A Christmas Charade (7 page)

“Do you like it?” Juliette stepped up to a window and raised the gauze curtain. “All the rooms I’ve seen are beautiful. It rather astonished me, since it is such an old castle and no one has lived in it for ages. Oh, look! You can see the Channel from here. I cannot from my window.”

Elizabeth let the reticules drop where she stood, flung the muffs onto the bed, and hurriedly joined Juliette.

“Are you certain? Mrs. Rodwell said—” She gave a sigh of satisfaction.

True, the prospect from the window was mostly of a stretch of muddy garden, crisscrossed by flagged paths and the bare skeletons of some shrubbery. On the left, the stark wall of the southeast tower protruded boldly and cut off her view. But to her right the ground dropped off sharply and beyond the drop lay the Channel, the waters dark gray in the rain, and just a few whitecaps showing here and there.

She could not see a beach, but she knew there must be one, if only a narrow strip, at the foot of the chalk cliffs. Nothing, not rain, not wind or cold, would stop her from exploring. She turned to ask Juliette for the best approach to the beach below the castle, but the look of misery in the young lady’s eyes gave her pause.

“Juliette. Whatever is the matter, my dear?” She held out a hand.

Juliette clasped it tightly. During the two years of her marriage, while Stewart was off fighting that horrid Bonaparte who seemed determined to conquer all of the Continent, she had spent much time at the Astley home in Hertfordshire. Despite a disparity in age—she was only twenty, a mere girl to Elizabeth’s twenty-eight years—she and her mother-in-law’s companion had become friends. And it was Elizabeth’s friendship and support she stood in need of now.

She could not stop her mouth from trembling, but her voice was firm enough. “It’s Stewart. He … he wants to have our marriage annulled.”

Shock rendered Elizabeth speechless. Her mind reeled.
Why?

She had witnessed a part of Stewart’s whirlwind courtship of Miss Juliette Rowland while he was home on leave. No one could have doubted that he was head over heels in love. No one could have mistaken the glow of adoration in Juliette’s eyes. Due to a feverish cold, Elizabeth had not been able to attend the wedding, but she had seen the young couple after their four-day honeymoon. Despite their sorrow at having to part within hours, they had radiated love and happiness.

She looked at Juliette’s tragic face. “Nonsense,” she said bracingly. “He cannot have the marriage annulled. It was consummated, wasn’t it?”

Juliette turned pink. “It was.”

“Well, then?”

“Something happened … something went wrong that first night after his return …” Juliette stammered, then finished in a rush, “and he hasn’t come near me since.”

“Are you saying that since his return, Stewart has not claimed his conjugal rights?”

The incredulous note in Elizabeth’s voice made Juliette blush more fiercely. Pressing her hands to her flaming cheeks, she fled to the settee by the fireplace. For an instant, after blurting out the crazy notion Stewart had taken into his head, she had felt … perhaps not relieved but as if sharing her great fear had reduced it to bearable proportions.

Now she was aware of disappointment and, unreasonably, crossness. In retrospect, it seemed foolish that she had expected Elizabeth to understand or to know what to do. Elizabeth wasn’t married. In fact, she shouldn’t have talked to her at all. It was improper to mention the subject of marital relations to an unmarried lady.

But she simply
had
to talk to
somebody
. In the three weeks since Stewart’s return she had suffered bewilderment, hurt, guilt. She was not aware of wrongdoing but felt vaguely that
somehow
she was to blame for Stewart’s coldness.

She had planned to speak to Clive, had even asked him for a private interview, then had changed her mind. It would be so very awkward talking to a man. There was Fanny, of course. But Juliette was not on intimate terms with the young matron, who had married and removed from Stenton House scarcely a month after Juliette moved in.

And it was, of course, unthinkable to approach Stewart’s mama, even though Lady Astley was a perfect dear and closer to her—in spirit and in geography—than her own mother, who still resided at Government House in Calcutta and was giving dinners and card parties for the English officers and their wives and the more important officials of East India Company.

But even if by some miracle her mother had suddenly appeared in London, it was doubtful Juliette would have confided in her. In the seven years since her parents left, she had seen them twice. They had come to England for a six-month visit the year before her marriage and prior to that, they had arrived for a whirlwind stay of three weeks when they received the notice of the fourth duke’s death.

