Midnight Marriage: A Georgian Historical Romance (Roxton Series) (31 page)

“Really, Mary, you make out I’m an invalid. I assure you I am healthier now than I’ve ever been. It’s just that I find myself unexpectedly bursting into tears.

“—because you are carrying Alston’s heir, after all,” Lady Mary continued in that same patronizing tone, “So you can’t afford to do anything silly that might jeopardize the baby, such as running after a particularly boisterous nine-year-old boy who gets himself into all sorts of scrapes. Did you know that not only does he take viola lessons from Cousin Evelyn, which is against Gerald’s express wishes, worse, these lessons are conducted amongst Evelyn’s pack of drunkard, good-for-nothing musician friends? Sad company for a child of nine, and after one considers what a horrid mess Otto made of his life consorting with such musical riff-raff, is it any wonder Gerald is concerned that Jack may go the way of his father?”

“For pity’s sake, Mary, Jack is only a child!” Deb retorted, an impatient glance up at Brigitte to see if her maid had finished dressing her hair.

“He is also Gerald’s heir and Gerald will not have his heir playing a viola with musical vagabonds nor one who imposes himself on Cousin Alston. He really has become a nuisance, pestering Alston with all sorts of nonsensical requests, not to mention leading Henri-Antoine astray with games of hide-and-seek and late night mischief. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Jack was the cause of that poor boy’s next fit of falling sickness.”

“Indeed, Mary,” Deb replied in a deceptively mild voice. Her large brown eyes narrowed. “Then pray tell me why Julian gives so much of his time to those boys? And why do Jack and Harry seek him out so readily, if not encouraged to do so?” Absently, she handed Brigitte the last of the pearl headed pins, her long hair now expertly upswept with tortoiseshell combs, pins and interwoven with a number of silk ribands threaded with pearls. “How do you account for Julian’s involvement in the archery tournament below my window? You think he was pestered into it against his will? For the best part of two hours he has been with those children, applauding their efforts, offering encouragement to the little ones, and most particularly to his brother and Jack—”

“Oh, that’s only because he has his mother’s mild temperament,” Mary said dismissively. “Cousin Duchess is exceedingly patient and caring and sees the good in everyone, qualities that aren’t particularly praise-worthy in a duchess surrounded by fawning sycophants.”

“Possessing a kind nature does not exclude a sense of discrimination nor does it assume the person is simple-minded.”

Lady Mary’s blue eyes widened and she gave Deb’s acute observation a contemptuous smile. “That may be true, Deborah, but the fact remains: Alston has also inherited a bucket-full of his father’s most unsavory traits which far outweighs the noble characteristics gained from his mother. His outlandish behavior caused Cousin Duchess to go into an early labor and Henri-Antoine to be born with the falling sickness; no coincidence that. His early birth and Alston’s banishment certainly ruined both their lives thereafter.”

“And you would now be Marchioness of Alston save for Julian’s one bout of youthful imprudence?” Deb inquired, taking a leap of faith with her intuition, and not surprised when her sister-in-law blanched. “Poor Mary,” she added with genuine sympathy. “I knew your heart had been broken all those years ago, but not by a sixteen-year-old boy. You were very much in love with him when you were fourteen, weren’t you? Not that he knew it. How could he at his age? That’s why you, an heiress and daughter of an earl, rejected all suitors season after season in the hopes that when Julian returned from his travels he would finally offer for you. I suppose his rejection was easier to accept if you convinced yourself his character was beyond saving. Was it when you discovered Julian was already married that you accepted Gerry’s offer? Yet like the rest of your suitors, Gerry will never measure up to Cousin Alston, will he, Mary?”

Lady Mary opened her mouth to refute Deb’s assertions, face bright pink with embarrassment, but as Deb had spoken the truth, she could not bring herself to speak. A soft rap on the paneling rescued her from total ignominy and she was most grateful for the interruption, even if the pleasant drawling voice at her back subjected her to playful ridicule.

“What a fetching coiffure, Mary. It reminds me of a church steeple. But I’m not entirely convinced about the boat motif, perhaps a church steeple after a receding flood…?”

It was the Marquis and Deb practically jumped off the stool, sending the last curl to be pinned up under Brigitte’s deft fingers tumbling forward over her bare shoulder. “You enjoy sneaking up on me, don’t you?” Deb said with asperity to his looking glass reflection.

