Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) (22 page)

Deb bravely looked him in the eyes, determined to be as in control of her emotions, but she could not keep the deep note of sadness from her voice. “And you, my lord, have so cruelly used me and abused my trust and love that I will do everything in my power to see us forever parted.”

Because my heart is irreparably torn asunder
, she wanted to add but felt too emotionally drained and listless of mind to continue. Her life, the life she had so looked forward to sharing with Julian Hesham, was now so turned inside out that her head ached to think about it. Through a haze of disbelief and unbelievable sadness she watched this stranger, this nobleman to whom she was irrevocably wedded, turn away from her without another word and speak in rapid French to the old man. He then strode from the room and slammed the door so hard it reverberated on its hinges.

“My lady, I have been charged with the care of you until—”

“Please, Martin. I cannot think any more today.”

The old man was regarding her with such sadness and pity in his troubled eyes that Deb wanted to burst into fresh tears and run from the room. Instead she walked quietly to the door, only stopping when he called her back. She looked over her shoulder hoping her features did not betray her disordered emotions.

“My lady, these revelations today have been a great shock,” Martin said quietly. “I wish matters had been handled differently. I make no apologies for my godson, only that he has the unrestrained temper of youth. More I am not at liberty to say. I just trust that in time, when you know the truth behind the rumors about the Marquis of Alston, and finally meet his illustrious parents, perhaps then you will gain a deeper understanding of the man to whom you are wedded and… find it in your heart to forgive.”

“I have no heart, Martin,” she answered softly. “Your godson just tore it from me.”

N
INE

PARIS, FRANCE,
1770

S
IR
G
ERALD
and Lady Mary Cavendish were hosting a select
soirée
for relatives and friends newly arrived in Paris for the celebration of the Dauphin’s marriage to the young Austrian princess, Marie-Antoinette. The royal wedding was taking place in the French capital and to mark such an auspicious and historic event all of Paris was rejoicing. Balls, routs, open-air concerts, plays, operas, fireworks and a hundred free entertainments had been organized for Parisian society high and low. The whole city was in a festive mood. Cards of invitation crossed back and forth society’s gilded salons. Every invitation was accepted, to show off a painted face and the latest towering powdered hairstyle if only for half an hour in a crowded salon before being whisked away in a sedan chair into the heady perfumed atmosphere of the next
soirée
.

Yet, despite the typically French surroundings of gold leaf furniture, polished parquetry flooring and white and blue paneled walls, the Cavendish
soirée
was quite markedly an English affair. The guests were either from the English Embassy or young Englishmen staying briefly in Paris at the start of the Grand Tour; people with whom Sir Gerald, who did not have an ear for languages and thus knew no French, could have a decent conversation. Unlike twittering, effeminate painted French nobles, the guests at Sir Gerald’s little gathering knew his worth as a favored relative of the Duke and Duchess of Roxton; Englishmen with whom he could feel a natural superiority.

He congratulated himself on how well the evening was progressing as he looked out across the large square courtyard with its avenue of chestnut trees, gravel walks, fountains and shrubbery illuminated by flickering flambeaux; and at the southern end the imposing black and gold iron gates which kept out the world as it traveled up and down the Rue Saint-Honoré. His wife had been the perfect hostess and the guests were suitably impressed by his noble connections and surroundings. After all, not every relative of the Duke and Duchess was given use of one of the large apartments within the compound of the Hôtel Roxton: a collection of four-storey seventeenth century buildings with mansard roofs, awe inspiring in size and aspect even by Parisian standards.

But as Sir Gerald drank the Duke’s excellent claret and surveyed the aristocratic landscape with his usual pompous self-consequence his thoughts were niggled by the specter of his recalcitrant sister and her lunatic demands.

Every morning he awoke with the expectation that Deborah had come to her senses and accepted her arranged marriage. But every day he was disappointed. He had hardly believed his eyes when reading her letter damning him for marrying her off to the Marquis of Alston. He had expected, at the very least, gratitude, and for his troubles he had received words dripping with reproach and ungratefulness. And when she had demanded he contact his lawyers to discover an impediment to her marriage so that it could be annulled forthwith his bowels had opened of their own accord.