There had been some vague talk at the time of removing Juliette from Stenton House. The fifth duke—Clive was one-and-thirty then—was too young to have the guardianship of a sixteen-year-old girl, her papa had said. But it all came to nothing, because her mama felt that Juliette would be better off in London, where she could make friends with the girls who would be brought out the same year Juliette would make her curtsy to society. And it was unthinkable that Juliette should not have a Season in London, said Mrs. Rowland. For how else was she to meet eligible young men? The only young men in Calcutta were officers, and they, as everyone knew, were mostly younger sons and a rakish lot at that. No, Mrs. Rowland did not particularly want to see her daughter wed to an officer who’d be here today, there tomorrow, fighting some war or other.

Thus, Mr. and Mrs. Rowland had sailed back to India, and their daughter remained at Stenton House. At the right time, Juliette was dutifully brought out by some distant but well-connected Rowland cousin and promptly fell in love with Lieutenant Stewart Astley, home from service in India to recuperate from a lingering fever before he would join Sir John Moore in Portugal. And if that wasn’t ironic, what was? Except that Stewart was not a younger son, of course. He was an only child.

“Juliette!” Elizabeth spoke rather sharply. The girl sat motionless, sunk in gloom. This would not do at all!

She went to her young friend. “You must have misunderstood about the annulment. I do not see how it can be done. Or does Stewart plan to apply for a divorce by Act of Parliament?”

“No, he doesn’t.” Hope flared in Juliette’s eyes, then died. “But I did not misunderstand. Stewart is certain the marriage can be voided. It seems there is some old church law about … incapacity.”

Elizabeth blinked in astonishment. Stewart had lost an
arm
, not one of his nether parts!

“What shall I do?” Juliette asked desperately.

Elizabeth pulled herself together. “Talk to Stewart,” she urged. “Ask him what is wrong.”

“No!” Juliette sat up with a violent start. “I drove him from the house with questions! He spent the days and evenings at his club and only came home when he was certain I must have gone to bed. No, Elizabeth, I cannot ask him again. If I did, he would pack up and leave Stenton immediately.”

So emphatic was Juliette that, for a moment, Elizabeth was at her wit’s end. There seemed to be nothing else to say.

But it was not without reason that she was considered a sensible and levelheaded young woman by those who knew her well. Common sense and composure might have temporarily deserted her while she faced his grace, the Duke of Stenton, but Clive Rowland was not present to disconcert and confuse her now.

“Do you know, Juliette,” she said, “I cannot help but think that you’re wrong. I don’t doubt that Stewart might
wish
to leave in order to avoid questions, but he would not
do
it. Just think! How would he explain a sudden departure to his parents? Or to his host?”

Juliette was about to reply when, her eyes widening, she swung around on the settee and stared toward the dressing table.

“Did you hear that, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth also stared at the dressing table. There wasn’t a sound in the room, not the whisper of a noise, save for their breathing.

She regained composure first. “Gracious! What the atmosphere of an old house can do to one! For a moment there, I was convinced someone applauded.”

“Yes, but it was nothing, was it?”

“Not quite nothing, perhaps,” said Elizabeth. “I’m sure we heard
something
, but most likely it was something to do with the old timber. Do you realize how ancient this castle is?”

“Wood beetles?” Juliette said doubtfully. With one last, lingering look at the dressing table, she rose.

She took a tentative step toward the door. “But I tell you this, Elizabeth. If we weren’t dealing with Stewart, I daresay your good sense would merit applause.”

“Stewart isn’t any better or worse than other men,” Elizabeth said reasonably. “He would not want to hurt his parents’ feelings, and neither would he want to cause talk. Or are you saying that Stewart is too thickheaded to realize that his leaving would give rise to speculation?”

“He wouldn’t give a straw. He did not care when he spent the days and evenings at the clubs instead of getting reacquainted with his wife. Or do you believe the gentlemen who saw him at White’s or at Boodle’s and Brooks’s did not speculate?”

Reluctantly, Elizabeth admitted defeat. “No, I do not believe that.”

