Fallen Angel (58 page)

There was only one other lady she could think of who stood to fill the void—Lady Elizabeth Heatherington. The prospect was only marginally less harrowing.

Through a veil of misery, she listened to the viscount converse on the various members of his family and wished with all her heart that she might have been the one to be welcomed into its ranks. She was sure she did not know what the Verney ladies would make of the "Toast," whereas She, Maddie Sinclair, was a bird of the Verney feather and would soon have found an agreeable patch for herself.

Their walk had taken them quite round the square. At the door to Miss Maitland's he took his leave of her.

"I want your word on it, Maddie, that you won't run away from me again."

"You have it," she said, her eyes fixed on a point above his head.

"Don't look so bleak, my dear. Everything is going to be just as you wish it."

"Is it?" She would have given anything if only they could go back to the beginning and start over. It was not possible, and it was very evident that Deveryn had judged her and found her sadly wanting. She did not blame him.

"I'll take care of all the arrangements."

His words had the ring of finality. No one of her acquaintance had ever been divorced before. What did she know of it? Perhaps, like her clandestine marriage, all that would be required was a simple declaration before witnesses.
I
,
Maddie Sinclair, do declare that I divorce .
. .She
could never say those words—never.

"A week, Maddie," he said softly, "only a week, and then you need never again be plagued by my . . . unhallowed affections."

It was to be one of the wretchedest weeks of Maddie's life. Her dreams were invaded by the weirdest images of herself, whip in hand, scourging a bevy of alluring beauties who thought to steal the affections of the rakish viscount. And damn if he didn't seem to be enjoying every minute of it! It left her quite vexed with him.

And if that nightmare were not bad enough, she was plagued at other times with the spectacle of Bedlam. She seemed to move at will in and out of its awful chambers. But she was ever drawn back by Caro Lamb who, for a lark, had decided to take up residence. There were horrible sights of inmates chained to the walls and ferociously devouring, quite literally, the pages of Lady Caro's novel. Maddie tried desperately to persuade the other woman to come away with her, but no argument she put forward made the slightest dent on Caro's airy refusal. She appealed to a flock of birds which had found perches on the branches of an avenue of oak trees—birds, which had very oddly assumed the identities of the Verney ladies. She wakened every morning with a throbbing head and her nightgown soaked with perspiration.

Nor was she served any better during the daylight hours for to wrestle with Euripides's
Medea
had suddenly become a terrible trial to her. Truth to tell, she longed to march into the drama as if it were reality and take Medea by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. She thought that if she never again heard the name "Medea" it would be too soon for her comfort, and wondered, horror of horrors, how long it would be before the wretched woman took to stalking her in her dreams.

Not unnaturally, as a result of these conscious and
unconscious cogitations, Maddie's conviction that she had conducted herself with all the aplomb of a featherbrained hodcock became firmly fixed in her mind. She was too bright a girl not to discern the message that came from her dreams. That she wished that she could be more like her mother was very evident, but that she feared that she was too much like Lady Caro was no less so. She discovered that she pitied that lady who, like Medea, was wonderfully revenged upon her enemies, but at an astronomical cost to herself and those she loved. The pity of it was that she had not seen it sooner.

Deveryn was right, she decided. Where there was love, there could be no question of revenge. And that she loved him went without saying. She thought that the honourable thing to do was to step aside and leave the field open for some other, more conformable lady who would make him happy. She could not do it. Deveryn belonged to
her,
and she could not, with anything resembling equanimity, see him go to another.

There was only one thing to be done. She must attach him to herself before it was too late, before his betrothal was made public. There was no time for long involved explanations or persuasive appeals. Necessity demanded that she take the most direct approach. Seduction became her object.

It was, however, a full week before she was to see him again. The girls had just filed out of the room when the door opened and the viscount entered. That he left the door open, circumspectly, she took as a bad omen.

"My yacht docked yesterday," he said and moved to the centre of the room, keeping his distance.

This would never do. "Will you excuse me for a moment," she said, and slipped into the corridor to make sure that the coast was clear. When she came back into the room, she carefully and deliberately closed the door. He was lounging against her desk, going through her notes. He looked up and smiled, just so. Her heart turned over.

She pinned what she hoped was a seductive smile to her lips and slowly advanced upon him. He straightened, instinct making him cautious.

"They're at Drumoak, now," he said, his eyes narrowing speculatively.

"Are they?" she asked, and was surprised at the huskiness in her voice.

 
He looked at her oddly. "Maddie, what are you up to?"

 
 
It was now or never. "Jason," she said, and threw herself into his arms. Her hands caught in his hair and pulled his head down. For a moment, he went rigid, but in the next instant she was crushed to his chest and he was kissing her passionately. Her joy was to be short lived. He reached up and dragged her hands from his neck and held her at arm's length. His voice, unsteady, low, vibrated with emotion. She thought it might be anger.

 
"Now, you come to me—
now,
when to take you would be so wrong."

 
"Jason!" she cried out, and put out her hands to draw him back.

 
He stepped away from her as if she were temptation personified. "No! It is not seemly! How can you ask it of me? It is out of the question."

 
"Why is it wrong?" she said, moving closer.

 
"Maddie, I'm warning you, keep your distance." And he ranged himself on the other side of the desk. "You can't understand," he told her roughly. "I gave my solemn word, as a gentleman."

 
"You promised not to kiss me?"