Julian grinned. “Naturally. Men are merely large boys after all.” He retreated to stand by the ornate dressing screen.

“I was just telling Deb that Sir Gerald and I are returning to England in the morning,” Lady Mary announced in a clipped voice, smoothing a hand over her shell-pink damask petticoats. “Jack is to accompany us.”

Julian glanced at Deb with a raised eyebrow before looking directly at Lady Mary. He sat with a deliberate slowness on the lattice-backed chair by the dressing screen, flicking out the stiff skirts of his black velvet frock coat with gold lacings and crossing his long stockinged legs at the ankles so as not to overly crease a pair of thigh-tight black satin breeches. His black hair was dressed but unpowdered and his only jewelry was the familiar heavy gold signet ring on the pinkie of his left hand. He took out his gold snuffbox and tapped the lid.

“You have been singularly misinformed, Madam. Jack remains here with Lady Alston. It is for her ladyship to decide when her nephew will return to England. But I certainly won’t release him into the care of your husband: ever.”

Lady Mary noted the Marquis’s use of his wife’s title and she knew when to submit to an implacable higher authority. She curtsied. “Naturally I will inform Sir Gerald of your lordship’s wishes.”

The Marquis swept a lace-ruffled wrist carelessly into the air. “Inform whomever you like, Mary,” adding with a wink at Deb, “but Gerry certainly knows my wishes. You are returning to England tomorrow, are you not?”

Lady Mary gaped at him but as the Marquis continued to regard her with an air of insolent amusement she shut her mouth tight, shot a suspicious look at Deb, who was hiding a smile behind an unfurled fan of carved ivory she had quickly grabbed up from amongst the clutter in front of her, and with a mutinous expression stomped out of the bedchamber; the little sailing ship atop her towering headdress bobbing from side to side as if caught in a gale force wind.

T
HIRTEEN

‘
I
THOUGHT YOU MIGHT
like to take a walk in the courtyard gardens before we get caught up in all the nonsense of this wretched ball,” Julian suggested in that conversational tone he had used the day he’d walked into Deb’s sitting room in Milsom Street.

“Yes, I’d like that,” Deb replied with a shy smile, adding in a tone she hoped sounded offhand, “Will it be nonsense?”

Julian remained silent at the window, taking snuff with an eye to the activity down on the velvet-green lawns. In front of the marquees, the children were all sitting in a row, adults standing behind their chairs, all rapt attention as a troupe of circus performers in brightly colored outfits, funny hats and exaggerated shoes went through their routines; one juggler in particular causing gasps and giggles as he tossed three colored balls high up in the air while he swallowed fire from a lighted baton. Finally, he looked over his shoulder at her reflection in the looking glass and held her gaze. “Not if you are there beside me.”

The afternoon sun was still bright and warm but the air was crisp and a light breeze stirred the tops of the avenue of chestnut trees. The couple strolled down one length of the cobblestone walk, neither saying a word, Deb with her hand comfortably in the crook of her husband’s velvet sleeve.

Where the avenue ended and the sweep of lawn began a game of bowls was in progress, watched on by several spectators lounging on chairs and drinking champagne and hovered over by attentive footmen. The Marquis stopped a little way off from this group so as not to disturb the game, but close enough to hear the banter between the players. He grinned. Deb understood why for the repartee between Lord Vallentine and the Duchess of Roxton was constant and unflagging and very entertaining.

“Me? I do not believe it!” stated the Duchess. “Lucian, you do not have the eyes to see the ball, so how is it that you think you can hit it?”

“Now you listen to me, Mme la duchesse. I ain’t finished with you yet. I know gamesmanship when I hear it,” grumbled Lord Vallentine, standing at the end of the bowling green with knees bent, ball in hand, sizing up his shot with a practice swing before making his drive. “Be on the ready to lose ten pounds! There! What a shot! See, Estée? What did I tell you, aye?”

From her chair beside Martin Ellicott, Estée Vallentine sighed her exasperation. “You will never win against Antonia, Lucian.”

Vallentine straightened his thin frame and with a dark look at his wife stomped off down the green. “Loyalty! Ha!”

Antonia went after him, passed him, and blew him a kiss as she skipped on ahead, the many layers of her embroidered silk petticoats swishing about her. At the end of the green, where Lord Vallentine’s bowling ball had come to rest, she clapped her hands and called to his lordship to see for himself her triumph. After many minutes sizing up the state of play, his lordship finally conceded defeat and with a flourish, bowed to the Duchess before turning on a heel and stomping back up to where his wife sat.

