Mesalliance (17 page)

It had been
naïve of him to suppose that merely removing Adeline from the
Franklin’s house and showering her with clothes and jewels would be
enough to mend the damage of the last seven years. Years in which,
layer by layer and brick by brick, she had built a defensive wall
that nothing could penetrate. And which he, stupidly, had expected
to crumble in the space of five days.

He thought
about the Franklin household and her life within it. Lady Miriam,
who plainly disliked her, had treated her as a sort of upper
servant; Richard Horton was extremely unpleasant – if not something
worse; and Diana was an ill-natured brat. Sir Roland was a cipher,
Althea a ghost and Andrew a sulky youth … leaving fourteen-year-old
Tom as Adeline’s only possible friend. Rockliffe’s mouth tightened
as he tried to imagine what that had been like and how lonely she
must have been. All in all, it was not a pretty picture.

His own
behaviour, too, had been less than perfect. Thinking about it now,
it was hard to understand how he could have recognised that she
needed time to become accustomed to her new position but not that
she also needed time to become comfortable with himself. The hope
that she might immediately fall into his arms for no better reason
than that it was what he wanted, was as selfish as it was asinine;
as for allowing his disappointment to get the better of him for a
moment … that had been downright crass and he was damned if he
would let it happen again.

He re-examined
the thought that had occurred to him much earlier in the evening.
The tantalising notion that, if he only employed a little patience,
there might come a time when the desire was not his alone - but
hers also. And for that, he suddenly knew, he was prepared to wait
as long as was necessary … because the rewards would undoubtedly be
worth it.

The maid
Matthew had chosen was a neat, capable-looking young woman who
admitted to having been born Martha Jane Potter but begged to be
known to the household as Jeanne. It was not until later that
Adeline discovered that this [being a matter of status and fashion]
was perfectly right and proper; and by then, Martha Jane was
following her to Kent along with Nell’s maid and his Grace’s
valet.

Their cavalcade
– which set forth not much more than an hour later than Rockliffe
had intended - arrived at Wynstanton Priors in the early evening
just as the sinking sun gilded mullioned windows and warmed the
pale stone walls. The house thus appeared inviting rather than
impressive and was not as vast as Adeline had feared. Her rooms,
moreover, overlooked rolling parkland and the tree-fringed shores
of the lake – a view which would undoubtedly have delighted her had
her mind not been almost wholly taken up with other matters. But
the truth was that, every time she felt she had her new husband’s
measure, he did something totally unexpected … and she, with
misgiving, was left wondering what he would do next.

The following
morning, Jeanne woke her with a cup of chocolate and then proceeded
to lay out a blue dimity gown that Adeline couldn’t remember having
seen before. When she said so, Jeanne replied that his Grace had
arranged for a wardrobe suitable for a sojourn in the country to be
delivered directly to the estate.

‘
More
clothes? Really?’ asked Adeline, watching the maid deftly twist her
hair up into a simple knot and secure it with a couple of silver
pins. ‘What’s wrong with the ones I already have?’

‘Nothing, my
lady – or not in London. But here in the country, you don’t have to
dress so formally. And with the weather being so warm, I expect his
Grace thought you’d like to have something cooler to wear.’

‘His Grace,’
muttered Adeline beneath her breath, ‘must have more money than
sense.’

‘Beg pardon, my
lady?’

‘Nothing.’ She
eyed her reflection thoughtfully, surprised at how well she looked
and, rising, said ‘Thank you, Jeanne. That’s lovely. How clever of
you.’

The girl
flushed with gratification and dropped a curtsy. ‘It’s a pleasure,
my lady.’

Adeline did not
fully realise the implications of what her maid had said about
country fashions until she neared the foot of the staircase and
Rockliffe emerged from the breakfast-room. His coat was of plain
black cloth and, beneath it, his shirt was open at the neck and
worn without cravat or vest. But it wasn’t his clothes that stopped
her mid-step and made her forget to breathe. His hair, apparently
freshly washed, was unpowdered … and black as a raven’s wing. The
air froze in her lungs, something lurched behind her blue dimity
bodice and she thought foolishly, ‘
Oh. There you are
.’

