Jane Ashford (13 page)

This partial echoing of her own thoughts left Laura speechless for a moment. Did he understand, after all? Before she could speak, however, Mr. Redmon came up to take his leave. Soon after, Clarissa went up to bed, floating on a cloud of elation. Eliot rose and held out a hand. “We may as well follow her. It is late.”

Still confused, Laura walked up the stairs beside him. Outside her bedroom door, they stopped. “I hope you will think over what I have said, Laura,” murmured Eliot. “I want you to be happy.” He bent toward her, and Laura, startled, moved away a little. Eliot smiled and took her chin in his hand. “You must become accustomed to having a husband, my dear,” he said, and bending his head, he kissed her full on the lips.

Utterly surprised, Laura did not know how to respond. After all their wrangling, now this. So she merely stood, passive, as he straightened, murmured, “Sleep well,” and turned away to his own room.

Laura didn’t move for a long moment, then she turned hastily and went into her bedroom, her heart beating wildly. Leaning against the bedpost, she took several deep breaths and tried to calm herself.

A movement across the room caught her eye. It was her own reflection in the mirror over the dressing table. Her cheeks were glowing, her black eyes were very wide, and her uneven breathing was evident. “Whatever is wrong with me?” she said aloud, but the reflection made no answer.

Laura rose in good time the next morning and washed and dressed quickly. During the night, she had resolved never to see Mr. Allenby again. And she would remind Eliot of his dinner invitation. Surely this would be the beginning of a better understanding between them. She took the note she had written Mr. Allenby and walked down to the front hall to leave it.

But just as she was about to put it down, Eliot looked out of the library across the way and called to her. She started a bit guiltily and stuffed the note into the pocket of her gown. It would not do for Eliot to see the direction. She smiled at him a little shyly, the memory of last night making her flush, and said good morning.

He returned her greeting without smiling. “May I speak to you a moment, Laura?” he asked. “Will you come into the library, please.”

His tone was not encouraging, and Laura’s smile faded. “Of course,” she replied.

In the library he ushered her to a chair, then returned to the desk. He had obviously been looking over some bills and papers. Laura frowned slightly. Was he upset about expenses? But he picked up a letter, written on fine pressed notepaper, and tapped it with his finger, frowning. “I do not like to speak of this,” he said finally. “I abhor talebearing, and this is the sort of thing that one should always ignore. But in this case, Laura, I cannot.” He tapped the letter again.

Laura stared at it with fascinated apprehension. What did he mean, talebearing? But he was looking at her. “In, indeed?” she stammered.

He nodded. His expression was still set and unsmiling. He seemed a different man from the one who had bid her good night so tenderly. “I imagine you know what it must contain.”

Laura merely looked at him, wide-eyed. She shook her head.

“Oh come. Let us not have any silly sparring. The note comes from Lady Quale. She writes to inform me that you have been living in Mr. Allenby’s pocket during my absence. A piece of impertinence, of course, but Laura, what do you mean by going against my express wishes in this way? Did I not ask you not to see Allenby?”

The mention of Lady Quale made Laura’s eyes spark. “You do not question her tale?” she asked him. “You believe it before I speak?”

“Not if you tell me it is untrue,” he answered. “Do you?”

Laura’s eyes dropped. She would have liked nothing better at that moment than to tell him so, but she could not lie to him again. She started to speak, but he was before her.

“You cannot. So Jack Allenby first called here, you received him, and then you went out driving with him alone.” His voice was like a lash.

Laura raised her eyes again. The look she met in his almost frightened her. There was blazing anger and a bitterness that hurt her to see.

Once more he spoke before she could. “Perhaps I was mistaken in you. You appear to have a taste for company totally out of keeping with your upbringing and birth. But I warn you, I will not allow an entanglement with Allenby. However charming you may find him, and I am told that he can be extraordinarily so, it will not do. Make up your mind to it.”

“But I do not find him charming,” retorted Laura. “You do not understand.” She started to tell him that she had done it only because he had spoken to her so harshly, but he did not let her finish.

“Do not, I beg you, try to fob me off with some faradiddle about Allenby’s polite manners, Laura. The point is not whether you like him; you have already told me that you do, you may recall. It is rather that I asked you to do a thing, and you have defied me in the most blatant way. I think we understand each other very well. You knew my wishes, and now I see how you regard them. Very well. Now I shall know how to proceed.” He stood. “And be assured that I
can
stop you from doing what I do not like, Laura.” His eyes on her were hard. “You have entered a contest you cannot win, my dear.”