He did not understand her. One day she would be a duchess. And not just any duchess, but the Duchess of Roxton, wife of the most powerful and wealthy noble in England. What better incentive did she need to remain married to Lord Alston than that? The nobleman’s nefarious lifestyle, the fact he was being sued for breach of promise by a Farmer-General and was being daily lampooned in Parisian newssheets, was of small consequence; a mere trifle that his sister, if she had her wits about her would, like any good and obedient wife, dismiss as beneath her notice.

Fortunately, he had avoided any unpleasant face-to-face confrontation with Deborah because of her refusal to come to Paris to join her husband. This also had the added advantage that her esteemed parents-in-law were still none the wiser about her lunatic whim to seek an annulment, and in so doing, discover that he had given in to her demands to contact his lawyers. After all, he had to hedge his bets as it were.

Let Deborah believe he was obliging her for as long as it took for him to sufficiently ingratiate himself with the Duke so that when the thunderstorm of his sister’s annulment plans poured a cold torrent on any Parisian nuptial announcement he could cut his connection with her without fear of being socially ostracized by the distinguished family into which she had been married.

And then the moment came. A footman whispered in his ear that he had a visitor awaiting him in the adjoining small reception room. The visitor was his sister. A frisson of unease tingled his spine and his bald head under its snug powdered wig began to sweat as he excused himself to his guests.

Deb was looking out on the same view as her brother, admiring the avenue of chestnut trees. Disheveled by travel, tendrils of her red hair had escaped from under the small peaked velvet trimmed bonnet and fell about her face. Despite a warm evening, she wore a silk-lined woolen cloak over her traveling gown. She was tired and need of a good night’s sleep in a decent bed after a three day journey from the French coast, but she was determined to speak with her brother before reluctantly presenting herself at the main entrance to the Hôtel Roxton.

When her brother came into the room and closed over the door, she barely had time to turn from the window before he was across the parquetry and had taken possession of her gloved hands. He guided her to sit with him on a hard-backed red velvet settee, his face flushed from too much wine and wearing an embarrassed smile that put Deb on her guard.

“What a delightful surprise, my dear! Yet I cannot help but wonder if it was quite the right thing to make such an arduous journey when at last report you were still in your sick bed being attended by Dr. Medlow. A most distressing episode. I had hoped you would heed my wise counsel and remain in Bath. Such a long journey can only have taxed your reserves of strength.”

“Medlow assures me that I am now in no danger whatsoever,” she interrupted, her brother’s pompous speeches never failing to grate. “In fact, Gerry, I’m so much better that I’m plumper beyond even Medlow’s expectations.”

Sir Gerald screwed up his mouth at this, unconvinced. “Yet, I don’t understand, despite Medlow’s assurances, why you felt you had to come, when I quite specifically stated in my last letter that you remain in Bath to receive Bishop Ramsay.”

Deb let out an involuntary laugh. “Gerry, Ramsay can’t help me out of my predicament. Nor should I think he would want to. After all, he was the one who performed the original marriage ceremony.”

Sir Gerald shook his powdered head sadly. “This is a most distressing business. Naturally I blame myself—”

“Oh, it is only right and proper you blame yourself! That you can sit there inquiring after my health when I know you don’t give a button for me… But I didn’t come all this way to go over old ground. My letter to you was blunt enough, and if it wasn’t for the despicable situation I now find myself in I would gladly be anywhere than here with you!”

“Deborah? How can you abuse me when I have only your best interests at heart?” he answered, casting her a wounded look. “Naturally, your offensive and unladylike letter did not please me, and the accusations and plain language directed toward your eldest brother were such that I did seriously wonder at your mental state.” He sniffed and stretched his neck in its tightly bound silk cravat. “Yet when it was made known to me that you were ill and had taken to your bed, I was more forgiving and of the belief that you wrote that letter under the duress of illness, because you have never been ill a day in your life, so for you to take to your bed meant—”

“Did you do as I requested and write to your lawyers?” Deb asked bluntly, the only sign of her frustration showing itself in her tightly clenched gloved hands.

