A Regency Charade (20 page)

Alec turned to the window and stared out with unseeing eyes. “I suppose that it isn’t possible for you to return to Three Oaks without revealing to Grandfather the truth of our situation.”

“How can I fail to do so? Mama and I can’t stay hidden in the house … and since you will not be with me, how else can I explain to him …?”

“Yes. Yes, of course you’re right.”

“Besides, this sort of thing is bound to leak out sooner or later. Any chance encounter … a visitor from London … a servant …”

“Yes,” Alec said sadly. “I must tell him, then.”

“I … I’m sorry, Alec. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve been racking my brain all day …”

“Thank you.” He sighed hopelessly. “Can’t be helped, I suppose.”

“Do you think … would it be easier for him if we … told him together?”

He turned round and studied her wonderingly. “Would you be
willing
to do that?”

She sank down on the sofa, her head lowered. “I’d find it painful in the extreme. But if you think it would help …”

He came a few steps toward her. “It would help even more, you know,” he suggested hopefully, “if you remained
here
and let him continue to believe …”

She turned her face away. “I c-can’t, Alec. You shouldn’t ask it of me.”

“But why not? It would be doing me the most enormous favor … and thus it couldn’t be considered charity.”

She looked up at him, her face tortured. “This house is … a prison to me now.”

He stared at her. “A
prison
? But … why?”

She lowered her head and made a little gesture with her hand, as if to say the matter was too difficult to speak of. “Don’t ask me! You wouldn’t understand.”

He knelt before her and tried to see her face. “Try me. Please.”

“I … it’s … too full of … painful memories, don’t you see? I
can’t
…”

He looked at her wonderingly, the thought occurring for the first time that perhaps he had made a mistake about her life during these past six years. “I had no
idea
—” he murmured.

Her head came up, her eyes blazing. “Of
course
you had no idea! You told me quite clearly what you think of m-me! But I have
not
… m-made merry … behind your back and under your roof, whatever you may choose to think! To me there is nothing in this house now but gloom and horrid m-memories, and I won’t stay here a day longer than I must!” And she turned away from him again and hid her face in her hands.

He stood up, feeling completely bemused and ashamed. Had he been wrong about her liaison with Edmonds during his absence? Had she truly spent the last six years alone in this house waiting for him and trying to make amends? His throat burned, and his heart ached in sudden sympathy for her. No wonder she wanted to leave this house!

It would make a difference in his feeling for her, of course, if she were truly repentent over what she’d done to him earlier. If it was indeed true that she had lived the life of a woman of character since he’d left her, he couldn’t
hate
her. It could
not
, however, make up for her original deception. Whatever had or had not occurred since, it was still true that she’d married him while loving another and had made a mockery of what he had believed was the most joyful time of his life. For
that
he could never forgive her. Nevertheless, he didn’t wish her to spend a lifetime suffering for it.

He took a seat on the sofa beside her, pulled her hands from her face and held them. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I should not have asked you to remain here. I have no right to ask you to make such a sacrifice.”

“B-But … if the Earl should … die … because of m-me …”

“Perhaps we are taking too dim a view of that. He is a man of deep inner resources. If we tell him together, after you’ve taken up residence in your mother’s house, it is quite possible that the news won’t strike him with so great a blow as we fear.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, withdrawing her hands from his grasp and moving a small distance away from him.

The movement was not lost on him. He got to his feet. “Well, I needn’t keep you any longer. Thank you for your concern for my grandfather. Under the … er … circumstances, it is more than kind.”

She swallowed and dashed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hands. “You needn’t thank me,” she said unsteadily. “I l-love him too, you know.”

“Yes, I know. He spoke to me of your frequent visits and kind attentions to him while I was abroad.” He tried to go on, to express his gratitude, but he felt uncomfortable, guilty and uncertain. It had been easier to despise her as a completely artful deceiver than to feel this ambivalent, divided emotion. Meanwhile, she was giving him no sign of dismissal. Did she want him to go or stay? He hesitated, not knowing what to do next.

“It’s heartbreaking that the Earl can’t have his party,” Priss said, half to herself.