She was not given to sighing, but, indisputably, her words were followed by a sigh of disappointment. It startled her, for she wasn’t aware of having indulged in the habit she had always denounced as lachrymose. Undoubtedly, though, that was something else the atmosphere of an old house or, rather, an old castle did to one.

Juliette continued toward the door. This time, she did not stop until she reached it.

Pulling it open, she said in a carefully controlled voice, “Stewart informed me this morning that he doesn’t want me to go back to London with him after Christmas. Until matters are settled, he wants me to stay in Hertfordshire.”

“And you? Will you do as he bids?”

Juliette, her back to Elizabeth, stood quite still. “I don’t know—I don’t have a choice, do I? A wife must obey.”

Elizabeth knew that was so. Still, she could not believe that Juliette would be so poor spirited as to give in without a fight. She was about to rally her young friend, when she saw Juliette’s shoulders straighten.

“I may have to obey in the end,” said Juliette. A martial light kindling in her eye, she looked over her shoulder at Elizabeth. “But there’s no law that says a wife mustn’t try to change her husband’s mind, is there?”

Annie Tuck, perched on a corner of the dressing table, was torn between applauding once more and heaving an even deeper sigh than had slipped out earlier. But she didn’t make a sound.

She dared not make a sound. When the two young ladies had turned to the dressing table after Annie clapped her hands, she had been quite as startled as Miss Juliette and Miss Elizabeth. She had not known that anyone could hear her.

This was a fine kettle of fish! She had believed herself beyond detection by human eye or ear, yet there was no doubt that her clapping had been heard, if faintly. Wood beetles, indeed!

But, at least, she was invisible. With a challenging look at Miss Elizabeth, who had closed the door behind her friend and approached the dressing table where Annie perched, she kicked up her full skirt and frilled petticoats and crossed her legs. She wouldn’t have dared cross her legs while Old Nurse still reigned over the Stenton nurseries. But those days were gone. Annie could do as she liked.

Miss Elizabeth sat down in front of the dressing table. She removed the pins from her hair and as she reached for a comb, her hand brushed Annie’s gown. Miss Elizabeth gave no sign of having noticed anything. Still, to be on the safe side, Annie switched to the opposite end of the dressing table.

Poor Juliette, thought Elizabeth, absently dragging the comb through her long hair.

Aye. Poor Miss Juliette, Annie echoed silently. The young lady’s problem wasn’t as simple as she had at first supposed.

Annie had never been married—she was thirteen when she was apprenticed to a milliner, and a sewing girl didn’t have much of an opportunity to find herself a beau. She did harbor expectations when she left London for Stenton Castle. But, alas! Again, there had been no opportunity. Annie remembered, however, that every spat between her mum and her da had been happily resolved on the rustling straw pallet behind the curtain in the corner of the family bedroom.

But Major Astley wasn’t at all like her da. And neither was Miss Juliette like Annie’s mum. Annie’s mother had been a knowing one. If she had told a friend of her troubles, she wouldn’t have blushed and stammered. In fact, she wouldn’t have needed to ask for advice; she would have known what to do if her goodman hadn’t faithfully shared the marriage bed every night.

For Miss Juliette and Major Astley, however, trouble lay ahead. And that was a pity—and a nuisance. The Astleys had seemed the perfect solution to Annie’s problem. But it wouldn’t do at all if the major planned to return to London alone. No, not at all.

Disgruntled, Annie slid off the dressing table. No doubt Miss Elizabeth, who considered herself a sensible, levelheaded woman, would do what she could to help Miss Juliette. But when Annie thought of Miss Elizabeth’s encounter with his grace, she wondered about the young lady’s ability to keep a cool head.

And besides, what
could
she do? Miss Elizabeth was a spinster—and a lady of quality. In Annie’s experience, a spinster
lady
, no matter what age, no matter how sensible and wise, knew less about life than a newborn babe—or a blushing bride.

Indeed, it would be better if Annie herself took a hand. There wasn’t much time. Christmas was just a few days off, and everyone would be ready to depart the day after New Year.

And what could
she
do? A ghost, invisible but not, if she wished, inaudible? Annie had ever been an optimist. Her spirits soared. There must be a great many things she could do now that she knew she could be heard.