Read The Reluctant Husband Online
Authors: Madeleine Conway
The Reluctant Husband (7 page)
“And what of your lovers? Are they all ashes?” As he whirled her around the dance floor, he was assailed by her jasmine scent.
“I cleave only to my consort.”
“Does he attend tonight?”
Cecilia chuckled, giddy with the dance and the folly of her dancing partner.
“He may be close at hand. If he were, you would never be able to distinguish him in this crowd, in any case.”
“Is he complaisant? Does he stand idly by while your worshippers beg for your favors?”
“He has no need to be complaisant. He has never been betrayed by me. As for those who follow me, their reward is their worship. They require no other favors.”
He longed to shatter her equilibrium, her air of amused unavailability. She was all enticement and elusiveness. He would be the one to lead her into betrayal, and it would be tonight. The strains of the waltz gave way to a more exuberant polka and as couples jostled and twirled, he managed to spirit her into the courtyard where guests more intent on conversation were strolling or sitting on stone benches. There were areas of deep shadow where the light spilling from the thousands of candles gleaming in the house failed to reach. Exclamations and bursts of laughter punctured the rush of water from the fountain as anecdotes were exchanged and gossip passed on. Ormiston drew his dancing partner to a seat just beyond a crescent of light.
“You wish to monopolize me, sir?”
“I wish to know if it was you I saw playing at circus tricks the other day.”
“What sort of tricks? Acrobatics? Walking the tightrope? If I were a circus performer, I would hardly have secured a ticket for the most exclusive ball of the Season.”
“Riding tricks. You were with a party. A woman lost her hat. You galloped to the rescue.”
“You seem very certain that it was I.”
This oblique response confirmed her identity to Ormiston. If she had not been the same woman, she would have been baffled, perhaps even outraged by the possibility. He determined to find out more about her. “Where do you come from?”
“I thought we had established that I am a goddess from Egypt.”
“You speak French almost like a native, but there is a faint accent. Not German. Perhaps Dutch.”
“Why is it so vital? We shall be unmasquing before dawn. Why not wait? What does it matter?” Cecilia strove to keep her voice level and her manner insouciant. It was far too early to reveal herself to Ormiston. In fact, it seemed to her that keeping her identity concealed from him altogether would be her wisest course.
“Why are you so secretive?”
“Because this is a masque, a night of revels without fear of revelation, a night for mystery, a night for secrets.”
“Bright-shining goddess, share your secrets with me.” He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against hers, then withdrew as swiftly as he had advanced.
“I am no Lesbia, to be abused in your lyrics.” Her voice carried a nervous edge.
“I write no poetry. But I did not know that an Egyptian goddess would recognize the words of Catullus.”
Cecilia was silent, well aware that her slip had revealed more than she intended. It was unladylike enough to admit to reading Latin, let alone a poet as notorious as Catullus. But his works had been there in her father's library and Marchmont's policy had been to allow his children access to any book he owned. And then, there had been the kiss, gentle as a butterfly's touch, but more potent than champagne. Which was, she realized later when reviewing the events of the evening, her downfall. A waiter was passing and she half rose from her seat to summon him. He stopped, lowered his tray, and deftly removed a glass to hold it before her. She reached for it, but failed to grasp it before he moved away. The glass slipped, its contents splashed her, and the glass itself rolled into a flowerbed. She stood upright and her cavalier exclaimed, “Quickly, I'll take you inside and you can sponge it dry. There'll be no harm done.”
He grasped her hand and whisked her into a quiet passage and then up a short flight of stairs into a circular room lit by a single candelabra.
“Wait hereâI'll fetch a cloth and some water.”
She sank onto a chaise longue and looked about her. The sounds of the ball had quite faded away. It took some seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. Then she began to make out strange shapes and what appeared to be great boxes scattered on the walls. A few more seconds and she had identified the shapes as several globes and an astrolabe, and the boxes as glass display cases holding fantastic creatures: the elongated limbs of a huge crab, longer than the arm span of a man; a twisted ivory horn attached to a small white whale; the vertebrae of something she guessed was a giraffe; a tiger's head; and several stuffed owls. On a cluttered desk, she could perceive the shadows of a sextant and a quadrant. Standing in a corner was a telescope. Dimly, she could identify the constellations which decorated the domed ceiling and she could hear the faint ticking of several clocks not quite keeping time in unison. She was in a
cabinet des merveilles.
cabinet des merveilles.
Ormiston returned bearing a bowl and cloth. She began to dab at her skirt. He took the candelabra and set it on the floor near the head of the chaise longue so she could see what she was doing. Fortunately, she had chosen champagne, and the wine had scarcely discolored her skirt. He sat at her feet.