“Estée!? I need ten pounds,” grumbled Lord Vallentine, and fell into the chair on her other side. He accepted a tumbler of wine from a footman and pointed it at the Duchess as she came to join them. “I still say if it hadn’t been for a dip in the grass I’d have beaten you, minx!”

The Duchess, who had spied Julian and Deb standing a little way off on the cobblestone walk, waved and smiled at them before turning on Lord Vallentine with a twinkle in her green eyes. “No, Lucian,” she told him bluntly, “that is a great piece of nonsense. Martin! Tell him: He Lucian is a very bad bowler and me I am a very good bowler.”

“You are indeed a very good bowler, Mme la duchesse,” Martin Ellicott agreed demurely and received such a thunderous look from Lord Vallentine, who had sprung half out of his chair, that he was forced to put up his shoulders in a gesture of total capitulation.

“You will support me, won’t you, Estée?” Vallentine growled at his wife.

“But it would be a lie, Lucian,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I do not know why it is you never listen to me. Antonia has always been and will always be by far the better bowler.”

“Then why did you allow me to waste ten pounds if you knew I couldn’t win, damme?” he complained. “I could’ve saved m’self a pain in the back and just handed over the ten, blast it!”

“Yes, you could,” agreed his wife.

This sent the whole company sitting about the bowling green into whoops of laughter. Even Julian and Deb could not help having a laugh at Lucian Vallentine’s expense but quickly turned away to hide their smiles when his lordship realized his loss had provided entertainment for an extended audience and turned a hostile eye in their direction. So Julian led Deb away from the lawn, and away from the striped marquees beyond the bowling green that were now overflowing with guests, with the smaller children being scooped up by their nurses to be taken home.

From this activity Julian realized there was not much time left to him before he and Deb would be called to join the guests for supper indoors and the formalities of a long evening would begin. But he wanted Deb to himself a little longer, and so, just as they passed a group of gardeners busy tilling flowerbeds and Deb turned to admire one of the many Greek and Roman statues dotting the walk, Julian pulled her sideways into a shady grotto of tall trees.

“Deb! I’m not a monster,” he burst out, letting go of her arm. “You’ve every right to think me a-a bestial
fiend
given the lurid gossip about my past. And when I think of what I said to you in Martin’s bookroom…” He ran a hand through his thick hair. “God, I’ve made such a damned muddle of this speech already and I’ve barely begun!”

Deb blinked at him as he paced in front of her, the feeling of lightheartedness that lingered after watching the antics of the bowlers evaporating. Yet she remained remarkably calm despite the quickening thud of her heart as she sank onto a low marble bench and placed her closed fan in the lap of her billowing petticoats. “If you’re referring to that incident which occurred when you were sixteen years old, I know a little of that sad story…”

“Sad story? Ha! My actions were reprehensible. So much so that it is still gossiped about in drawing rooms to this day. Let me recount it for you, then you tell me if a judge will agree with you, that I was mad on the night we were wed.”

Deb gave a start, opened her mouth to tell him it was unnecessary for him to recount such painful details but then just as quickly she realized that she did want to hear what he had to say, very much, so pressed her lips together and waited.

“I burst into my parents’ Hanover Square residence demanding to see my mother,” he said matter-of-factly. “My father was still at the House. Several of their friends had arrived for a dinner party. I’d come down from Oxford with Robert and Evelyn to celebrate my sixteenth birthday. Yes, Robert Thesiger. He, Evelyn and I drank all the way to London. It was on the journey that Robert asked me how I felt about sharing my mother with another brat. I had no idea what he meant. Evelyn did. I could see it written all over his face. Robert had already confided in him, and to the last salacious drop by the look on his face.

“So Robert told me. He gave a Convent Garden performance. At first I refused to believe it: that my mother was pregnant with her lover’s child; that my father, for the sake of the family name and because his arrogance would not allow for any other outcome, was telling the world he was its sire. But Robert and Evelyn convinced me to open my eyes. A beautiful young duchess, sweet-natured and full of life married to a white-haired old noble who showed as much emotion as an iceberg. Why wouldn’t such a vital creature look elsewhere for love and affection? It made perfect sense. I swallowed the bait whole, as it were.”