been alone with any other man he would have taken the opportunity to make love to her, at least to flirt—here she was in the moonlight with the most attractive man she had ever known and he was behaving with perfect propriety.

And she hated it.

They slipped back into the house by the little glazed door and Eloise handed Jack his coat.

‘You will need this before you rejoin the others, Major.’

She helped him into it, telling herself it was necessary for her hands to smooth the coat over his broad shoulders, to brush a speck of dust from one lapel, but it was such an intimate gesture that her mouth went dry and her fingers trembled. Jack caught her hand and carried to his lips. She was immobilised by the tenderness of the gesture. She looked up and did not move as he lowered his head towards her.