“Yes. It would seem to be such a small thing to do for him. And yet there is no possible way …”

Priss’s eyes filled with tears again, and one trickled down her cheek. “It would have given him such pleasure …”

He sighed. “There’s little point in crying over it, my dear. If there’s no possibility …” His brow knit as a preposterous thought struck him. “Or
is
there?”

She lifted her head. “What? Have you thought of something?”

“Yes. Something quite maggoty. It doesn’t bear scrutiny. Never mind. We shall have to manage with the plan we have.”

“But what
is
it? Surely we can examine it a bit.”

He looked at her speculatively. “I’m embarrassed even to
suggest
it. Believe me, my dear, it’s a very foolish idea indeed.”

“Really Alec,” she said with a touch of asperity, “you are making me itch with curiosity. What
is
it?”

“I’m certain you’d never
consider
such a scheme. I was going to suggest that we simply
pretend
to be happily married and
have
the blasted party.”

She gaped at him. “
Pretend
? How?”

He flushed. “It was only a passing conceit, a product of a desperate and fevered imagination. Forget that I ever—”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Alec, stop behaving like a bobbing-block! Sit down and explain yourself.”

“Well, you see,” he said sheepishly, seating himself beside her again, “it would only be for a fortnight, after all—or even less, if matters became unmanageable. All we need do, really, is invite a small, select group of people whom we can trust, warn them not to breathe a word about our separation, and make our appearance at Braeburn hand-in-hand, as if nothing had ever happened between us. The only requirement for us would be to behave with civilized politeness toward each other—that’s all the affection other married couples of my acquaintance seem to show, at least in public—and let Grandfather enjoy the sight of us. He could have his merriment and his festivities, just as he wishes.”

“But … that would solve nothing! After the party ended, we would be right where we are now!”

He shrugged. “I didn’t promise you a miracle, my dear. Only a party. After it ended, we would tell him the truth, just as we’ve decided to do in any case. Only … he would have had his party first, that’s all.”

She stared at him as if he were a loony. “No, no! It’s an impossible scheme. I couldn’t possibly go through with it.”

“I can readily understand that.” Alec patted her hand comfortingly and got to his feet. “I knew it was a preposterous suggestion.”

“Yes, it was. There would be a
thousand
difficulties. Why, I could never even look you in the eye. I could never convince
anyone
, much less a man as shrewd as the Earl, that everything was loving and good between us. Neither could you, for that matter—you never had the slightest skill in dissembling. One or the other of us would be bound to give the show away. Or even if
we
managed it, one of the guests would say something wrong and spoil everything. And if Grandfather learned the truth
that
way, it might be the worst possible thing for him. Besides, I’d counted on my time at Three Oaks to start a
new
life for myself, not prolong the old. I need to wash away all these memories. I’ve wasted so much time already. I want to start living a life of some meaning and purpose. And furthermore, there’s the matter of wardrobe. It’s been so long since I attended any parties, I no longer have the sort of clothing one needs for an entire fortnight of festivities. I’d need at least three new dinner gowns and a pair of dancing slippers and all
sorts
of trumperies, because there would
have
to be one or two evenings of music and dancing, you know, and truly, I haven’t the stomach for that sort of thing now. I sincerely doubt that my face could stand so long a period of false smiles and artificial merrymaking. And—”

“All right, Priss! Enough!” Smiling wryly, he held up his hand to stop her. “I
do
understand. Truly. And I completely agree with everything you’ve said. It’s an impossible scheme.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. I’ll do it.”

He couldn’t have understood her. “What?”

“I’ll
do
it. I’ll write to him tonight and tell him we accept his invitation. Shall we say the beginning of next month?”

“Priss! Do you
mean
it?”

“I shall probably detest the entire affair,” she said bravely, “but he deserves to have a small bit of celebrating before he … at this time of his life. So let’s go ahead and do it for him.”

He studied her for a moment, torn again between gratitude and suspicion. Reluctantly, he uttered a reminder. “You
do
realize, don’t you, that nothing fundamental will be changed by all of this? And that, at the end of the fortnight, we must face him and tell him the truth?”