Catching sight
of her, his Grace started to say good morning and then, absorbing
the expression on her face, said instead, ‘What is it?’

She shook her
head and a strange, almost hesitant smile quivered into being.

Rockliffe
crossed to the foot of the stairs and looked up at her.

‘Adeline?
What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ she
said huskily. ‘Nothing at all.’

‘Then why are
you staring at me as if you’d never seen me before.’

‘Because, for a
long time, I haven’t,’ she replied. And then, simply, ‘Your hair.
I’d started to forget.’

Amusement
stirred, oddly mingled with faint bewilderment.

‘Forget
what?’

‘How it really
looks.’ She paused. ‘Why on earth do you powder it?’

‘I don’t when
I’m here. But in London? Out of habit, I suppose. I gather you
don’t like it.’

‘No.’ Another
pause and then, as if she suddenly realised what she’d been saying,
her colour rose a little and she moved down to the foot of the
stairs. ‘I’m so sorry. That was rude of me.’

‘No – merely
truthful. And you are entitled to your opinion.’ He put an arm
about her waist and swept her to the door. ‘You never know. I might
even take notice of it.’ Then, continuing out on to the porch,
‘Look. And old friend of yours – or so young Tom told me.’

And there,
irritably pawing the gravel and threatening to run away with the
groom who was holding him, was The Trojan.

*

On the
following morning, the Duke found his wife in the stables. The
Trojan, who had nearly succeeded in depositing him in a ditch on
the previous day, nudged Adeline playfully while she fed him bits
of apple. Rockliffe watched for a minute or two and then walked
towards her saying, ‘Tom told me about this. But after the hellish
time that horse gave me yesterday, I came to the conclusion he’d
made it up just so that I’d buy him.’

She turned,
smiling. ‘No. I used to take him an apple every morning. No one
else – aside from Tom, of course – ever went near him if they could
avoid it. That’s why he’s so … difficult.’

‘My dear, the
word difficult really doesn’t cover it. He has the strength of the
devil – as my shoulders and wrists can testify.’ He took the last
piece of apple from her and held it out to the horse. The Trojan
eyed it disdainfully for a moment and then decided to be won over.
‘I’m relieved. I rather thought he might take my hand as well.’

‘I’m sure,’
said Adeline, ‘that you’ll improve his manners. In time.’

‘One would
certainly hope so.’ Rockliffe tucked her hand in his arm, led her
out into the sunlight and strolled on in the direction of the
walled garden. ‘If you would like to learn to ride, I’ll teach
you.’

‘You will?’ She
encompassed him in a wide, beautiful smile. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he
agreed. ‘And now, having done something to please you, I hope
you’ll forgive what I’m about to say. I should begin by pointing
out that, for myself, I have no strong feelings either way … but
I’m bound to mention the matter.’

‘What
matter?’

‘Yesterday I
believe you went down to the kitchens to ask that some water be
sent up for a bath. The results of this simple request appear to
have been legion. The kitchen-maid you spoke to locked herself in
the scullery for an hour having hysterics on account of her Grace,
the Duchess having appeared without warning; your maid was
reprimanded for not being available when you required her; and
someone was sent to your room to make sure that the bell was
working correctly. I trust you are with me so far?’

‘I think so.’
There was a tremor of something that might have been laughter in
her voice. ‘Who told you all this?’

‘My valet.’ He
did not add that Perkins, though he had maintained a perfectly
straight face, had clearly not been blind to the funny side. ‘This,
of course, meant that I then had to have a word with Bolton – since
it is the province of the butler rather than that of my valet, to
apprise me of any malfunction within the household – and Bolton
respectfully requested that I lay the matter before you. Which, I
hope, I have now done.’ He looked down at her with perfect
urbanity. ‘And the moral of this tale is?’

‘Being helpful
isn’t helpful? Or, next time, pull the bell?’

‘Exactly,’ said
Rockliffe. ‘I couldn’t have put it better myself.’