“This is an amazing room. Is it the work of the current Comte de Ferrières?” asked Cecilia as she dabbed at her skirt.
“He has added some items, but I believe most of it was collected by his grandfather. A gentleman of a scientific bent, I am told.” He reached out and held the hem of her skirt to make it easier for her to dampen the stain.
“I wonder whether he travelled in search of his treasures or simply bought them in Paris. Such a wonderful collection. My father tried to build up his own on Linnaean principles, but we have no room really suitable for specimens of any sort.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I was the chief taxonomist. It was a delightful occupation.” She shook her skirt out and dropped the cloth into the bowl.
“Latin and Linnaeus. Unusual fields of expertise for a goddess.” Instantly, Ormiston realized his gaffe. For those brief minutes, she had spoken without calculation. Now he sensed the restoration of her social mask, far more impenetrable than the golden whimsy she wore to conceal her identity. “What is your favorite species?”
“It cannot matter. It is time we returned to the ballroom. We may be missed.”
“Just tell me. Perhaps we can find your favorite creature in these drawers.” He gestured to the cabinets surrounding them.
“I must remember to apply to the comtesse for a full inspection at a more convenient moment.”
“Will there be a more convenient moment? Who knows, our lives may be swept away in an instant.”
“You hear the winged chariot of time hurrying near?” Cecilia could not control the skepticism which colored her query. “It is a vehicle that many men feel approaches when they find themselves secluded with a lady.”
“Always with great rapidity.” Ormiston could not help laughing at his goddess's astute reading of the male sex. She laughed, tooâa friendly, complicit laugh. He fell silent. He did not wish to appear predictable or simply another importunate suitor. But she was delectable. Subtle. Desirable. Eminently desirable. He took her hand. She wore only a delicate bracelet of gold filigree. No rings. He brought her hand closer to his mouth and turned it so he could kiss her palm. Her breathing was shallow.
His fingers trailed up to the spot where her garnet eardrops brushed against her neck, then along the line of her jaw until he drew the outline of her lips. He looked into her eyes, as if that would help him see through her mask before leaning forward until his lips hovered over hers. Her lips, so lustrous, so full; the scent of her, so heady; the feel of her, so tantalizing. He gave way to temptation and kissed her.
It was his slow tenderness that trapped Cecilia. If he had pulled or mauled her as other young bucks had tried to do, she might have had the strength to push him away, to bring them both back to their senses with a caustic set-down. But his gentle coaxing lulled her into believing that she was almost unaffected until he pulled back slightlyâperhaps to take air, perhaps to end the kissâand some uncontrollable urge pushed her forward to take his lips with hers this time.
Cecilia abandoned all clear thought as her instincts overcame her reason. She reached for Ormiston, pulled him closer, and in so doing, broke his self-control. His hunger for her was matched by hers for him as their kiss deepened. Her tentative, unquenchable ardor inflamed him. He strove to tug her mask away, but her hand came up to his wrist, gentle but determined.
“No. Let me remain masked.”
“At least tell me your name.”
“My name is Alice.” They still spoke in French and she whispered it in the French style. It was her middle name, her grandmother's name.
“Alice, I long to see your face. I long to run my fingers through your hair, and trace the curve of your brow and the line of your nose. Please.”
She shook her head. He took her lips with his once again, and his kiss was one of acceptance. But it soon deepened into something more dangerous. Cecilia knew there was no turning away... .
Â
Â
Afterwards, they lay together, silent, gazing into one another's eyes in wonder, sated for long minutes as the trance of passion dwindled and faded. She shivered, suddenly chilled. Ormiston reached for her and held her shoulders.
“Alice, please, I beg of you, let me see you, let me know your full name. After what we have shared tonight, I cannot bear to lose you.” His voice was shaking.
She shook her head, mute, afraid, as the consequences of her actions sank in. Aunt Letty had been quite clear. If there were to be an annulment, there would have to be medical examinations. Now, there would be no annulment. Now, there would have to be an Act of Parliament and a divorce. Even though the man who had released her from her virginity was her husband.
Breathing was suddenly a great effort. She had been so foolish, so impetuous, so rash. She pushed Ormiston away, scrambled up, and began to tug at her clothes, shake them out, struggle, fumble to put them on. Dazed at first, Ormiston watched; then he sat up and pulled on his own smallclothes. She was in an adorable tangle of muddled buttons and tangled laces. But he could not read her features, only her impatient, angry gestures and the trembling curve of her generous mouth as she attempted to ease the knots and straighten her hems. He stood and helped her. Too soon, she was ready, her costume almost immaculate, the faint stain of the champagne virtually invisible, all other signs of disarray banished.