Her face tightened immediately, and she gave him a glance of withering scorn. “You didn’t need to remind me. It will be a fact constantly at the forefront of my mind. If you wish to have the truth, I can hardly wait for all this to be over … so that I may see the last of you.”

She swept to the door and held it open for him. As he passed into the hallway, now deserted, he turned back to her. “Thank you for your generosity in this, my dear. Whatever else is wrong between us, this will be something that will ever deserve my gratitude.”

“There is not the least need for pretty speeches, my lord,” she said, starting for the stairs. “I’m not doing this for
you
.” As she put her foot on the first step, her eye fell on the looking glass. Looking over her shoulder, she asked curiously, “Is that mirror really your mother’s?”

He tossed her a sidelong glance as he picked up his hat. “Well, you see … I was quite furious with you—”

She could not follow the non sequitur. “What?” she asked.

“For cutting off all your lovely hair, you know.”

“Alec!… Do you mean to say that you … you …?” she sputtered.

He set his hat on his head jauntily and opened the front door. “Yes, I’m afraid I lied. My mother never had a Stourbridge looking glass at all, as far as I know,” he said, grinning broadly.

“Well, of all the
toplofty
—!” she began furiously.

But he’d whisked himself out of the house and shut the door.

Chapter Fifteen

It became evident almost at once that the deceptive little plot would not be as easy to execute as Alec had expected. The first stumbling block occurred when Alec sent his list of suggested guests to Priss for her approval. Telling her that she was free to add whomever she wished, he had listed only three names: Garvin Danforth (who had insisted on being invited, claiming that he’d already written to his employer that he would not return to his post for another month and that he had no wish to spend the time in London without Alec), Clio Vickers (who had informed Alec flatly, when he’d confided his plans to her, that she had no intention of permitting him to go gallivanting off on an intimate fortnight with her cousin Priscilla unless she was present to protect her interests), and Ferdinand Sellars (who’d told him frankly that he hated the country, but who’d agreed to go along when Alec pleaded that he needed Ferdie close by to protect his sanity.)

He received an icy response from Priss, telling him that if
that
was the sort of female companionship he liked, he could jolly well make up the rest of the guest list himself, so long as he included one of
her
friends, a Miss Ariadne Courdepass of Upper Brook Street, who was demure and modest and would in no way interfere with Miss Clio Vickers’ desire to make a conquest of every man in sight.

Alec, in considerable irritation, showed the letter to Ferdie, but the ex-Major, an unflappable campaigner in both the romantic and the military wars, only laughed. “Your wife has a waspish temper, hasn’t she? I think I’m going to like her. But I don’t know why I’m laughing. The news in this letter bodes ill for me.”

“Why is that?” Alec asked curiously.

“Well, with Clio having eyes only for you, and your wife under the necessity of showing devotion to you as well, the only available female for
me
will be this Miss Courtplaster—”

“Courdepass, you make-bait. Courdepass.”

“She sounds like a courtplaster to me. A sticky little thing, no doubt, being so ‘modest and demure,’ who hangs on to a fellow’s arm for dear life, saying ‘Oh, do you really think so?’ to everything he says. You know, Alec, I think I shall match her up with your friend Danforth the moment we arrive.”

Alec guffawed. “A perfect idea. Go to it. Do you see why I need you there, old man? You’re practically indispensible.”

The second stumbling block was Priss’s determination to settle into her mother’s house as soon as possible. But what would his grandfather think, Alec asked her worriedly, when he heard that she’d arrived at Three Oaks several days before the party and without her husband? After a long and somewhat heated discussion, Lady Vickers conceived an idea which overcame the hurdle. She composed a cheerful letter to the Earl, telling him that she’d grown quite tired of London and had decided, at long last, to come home and open up her Derbyshire house.
After all
, she wrote,
Priss doesn’t need me now that Alec has returned. It’s about time that I took up residence at Three Oaks, the place where I feel most at home. Believe me, my dear friend, there is nothing in the whole of London so pleasing as the Derbyshire air
.