“Of course. My lawyers thought it prudent to brief Bishop Ramsay on this most distressing business, to garner his support, if possible, for an annulment. The bishop was willing, despite his age and infirmities, to undertake the journey to Bath. I thought perhaps you would appreciate the comforting words of a man of God.”

“You have a very odd sense of comfort!”

“I fail to see why you must treat this very serious and quite shocking matter with levity!” Sir Gerald lectured through a tight mouth. “I admit that I had hopes that a match between our family and the Roxtons would be a great success and set you, my only sister, up for great things in life. Yet, I should have known that it would come to this. You and Otto both have been a sad disappointment, but I have strived to do my utmost for you as your guardian and as a Cavendish, and what is my reward? Otto’s total disobedience and stupidity and your ungratefulness! Deborah, I have bowed to your wishes for an annulment, because I want what is best for you. Do you think it is an easy thing to hold one’s head up high when Otto saw fit to contract a marriage with a gypsy and now my only sister’s marriage to a future duke is to be annulled on the grounds of her husband’s lunacy?”

Deborah listened to her brother’s impassioned speech with suspicion. She had been wary of his eagerness to help her since his letter of reply to her request for a dissolution of her marriage. She had expected a downright refusal and was prepared to seek assistance from lawyers recommended to her by Lady Cleveland. After all Sir Gerald did not exert himself for others unless there was something to be gained for him. Yet when he had jumped at the chance to engage the family lawyers in a case of litigation that was sure to create a major public scandal of the sort Sir Gerald deplored, she had been so surprised that she was certain he was up to something underhanded. Reason enough for her to travel to Paris; but it wasn’t the reason she had done so.

She caught on the word lunacy and raised her arched brows. “You think Lord Alston mad, Gerry? Is this a new thought, or did you know him to be of unstable mind when you married me to him?”

“My lawyers inform me that there are only two possible avenues for a marriage to be annulled,” Sir Gerald said, ignoring his sister’s sarcastic question but feeling acute discomfort under her cool gaze. He was not a perceptive man but there was something different about his sister that he could not put his finger on. He had expected her circumstances to have turned her into a weeping pot, instead she might have been fashioned from stone, such was her frosty manner. She unnerved him and more than usual. “One is non-consummation of the marriage,” he muttered, clearing his throat and avoiding her widening smile. “In the event the husband is—the husband is—er—incapable of the—um—the um—
act
the bride’s guardian has every right to seek an annulment on her behalf.”

“Incapable of the act? Ha! As any Parisian whore will tell you, Alston is more than capable of satisfying a female between the sheets.”

“Deborah! Indeed! For you to talk of such matters is—is…”

She shrugged indifferently, Sir Gerald oblivious to the film of tears across her soft brown eyes that belied her cold tone. “Do stop this pretense of offended sensibilities, Gerry. I am a married lady and as such have learnt a thing or two about the marriage bed. What is the second circumstance for annulment?”

Sir Gerald wiped a sweaty hand across his glistening brow at such blunt speech and stumbled on. “That is complicated and more difficult to prove. An act passed in ’42 makes provision for the annulment of a marriage on the grounds that the husband was of unsound mind at the time vows were taken. If this can be proved then the marriage is void.”

“And was Lord Alston mad the night we were wed?”

Sir Gerald wandered to the window. Suddenly the majestic view of illuminated chestnut trees and fountains lost its appeal. “You may not recall the night you were married, but I can, vividly. I was most uncomfortable with the way the marriage was conducted. There had been a long understanding between our families, since almost from your cradle, that you and Alston would wed, but I could hardly credit it when His Grace demanded a most hurried affair. And when one saw the boy’s unstable condition, I was most reluctant to proceed.”

“Not enough for you to call the whole thing off!” Deb scoffed. She joined her brother by the full-length windows. “And I do remember aspects of that night,
vividly
, despite being drugged. Oh, you can look the stunned trout, Gerry, but you can’t deny that you had Nurse give me a dose of laudanum to keep me biddable. No wonder I thought I was dreaming! I could barely put two thoughts together. As I recall Alston was extremely distressed and that there was an ancient gentleman with white hair who looked very sad.”