“There may be consequences.” Ormiston broached the silence and she started as he used the very word that had beaten at her brain.
“That is not your concern.” She was brusque and poised for flight.
“How can you have been married and yet a virgin?”
Cecilia quashed the impulse to laugh and ask him whether he thought his wife was still a virgin. Giving way to irony would simply prolong this difficult interlude.
“That is between me and my husband.”
Ormiston saw that she would say nothing more. There was a desk in the corner. He crossed to it and rummaged through until he had found paper, a pen, ink. He wrote his name and the address of both the London and country homes of the Dacres. He looked down at his left hand and tugged at the signet ring on his smallest finger. When it was off, he wrapped it in the screw of paper and knelt before the woman who had been so generous and was now so dangerously silent.
“I will not plead my cause further. Please believe me when I say I am your servant always. If ever you call on me, I shall come. If ever you need me, you have only to send this ring to the address on the paper and I will be found. I swear this. I will wait for you.”
“You do not know me. Don't wait for me, don't look for me. I will not be found.”
The viscount swallowed as she spoke with finality. Then he pressed the paper into her hands with a warm kiss. She was trembling still. She pulled away and hurried from the room. The door clicked shut and Ormiston finished dressing. By the time he had made himself presentable enough to rejoin the dancers, she had vanished. He could not stop himself from looking, from scanning the ballroom continuously for her, but he knew that she was no longer there. It took him some time to identify the hollowness of that knowledge as loss. He had never lost anything before.
Six
The better sort of chaperone has an unerring instinct if a charge goes astray, but also has the discretion to wait for a private moment before tackling the errant maiden and her misdemeanors. After a life of guarding young naval wives from untoward entanglements, Aunt Letty excelled in all aspects of chaperonage. Despite Cecilia's best attempts to evade her aunt's scrutiny, she could not sidle off to bed without an interrogation. While Marston was removing the bulky headdress and combing out Cecilia's hair, Lady Ketley entered her niece's room in full deshabille.
“What an evening! We must exchange notes before the night is out, or I shall toss and turn all night. Which of the guests did you manage to uncover?” She began to help Cecilia out of her clothes.
“We know so few people in Paris, I can hardly say.”
“That did not stop young men from wishing to dance with you. I wonder whether Lord Ormiston was present.” Lady Ketley helped Cecilia out of her dress. She noted that her niece did not react, avoiding her instead by retreating behind a screen to remove her corset and smallclothes. “Quite a success, your costume, and surprisingly original, too. I had thought that half of Paris would have taken up the Egyptian mode, but it seemed that the reign of François I was a more fashionable choice.”
“Or the flowers of the Orient,” responded Cecilia as she returned in her negligee to sit at her dressing table.
“Mmm. One thing, my dear.” Lady Ketley paused and watched the tension in her niece's shoulders increase. “I do not wish to hound you or be forever insisting that you dangle about me, but it would make me easier in my mind if you did not disappear for what seemed to be hours. Were you quite well?”
Cecilia explained about the spilt wine, and how she had found some water and slipped into the room full of curiosities, then knocked the bowl, and what an age it had taken for the dress to dry, and how she had by then been so entranced by the wonders in the room that she had lost all track of time. Sticking relatively close to the truth should have been easy enough, but never having dissembled to her aunt before, Cecilia felt uncomfortable. The ring, still wrapped in its twist of paper, sat bulkily in her reticule, and Cecilia felt sure that her aunt's gaze was drawn to the lump in the fine silk where before there had been only a silk handkerchief, dancing card, and pencil.
Aunt Letty went up to the dress and held out the skirt. “The stain is not too bad. Marston will know how to get it out. Thank heavens it was champagne, not claret. It would be a shame were you never to wear this ensemble again.”
“I could not wear it in Paris, but I suppose if I were to attend a masque in London, it would be acceptable.”
Lady Ketley gave her ward a shrewd glance. “You seem very weary, my dear. I shall leave you, but prepare yourself for a good coze tomorrow morning.”
Cecilia expected to toss and turn, reliving the night's events, but she was more tired than she had realized and fell asleep almost immediately. The threatened dissection of the ball never took place, however, for Cecilia was awakened by a rather stern Marston, followed by Lady Ketley, brisker than usual.
“My dear, Lavauden has written with news of your father. He is not well and she advises us to return to Sawards promptly.”
“Papa! He is never sick. May I see the letter? What does she say?”