Laura’s desire to explain herself and beg his pardon had faded as he spoke. His contemptuous tone and cutting words hurt her deeply, and his refusal to listen to her explanation angered her. But this time her temper did not get the best of her. The hurt was too sharp, and she felt tears starting in her eyes. Blinking them back, she said, “If only you would let me…”

But Eliot would not pause to listen. He was thoroughly angry and completely taken up with his own inner turmoil. Though he never would have acknowledged it, he was wounded by her defiance. In his view he had done everything in his power to provide for and protect her, and she had thrown it back in his face with contempt. He was in no mood to hear explanations.

“After this,” he said, “you will always inform me of your plans to go out and where you are going. I shall judge whether the destination is proper for you. And I have written to my mother; she will be coming to stay with us next week.” He picked up a sealed envelope from the desk.

Laura’s chin came up. “How dare you speak to me so? I am not a child to be ordered about.”

“No? You are certainly acting like one. I have said what I have to say. I think you understand me.” And without a backward glance, he strode out of the room.

Laura stood for a moment in enraged astonishment, gasping at his arrogant injustice. If he thought that she would come running to tell him each time she went out, he was much mistaken. Laura reached into her pocket and tugged at the note secreted there. She pulled it out, a bit crumpled, and walked quickly over to throw it in the fire. So she was to be chaperoned by his mother? She would show him. She waited only to see the paper catch fire before hurrying from the room.

Laura and Eliot had no further private conversations before the day of the masquerade. Indeed Laura saw little of the family in the two intervening days. Clarissa began her driving lessons promptly and spent a part of every afternoon with the marquess, tooling his curricle along the little-traveled roads he chose for their sessions. This provided a perfect opportunity for each of them. Clarissa was able to improve her acquaintance with a man she admired, and Mr. Redmon could see her without much risk of being recognized. He had a reasonable excuse for seeking out-of-the-way lanes, telling Clarissa that she must become skilled before trying the busy streets around the park and Bond Street.

Eliot did not again refer to their disagreement, though Laura began to suspect that he had set Mr. Dunham to keep watch over her. She encountered the man much more often than usual, and he seemed to look at her with a combination of narrow watchfulness and vindicated suspicion. This heightened her determination not to be bullied, and she made her preparations for the masquerade with care. She did not wish to be stopped as she went out.

Monday evening, Clarissa was invited to the Rundgates’. She was to take the barouche, and Nancy would accompany her. Laura had cried off, which was not thought at all unusual since the party was composed wholly of youngsters. Thus Clarissa departed blithely just before dinner, wishing her sister enjoyment of the new novel she had gotten that day.

Eliot was not in to dinner, so Laura was spared making excuses when she retired to her room soon after Clarissa’s departure. She rang for Mary immediately, pacing the floor until she arrived. When the maid knocked and came in, Laura schooled her features to a bland fatigue and greeted her tiredly. “Hello, Mary,” she said, “I find I am quite tired out tonight. I think I will go to bed early. In fact I propose to lie down now and read in bed for a while. I will probably fall asleep quite soon. Would you fetch me a glass of hot milk, please?”

Mary raised her eyebrows. Her mistress had never asked for such a thing before, but she curtsied and said, “Of course, ma’am. I’m sorry you’re knocked up. Though it’s no wonder, with all the running about you have been doing. Shall I help you into your nightdress?”

“No. I can manage. Just bring the milk, please.”

Mary went out, and Laura sank down on the bed and sighed. This was not pleasant. In fact she hated it. She had never tried to deceive anyone in her life, and she did not much like herself at this moment.

Briefly she considered simply forgetting the whole matter. She could truly go to bed now and read her novel, sending a note of apology to Mr. Allenby tomorrow. She was tired and had a slight headache, and the thought of such a lazy evening attracted her much more than the prospect of a noisy masquerade. But even as she almost gave in, she shook her head. She had decided on a course of action, and she would carry it through. The words Eliot had used to her were intolerable; he must be made to understand that she could not be ordered about.

Sighing again, she put on her dressing gown over her dress, pulled down the bedcovers and got into bed. Her evening dress would be a little crumpled, but no one would see it under the domino. She pulled the coverlet up and reached for her nightcap.