 
"Oh, nothing personal," he replied with a flash of his old humour. "I'm under a vow of celibacy, that is all."

 
She stared at him with eyes widened in horror. "Jason," she whispered, "you're not. . . you haven't . . . oh, my God, you're not thinking of converting to Catholicism?"

 
"What?" Her words mystified him.

 
"A priest?" she whispered hoarsely.

 
Bright laughter spilled from his lips. When he could contain himself, he said, "Maddie, use your God-given wits. A priest! I?
  
The Viscount Deveryn?"

 
"Oh," she said, and, feeling her legs buckle under her, weakly slumped into the nearest chair. "Then why?"

"It was a promise I made to a lady," he said. He studied the droop of her shoulders, the mist of tears in her eyes. His expression gentled. "I've brought your wedding dress," he said. "Will you wear it for me?"

 
"I'm to wear my wedding dress?"

The words seemed to be dragged out of him. "Only if you wish it."

She gazed into his inscrutable expression and knew that everything was lost. From depths she did not know she possessed, she dredged up a watery smile. "I shall wear it with pleasure," she said mendaciously.

He visibly relaxed, as though, she thought pettishly, he was relieved that she had yielded so graciously. What did he expect? Tears would avail her nothing. And she had too much pride to beg. But oh, she was sure that her broken heart would never mend again.

"It's fixed for tomorrow," he said.

"It is?"

"They'll all be there."

"Fine." She had no clear idea what he was talking about. She was sure she did not care. Her voice had become very unsteady, and she could not trust herself to speak.

"Tomorrow, Maddie, before breakfast. Be ready for me," were his last words to her.

She was wakened by one of the maids long before the breakfast bell was sounded. "Lord Deveryn is downstairs," said Sally when Maddie finally stretched and moved to get out of bed. "He asked me to give you this," and she set down a large box at the foot of the bed. Inside, beneath layers of tissue paper, was Maddie's wedding gown.

She donned it with trembling fingers and was not surprised when she could not do up the top buttons at the back. Fortunately, the matching spencer was looser, and modesty was served. At the door, she hesitated and turned back into the room as if under some compulsion. From her dresser, she removed the lace handkerchief which concealed her three lucky charms—the angel, the baby, and the ring. She tried to shake off the strange humour that had come upon her, but to no avail. Without understanding why she was moved to do so, she tucked them inside her glove and felt oddly comforted.

As she descended the stairs, her heart was in her throat. Deveryn came forward to take her arm. In his buff coloured knee breeches with matching waistcoat and dark coloured coat, she thought he looked as formal as she had ever seen him.

A terrible suspicion took root in her mind. "Deveryn," she said, "have you seen the solicitor?"

"You look . . . enchanting," he murmured, and kissed her gloved hand. "Yes, I've seen the solicitor. Everything is just as it should be."

She absorbed his words, numbed, stricken to her very soul. They were in the closed carriage and in George Street before she had gathered enough courage to say "Is . . . is Lady Elizabeth Heatherington to be there?"

"No. I never thought to ask her. Shall you mind?"

"Good God, no!"

Hope sprang up in her heart then almost immediately died. What did it matter who the lady was? It was not
she,
and nothing but pain and misery could attend her going to Drumoak under such circumstances. She tried to imagine how she might conduct herself when the announcement was made. The picture which came to her mind was so horrifying, so mortifying, that it did not bear contemplating.

They were at the village of Inverforth before Maddie took her courage into her hands. She cut across Deveryn's spate of small talk with an anguished plea. "Jason, please!" she begged. "I don't know if I can go through with this."

He turned eyes as blue as cornflowers upon her, eyes as enigmatic and inscrutable as those of a marble statue. Her nerve faltered under that impassive stare.

"We're here," he said, as the coach rolled to a stop.

She sat in misery looking down at her clenched fists.

"It's where it all began, Maddie," she heard him say with so much tenderness in his voice that hope kindled in her heart once more. "For auld lang syne. I thought it fitting somehow. Don't say you've changed your mind!"

He assisted her to alight.

"Inverforth Parish Church," he said.

For long, mesmerizing, timeless moments, they stood transfixed, as if all had receded and they were seeing each other for the first time. He had come to her in the night, out of the dark storm, as she had come to him. There had been magic in the air. A benign providence had been at work and had taken the sad, ugly circumstances which surrounded them and shaped them to a kinder end.

He was her destiny. She was his. What matter the how, the why, or the wherefore? Her fingers closed on the silver symbols inside her gloved hand. He was her destiny. She would never let him go.

With one long finger, he tipped her chin up. "Maddie, love," he said softly, "it's not too late to change your mind. Tell me now if I'm still unforgiven, if your father still stands between us, and I swear I'll take you wherever you wish to go and see that you're well provided for." He took a deep, steadying breath, and spoke almost as if from memory, "I'm not proud of the way I used you at Dunsdale, and as for London . . ." he broke off. "Oh hell, Maddie, I know I've been an abominable husband! You must think that there's one thing ever on my mind. I swear it is not so. I shall try to be worthy of you, I promise, if only you'll give me another chance. Maddie," he said persuasively, possessing himself of her hands, "we shall make our home in Scotland, if you like—Africa, for all I care." Misunderstanding her silence, he asked in a despairing tone, "Maddie, don't you love me? Don't you want me? Have I destroyed every hope for us?"