“Briefly, Marchmont has had some sort of seizure and is confined to his bed. She says little more. Here, you may see. But I know that you will not rest until you have been home, and I shall be much easier in my mind if I accompany you. However diligently you and Lavauden might correspond about his case, I should never believe anything about his progress.”
Lady Ketley wrote a reply to Lavauden to be sent off that day, and Marston chivvied the French girls in the house to launder and press and pack so that the following day, the three women were ready to depart, accompanied as far as Calais by one of the admiral's assistants.
For Cecilia, the hours in the coach seemed to lengthen as anxiety for her father alternated with bitter self-condemnation for her folly at the masked ball. The wanton enthusiasm with which she had given way to Ormiston's touch and taste and scent was a dangerous quality to discover at this point in the game. But now, the game had become a more serious affair altogether. All those foolish plans for revenge on Ormiston for his cruel words five years ago seemed no more than childish nonsense. Who could say in what state she would find her father, and who could say what the future might hold? As the hours cooped up in a carriage passed, as she boarded the packet bound for Dover, Cecilia's honesty forced her to admit that she wanted Ormiston more than ever, that the boy she had detested had become a man she might love. Yet, her own wayward nature had made it more difficult than ever to bind him to her.
He would soon discover that the wife he had left untouched was now unchaste. If he ever found out that she was Alice, her deception would anger him, justly. He had sworn that rash oath to come to Alice when she called. If she used the ring and the letter, she would incur a deserved wrath. There seemed no clear course open to Cecilia and she repented her arrogant assumption that deceiving Ormiston would bring her any satisfaction.
The Channel crossing was timed so that the packet entered Dover with the early tide. Lavauden had set a watch for Lady Ketley and Cecilia at Dover: Cecilia's old favorite, Jem Anderton, was waiting at the dockside. He confirmed that Marchmont remained confined to bed and that Doctor Groves was visiting daily. Jem had hired a carriage to bring the ladies back to Sawards, and once they were installed, he galloped ahead so that their imminent arrival might bring some cheer.
Some four hours later, the chaise pulled up before Cecilia's home, and there on the front steps stood Reggie and Amelia, waving strenuously. Amelia dashed up to the carriage before the post-boy had a chance to climb from his perch and was calling out her relief at seeing her aunt and sister.
“We're so glad you're back. Papa has spoken for the first time in daysâLavauden even allowed us to go up and see him. There's food waiting for you, but it is all cold. Lavauden is nursing Papa, but she'll be down as soon as she knows you are here.”
“Get back, Ameliaâgive them a chance to come down from the carriage. You will have to take her in hand, Ceci. She has run wild since Papa fell ill.” Reggie sounded rather peremptory.
Cecilia climbed out first, then turned to help Lady Ketley. It was not until the bags had been handed down and they had all entered the hallway and started to unwind themselves from cloaks and bonnets that she had a chance to speak.
“How ill is Papa?” Cecilia asked Reggie directly. His facade crumbled as he rushed into his tall sister's arms and hugged her fiercely, hiding his face against her as he finally gave way to the fear he had been suppressing now for over a fortnight. He always bore himself so proudly and strove so hard to learn all that was told him, it was easy to forget that he was only eleven years old.
Holding the convulsing boy to her with all her might, Cecilia looked over at Lady Ketley. Immediately, the admiral's wife took her youngest niece by the hand and demanded to be shown to her rooms. Amelia led her to the first floor, casting an anxious glance back at her brother and sister. Cecilia guided Reggie into the morning room and closed the door. Embracing him still, she dropped a kiss on his forehead. Slowly, steadily, the sobs tailed off until Reggie gave only the occasional hiccup.
“Tell me.”
“Oh, Cecilia, we were in the garden with Squire Hislop and, quite suddenly, he gave a strange cry and then threw back his head and made such strange gurgling sounds. Lavauden chivvied Amelia upstairs immediately, but by the time she ran down again, Papa had fallen silent and we could not rouse him. The Squire and Jem and two other fellows carried him up to his room, and they summoned Doctor Groves, who simply shook his head. He has come every day, and found men to visit from London, but Papa has been lying still and stiff as if he were dead already.”
“But Amelia said he had spoken today.”
“Yes, he has. And Mademoiselle did allow us up to see him. But he is so changed. He did not moveâhe lay there like a log and his speech was more like moaning than words, Ceci. I am terribly afraid. What if he dies?”
“I am here to care for you now.”
“But what if you go away again? Why, Aunt Ketley may need you and then what is to become of us? You will go to her and we shall be left all alone.”
