Reckless Griselda (30 page)

He went into his dressing room and found Gough soundly asleep and snoring in the chair by the fire. Tom covered him with a blanket and then sloughed off his own coat and pulled off his boots, tasks which Gough would have considered him incapable of managing alone. Then, putting on his old crimson dressing gown, he went into his bedchamber and to the door which led to Griselda’s room.

It was his intention to wake her and talk to her that moment. He did not think it fair to let it wait until the morning, even if there was something brutal in waking her. But he was certain that she would prefer to be woken. He would tell her now. Any more delay spoke of cowardice. Besides, how was he going to sleep now?

He tapped on the door, and hearing no answer turned the handle and went in gently.

He was carrying a candle and went about the room lighting others. From the look of it, she had sat up a long time reading. The candles had burnt low and there was a little pile of books on the table by the armchair next to the fire. He picked them up and glanced at the titles: Scott’s ‘Waverley’, ‘Shakespeare’s Tragedies’ and a volume of ‘Sir Charles Grandison’. He gave an involuntary smile at the sight of the last, wondering what her favourite scenes might be and thinking how much he would have liked to discuss it with her.

He turned to the bed where she lay asleep, perfectly at her ease, one arm flung out across the pillows. His signet ring still decorated her wedding ring finger, fitting with uncanny precision. For a moment he had felt a simple pleasure in that, a deep sense of rightness that had been dismissed by the flash of surprise in her eyes as she had looked up at him from under the broad brim of that absurd borrowed bonnet. He had seen the fear in her eyes in that moment. He could not deny it any longer. It would be dishonourable to do so.

Yet still he hesitated to wake her. It was partly a matter of self-indulgence – something of which he knew he was all too capable. To stand looking at her, to trace with his eye the line of her body under the covers and delight in the perfect contours of her profile, in the sensual pout of her sleeping lips and the delicate flourish made by her long lashes.

It was seeing you asleep that made me want you, he thought, remembering how he had stood drawing her at the Abbey as she lay asleep, unaware and uncorrupted by his own selfish needs. And to want a woman as she slept was not to want a living creature but to want an object, like a marble statue on a plinth. That was not the sort of desire or admiration she needed. She needed real love and real freedom, neither of which she could now have because of him. Because of selfish, thoughtless, stubborn Tom Thorpe.

And to wake her now – no, he would not do it. He had thought he was being honest. Not a bit of it – he was merely ruining her sleep to satisfy his own conscience. He would let her sleep. She would know soon enough what he had decided.

So he put out the candles again. And kissed her hand once, but only gently, before leaving her.

Griselda had not slept well, tormented by strange dreams. Then the sound of tradesmen making their deliveries and the general bustle of a London street had jolted her into complete wakefulness about six o’clock in the morning. Shaking with confused emotion and energy, she was sure of only one thing: she needed to walk.

She had dressed herself quickly and, still tying her bonnet strings, went downstairs to find the housemaids scattering at her approach. The hall floor was still being scrubbed.

Manton came running after her.

“Do you not want the carriage, my lady?”

“No, Manton, not today, thank you.”

“Any messages, my lady?” he said, hastily unbolting the door for her. She knew what he meant: any messages for Thorpe? She shook her head and hoped to satisfy him with a smile.

It was a brisk September morning, sunny but still cool enough for Griselda to be glad of the fur-trimmed pelisse that she wore. She was equally glad of her sensible old boots. There had been so much rain the day before that the streets were awash with puddles and mud. They hardly went with the elegance of the pelisse but Griselda supposed that no fashionable women were about at that hour to find fault with the combination.

She made her way down Brook Street towards the Park which glistened in the bright morning mist, enticingly empty and green. She quickened her pace, anxious to be there. As she came into Park Lane, a couple of gentleman on horseback were turning into the Park intent on early morning exercise. Griselda watched them break into a vigorous canter as soon as they reached a clear stretch, envying their freedom and their speed. It would be pleasant to be out putting Bellefleur through her paces, with a clear conscience and a light heart.

Instead, she let herself be distracted by the speed and energy of the passing cavalcade. How easy it would be to dash into the traffic and simply let the horses trample her to death. She stood there for quite some time looking at the thundering hooves in the soft mud, contemplating whether she had the courage to put everything right in such a spectacular fashion, thinking the unthinkable.

“Griselda!” A woman’s voice was calling her name. “Cousin Griselda.“

She glanced up. A woman on horseback was looking down at her. In an immaculate olive-green habit on a stylish grey, she was an unmistakable figure, although her face was closely veiled.

“Caroline…” said Griselda and turned on her heel and ran.

“Griselda, please stop,” Caroline out called but Griselda took no notice. Hugh had told her not to talk to her and for once she would try to do something to please somebody. So she gathered up her skirts and ran across the soggy grass as fast as she could.

“Griselda, please!” came a breathless shout behind her.

Griselda glanced over her shoulder. Caroline was running too. She had dismounted and was now making an undignified dash, her habit skirt bundled up over one arm, her long legs in pale kid breeches on display to the entire world. Griselda stopped in her tracks. What did Caroline want, to make her so forget herself?

“No, Caroline, please. I can’t talk to you,” she said putting up her hands. “Please.”

Caroline stopped, leaving half a dozen paces between them. She let her habit skirts fall down again. A little way off, Griselda saw the groom who had been riding behind her, leading their two horses.

“Why not?” Caroline said.

“Because…” said Griselda, at a loss. “Why on earth do you want to talk to me?”