*

In the days
that followed, Rockliffe spent nearly as much time with his bailiff
as he did with his bride … but still managed to extend her
education. He devoted an hour every morning to teaching her to ride
on a placid little mare which was plainly reluctant to move beyond
a trot. Even so, Adeline found it a difficult skill to acquire
until one day, like a bolt from the blue, the knack of controlling
the horse from a side-saddle suddenly came to her. Rockliffe then
produced a rather more lively mount for her to practice on but,
when she asked him if he thought that, one day, she might be able
to ride The Trojan, he said flatly, ‘Over my dead body. Or, if you
were foolish enough to try it, over yours.’

In the
evenings, after dinner, he taught her to dance – and this, being
naturally graceful, came easily to her. While Nell played gavottes
and minuets on the spinet, Adeline held her husband’s hand and trod
sedate measures up and down the long gallery … and was happier than
she had ever been in her life.

Her afternoons
were usually spent with Nell learning to play cards, acquiring a
little French or hearing about some of the people she might expect
to meet on their return to London. Occasionally, Nell – who was
plainly wondering about the precise nature of Adeline’s
relationship with her brother – asked questions which Adeline found
difficult to answer. It would, of course, never do to let her
inquisitive and indiscreet sister-in-law discover that her emotions
were in a state of near-chaos. Especially when she couldn’t, with
the best will in the word, account for it even to herself.

Despite this,
however, the first weeks slid pleasantly by and Adeline began to
settle into her new position. Then, like a hawk descending on
sparrows, Lady Grassmere arrived.

She entered
unannounced, to find her sister laughingly expounding to Adeline
upon the so-called ‘language of the fan’ – a fact in no wise
calculated to improve her mood. And, advancing purposefully into
the abrupt silence of her own creating, she said frostily, ‘Nell. I
have come, as you may imagine, to see Rockliffe. Where is he?’

Nell rose
slowly, her face settling into lines of unconcealed
resignation.

‘Hello,
Lucilla. What took you so long?’

‘I said,’
repeated her ladyship with ominous patience, ‘
where is
Rockliffe
?’

‘How should I
know? He went out with Wilson to see one of the tenants and will no
doubt be back presently. In the meantime, you can meet our new
sister – since I suppose that’s the other reason why you’re
here.’

For the first
time, the grey eyes turned to rest squarely on Adeline. Then,
drawing a long breath, Lucilla said sharply, ‘It’s true, then. He’s
married you?’

‘Yes.’
Adeline’s voice was cool and non-committal.

‘Why?’

‘That, surely,
is a question you had best ask your brother, don’t you think?’

‘I
shall
ask him.’ Her ladyship sat down, spread out her moss-green taffeta
and subjected Adeline to a critical head-to-toe appraisal. ‘Your
name, as I understand it, is Kendrick?’

‘It was,’ came
the honeyed reply. ‘It is now Wynstanton.’

Nell stifled a
giggle and watched a hint of angry colour stain her sister’s
cheeks.

‘Quite. You
have done very well for yourself, have you not? From provincial
nobody to Duchess of Rockliffe in one move. I only wish I felt able
to congratulate you on it.’

‘Oh no,’ smiled
Adeline. ‘I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.’

The silence,
this time, was positively cataclysmic. Then, ‘Despite his
deplorable tendency towards levity,’ remarked Lucilla glacially,
‘my brother has previously always known what was due to his name.
Since he has now apparently disregarded this, I can only deduce
that it is because you have some hold over him. Am I right?’

Nell opened her
mouth and then thought better of it. It did not seem possible that,
once Diana and Cecily came to London for the season, the events of
Lady Miriam’s disastrous ball could long remain a secret; but she
herself had promised Rock not to speak of them and she would
not.

‘You don’t,’
remarked Adeline dryly, ‘appear to have a very high regard either
for your brother’s intelligence or for his strength of
character.’

‘How else is
one to account for it?’ came the reply. ‘If you were a beauty, I
might understand it better. As it is, I see nothing to explain why
– after years of resisting every lure – Rockliffe should suddenly
hurl himself into matrimony with such clandestine and unseemly
haste.’ She paused for a moment and then said baldly, ‘You’re not
breeding, are you?’