Mary returned in a few minutes with a glass of hot milk on a tray. She found Laura propped up on her pillows, reading. “Here you are, ma’am,” she said, putting the tray on the table beside the bed. “Nice and hot. Cook made it herself.”

“Thank you,” said Laura. “That is just what I want tonight. I daresay I shall be asleep in ten minutes. Please do not let anyone disturb me, Mary.”

“No ma’am.” Mary moved about the room for a few minutes, straightening things and making certain the curtains were pulled tightly shut; then she bid Laura good night and went out.

Laura waited several minutes more before she got up again and took off her dressing gown. She shook the creases from her dress and pulled the covers back up on the bed, laying her nightcap on the pillow above them. Then she pulled the bedcurtains shut, put away her dressing gown, and retrieved the domino from the depths of her wardrobe, where she had thrust it the week before. She snuffed all of the candles but one, setting it on her dressing table so that she could straighten her hair. She found as she did so that her hands were trembling.

At last she was ready. She went to the door and listened. There was no sound in the corridor. Putting out the last candle, she eased the door open and slipped out. There was no one about, and Laura walked quickly to the back stairs at the end of the hall. The servants were safely out of the way in the kitchen by this time of night, and Eliot was not yet home. She ought to be able to get out through the side door unnoticed.

And indeed she did so. Once outside she paused to pull the black domino over her lavender crepe gown; she had chosen subdued colors this evening. She left the hood down at first, for now that she was ready, she paused. In the last few minutes, she had been occupied by getting out of the house unnoticed, but now, she had a minute to think. Did she really wish to do this thing, she asked herself? The anger that had led her to the decision had long since cooled, and she knew the answer was no. She did not wish to. Laura frowned, half turned, and put her hand on the door latch once again. She would not go. She had started to lift the latch when she suddenly heard noises within. She turned quickly and ran across the area to the archway that led to the street. There she waited a moment to see if whoever was approaching would go away again.

A light showed beyond the door; then it opened to show Mr. Dunham carrying a branch of candles. He held it up and peered about the flagged area as Laura shrank back into the shadows. It seemed to Laura that the man looked about for a long time, but finally he retreated. He shut the door, and Laura heard the sharp click of the bolt on the other side being shot home. She clenched her fists. She could not return this way now. Her only entrance was the great front door, and if she used her latchkey at this hour, someone was bound to see her. She twisted her hands together briefly, then pulled up her hood, and stepped into the street.

Laura groped in her reticule and retrieved the piece of paper containing the address of Mr. Allenby’s friends. She had agreed to meet him there, for he could hardly come to fetch her. As she found a hack and climbed in, Laura was once again, and more forcefully, struck by the impropriety of this arrangement. As she rode, she wished miserably that she had never begun it and hoped that no one would see her arrive in this unorthodox manner.

***

Her wish was not granted. As she paid off the driver in front of the narrow house on Mount Street and turned toward the front door, she saw that at least two other guests had witnessed her arrival. A cloaked couple stood on the steps already, and the door was just opening for them to enter. Laura ducked her head, letting the hood of her domino fall forward, and reluctantly moved to join them. She hardly dared to meet their eyes as they went in together; they were strangers to her and merely murmured greetings. But when she did look up, Laura was surprised to see that they showed no curiosity or shock whatsoever. The woman’s languid face showed mild amusement, that was all.

Before they could remove their cloaks, a gay voice called from the head of the stairs, and all three looked up to see a slender woman in pink gauze waving to them. “Do not take off your dominoes,” she cried. “We are ready, and you are the last to arrive. Let us go. It is so stupid to sit about here when we might be dancing.” With that she disappeared.

The woman next to Laura murmured, “Lila is
aux
anges
this evening, I see. That is a relief.”

The woman’s companion bent to whisper something in her ear, and she laughed ringingly, throwing back her head to reveal carefully dressed brown locks streaked with gray and a visage rather heavily covered by cosmetics.

Neither of the two addressed Laura, and she stood a bit uncomfortably until the rest of the party came strolling down the stairs, chattering and laughing. Some wore dominoes and others carried them negligently over their arms. Their appearance reassured Laura a bit. Though she knew none of them, she was certain she had seen several at parties she had attended.

She saw Mr. Allenby the moment before he joined her. He also wore a black domino, which hung open now over a blue coat and fawn-colored knee breeches. Two masks dangled by their strings in his hand. Laura breathed a sigh of relief. She had noticed that many of the group carried such masks and was wondering with dismay where she would find one.