“I was going to call on you this morning anyway. I made up my mind last night,” she said. “I could not sleep another night without seeing you and talking to you. And when I saw you standing there – it seemed like fate was being kind. Please, let us talk. Don’t run away from me.”

“It is better that I do. I will only make mischief for you. I should not speak to you. Really I should not. And you should not have to beg me for favours like this,” said Griselda feeling the tears starting in her eyes. “It is too dreadful. When really I should be begging you for forgiveness.”

She looked away, covering her hand with her mouth, unable to stop the sobs shaking her whole body.

“Oh God…” she said. “What must you think of me?”

Suddenly Caroline’s arms were around her but Griselda could not accept the embrace. She pushed her away.

“Please do not think you have to be kind to me!” she exclaimed and then remembered how she had said that to Tom and found she was sobbing violently again.

“Shush there,” said Caroline, putting a gentle hand on Griselda’s shoulder. “It does not matter. It really does not matter.”

“But it does!” exclaimed Griselda. “I have ruined your life. How can you forgive me?”

“Because,” Caroline paused, and Griselda stared at her through her tear-blurred eyes. She had heard a tell-tale crack in her voice and it alarmed her. “Because I do not love him.”

“No, Caroline, no!” exclaimed Griselda, putting her hands on Caroline’s shoulders. “You must not say that. You must not. You might think it is the right thing to say but it is not. You cannot deny that just to calm my conscience. I will not let you do that. Please!”

“But it is true.” Caroline said. “I do not.”

“It is not,” said Griselda with an emphatic shake of her head. “You are being kind and good as you always are – and therefore you are lying.”

“I do not love him.”

“How can you not love him?” Griselda persisted. “When he is so worthy of love? When he is so kind and patient, and generous too? When he treats all his people so well? When there is no malice even under the greatest provocation. When he thinks of a girl’s distress rather than his own reputation…” She broke off and gazed at Caroline. “Oh…”

“My dear Griselda,” Caroline said softly. “Then you love him.”

“Of course I do!” she exclaimed, furious that she had said so. She struggled to regain herself. “But that is not the point, Caroline. You loved him first and – ”

“No,” Caroline said. “We liked each other. We enjoyed each other’s company. We became friends – just as you and I became friends. But it was not love. Had we married it would have been a mistake. I know that now.”

“How?”

“Because,” Caroline said, “I understand love. I understand what it feels like to be in love. Because I am in love.”

Griselda saw her smile.

“Oh, Caroline it cannot be?” she said.

“If fate is kind,” said Caroline, nodding. “I hope we shall be more than friends. I hope we shall be sisters.”

“Then Hugh has…” Griselda managed to say. “Oh, when did this happen?”

“Last night.” said Caroline, taking her arm. “He dined with us and then afterwards in the drawing room – oh it was such a surprise but there was something so right about it. He simply drew his chair up to me and told me – told me that he could no longer keep silent.” Caroline laughed suddenly. “And then, we were playing anagrams with my little niece afterwards – nothing is too much trouble for him – and I said something very foolish I dare say, but it made him laugh. It was such a transformation. I don’t think I have ever seen him laugh like that – or perhaps I have.” She broke off smiling. “That summer he came to us before he joined his regiment. I remember him laughing then. He laughed a great deal.”

“No doubt it was at something you said then,” Griselda remarked.

“I thought him very handsome. And I did think when he had gone that I hoped he would come back when I was old enough to marry him. So I must have loved him even then.”

“And he loved you,” Griselda said.

“As he still does,” Caroline said simply. “Now will you come and have breakfast with me? Hugh is expected and he will want to see you.”

***

Having seen the happy couple, Griselda walked back to Upper Brook Street. She tried to imagine herself going into the breakfast room and telling Thorpe that Caroline was going to marry Hugh and was no longer in love with him. And then if she managed to tell him that, might she be able to tell him what she really felt about him?

That I love you, Tom Thorpe, despite everything I know about you?

But to admit that to him, without knowing what he felt in return? What if he said nothing and if everything she had suspected about him all along was true – that he was not capable of that sort of lasting attachment? That he merely threw women away when he had extracted a certain amusement from them.

Was it her destiny to discover she loved a man who could not love the way she wanted him to love her?

Manton opened the door for her.

“My lady, we were all alarmed.”

“There was no need. I have been walking in the park,” she said. “That is all. Where is Sir Thomas?”

“Gone to court, my lady. An hour since. He waited until the last minute, hoping to see you, I believe.”

Griselda came into the inner hall, untying her bonnet. She watched as one of the footmen manoeuvred a large trunk upstairs, with Gough in fussy attendance.

“Be careful with that, you clumsy oaf!” shouted Gough.

“Are we leaving, Manton?” said Griselda. “Are we going back to Priorscote?”

Manton glanced at Gough, and Gough glanced at Manton.

“What is going on?” Griselda said.

“The master hasn’t spoken to you, my lady?” said Manton. “You don’t know?”

“It seems she doesn’t, Mr Manton,” said Gough. “Oh dear.”

“Perhaps you should tell me, then. What is it I should know?” Gough was already scuttling upstairs after the trunk. “Please would someone explain,” Griselda added, following them up.

Manton called up from the bottom of the stairs.

“My lady, there’s another matter – the dowager Lady Thorpe is in the drawing room. She insisted on waiting to see you and I could hardly turn her away.”

“No, of course not,” said Griselda, her heart sinking. “Thank you, Manton.”

Griselda went upstairs, taking off her gloves, as she did so. What on earth did she want? She hesitated for a moment outside the drawing room door before walking in with her most confident step.