“Oh, Reggie. I cannot make you any promises, but this I can swear. Whatever happens, whether Papa lives or not, you will be cared for and loved and nothing here at Sawards will change. Lavauden would never leave us, and there are so many other dear people here. None of them will desert us. We must pray with all our hearts that Papa gets better, but you must think carefully. How will he be happiest? An invalid, unable to see to his land, or at peace and at rest, knowing that everything here will continue as it has done for as long as he has been the keeper and caretaker of these lands.”
“Ceci, do you think he will die?”
“I cannot tell until I have seen him, Reggie. You must let me go up now. Rest assured, I shall hide nothing from you. I hope and pray that a recovery is possible, but let me go to him now and see for myself.”
The young boy drew back and nodded, still stiff with the misery of fear and uncertainty and loss. Cecilia held his hands still and gave them a final squeeze, taking as much reassurance as she gave from her brother's blotched, teary countenance. Slowly, she climbed the familiar stairs and walked the corridor to her father's room. She knocked softly at the door. Mademoiselle Lavauden slipped out of the room and gave her pupil a swift, fierce hug.
“Thank God. Perhaps he will rest a little easier now that you are here. But you must be prepared for a grave change in him, my dear. I will leave you. It distracts him if too many people are about him.”
Cecilia nodded and steeled herself to enter. The room was surprisingly airy, with the curtains and the windows open, and her father propped up on a bank of pillows in the middle of his great bed. But the fresh air did not entirely disguise a stale odor, and the light pitilessly emphasized the hollows in Marchmont's face. Always a spare man, he now appeared cavernously gaunt, his eyes rheumy pools of blue sunken into his skull. Accustomed to spending long hours in the saddle overseeing his lands, he had always sported a healthy color, but this had now faded and his skin appeared sallow and parchment-thin. His hair was lank, and his hands against the white sheets were curled like the claws of a pigeon.
But it was the ruin of his voiceâonce so full and musical, now a slurred mutterâthat caused Cecilia to close her eyes to hold back the tears, to swallow and to stiffen with the determination not to give way yet.
“Ceci. Is that Ceci?”
“Papa. I am here.” She went over and sat on the bed, taking his restless fingers in her own before bending over to kiss his brow.
“Time is short, daughter.”
“Don't say so, Papa.”
“We must face the truth. There is much to be done. Much to be said. I must be brief. I haven't the strength. But you must be strong for us all, Ceci.” He paused and looked at her expectantly. She gripped his hands again.
“I will be, I promise.”
“Ketley and Dacre are the executors and guardians. But I have named you as guardian also. You are the one who will be able to stay close at hand.”
“I will stand by them. You know that.”
“I know that. All at Sawards must be managed closely. There may be time. I shall explain the ledgers if you bring them up. We will meet with Kitson. He is a good man. But we have many decisions to makeâI have so many unfinished plans. If you discuss them with Reggie and Kitson and Dacre, I think all will be well. If Letty can be brought to stay for a while, she knows the workings of the place. But she should go to Ketley. It was good of her to bring you.”
“She loves you dearly. She could not have borne to lose you without seeing you once again. But are you sure, Papa?”
“The quack has had all his friends from London here, at what cost I cannot imagine.” The acerbic comment brought a smile to Cecilia's lips. “It's good to see your grin, girl. That will do me more good than all the physic they can conjure out of their cauldrons. They speak fine words, but my body speaks to me with greater eloquence.” Marchmont closed his eyes and gathered his strength once more. “There is little pain. Every day I simply seem to be weaker. We have a little time. A few weeks.”
At this, Cecilia could hold the tears back no longer. Remorse consumed her. “I should have been here. I shouldn't have been gallivanting with Aunt Ketley. If only I'd spent more time at home.”
“Leave off your waterworks, Ceci, my dear. Could never bear a watering pot for a daughter. If we had known, perhaps I might have kept you by me. But we didn't know. Besides, you needed the polish, and now you are a fine lady, perhaps better able to understand the world beyond Sawards. Let us make the best of what we do have. Leave me now, child, I must rest a little more. Come see me after you've dined. Bring Letty with you. I must sleep before I see the children.”
Other books
Unbreakable Devotion: A New Adult Romance Novel by Chayse, Amanda
Reclaim Me by Ann Marie Walker, Amy K. Rogers
Polly Plays Her Part by Anne-Marie Conway
Adam's Thorn by Angela Verdenius
Wild Nights by Jaci Burton
Hope's End: A Powder Mage Short Story by McClellan, Brian
Bluehour (A Watermagic Novel) by Brighton Hill
Into The Darkness by Kelly, Doug
Intimate Enemies by Joan Swan
Finding Sky (A Nicki Valentine Mystery Book 1) by Susan O’Brien