The Captain's Christmas Bride (19 page)

Although he hadn’t exactly been discreet, had he? He’d shouted at her proud back all the way to their room. Then got into a tug-of-war over his valise. Which ended only when she threw his telescope down the stairs, denting the tube and shattering one of the lenses.

It had pretty near shattered him. He couldn’t put into words what that telescope meant to him. His captain, and the ratings, had bought it for him when he’d passed the exam to be made up to lieutenant. It not only marked his transition from boyhood to manhood, but was also proof that he’d left his past behind. That he wasn’t the kind of man his father had been, but the kind that other men approved of, and could even look up to. It had become a sort of...talisman. A reminder that he’d escaped from under his father’s ignominious shadow, and was making his own reputation.

And she’d ruined it.

He’d started to think that he might have a future with her. That with Julia at his side, he could undo the damage done by his own father, and build up something of value to leave his own sons. But as he’d knelt over the dented remains of the one symbol of hope he’d ever been given, freely, by his peers, it was as if she’d destroyed that hope.

It would have been better had she never given him that hope, only to wrest it from him and toss it away.

‘The only thing I regret,’ he growled, ‘is marrying her in the first place.’

‘Oh, Alec, no! You were happy with her, delighted with her, in fact, at first. Until Eduardo ruined everything.’

He gritted his teeth. That his own sister, an innocent girl, should have to learn that married women could be so faithless...

‘It is better I learn what she’s like now, than later.’

‘But you haven’t! That is...’ Lizzie wrung her hands. Which were shaking. ‘Oh, Alec, I can’t bear it. I have to tell you the truth. It was me.’

‘What do you mean? What was you?’

She looked over her shoulder. Then the other. Leaned forward. Lowered her voice to a tortured whisper.

‘It was me out there with Eduardo.’

He set down the block and tackle. Drew in a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what game you’re playing this time, Lizzie, but I have to say I don’t appreciate it. Julia was...’

‘Julia was protecting me!’ Tears sprang to Lizzie’s eyes. She sniffed them back. ‘Eduardo took me out there, to get me some flowers for my hair, he said. He said we had to do it in secret because some old gardener guarded them like a dragon does its hoard of gold. I thought it was just going to be a bit of a lark. And that I could laugh over it after, with Winny and Electra. But when he got me out there, he...’ She dashed a tear away swiftly with the back of one hand. ‘He...’

‘I think you’d better sit down.’ He sighed, bracing himself for a full melodrama. God alone knew why she felt the need to keep on interfering in his life. But he supposed it showed she cared. And he’d be a fool to dismiss her, when she was all the family he had left.

She sank onto the chair beside him, and turned a tragic little face up to his.

‘He didn’t do anything much to me. But when Julia came in, and Nellie, he made out that we’d been doing something wicked. And told Julia that she’d have to pay him to keep my name out of it. She refused. Said he had as much at stake as I did. And then Nellie saw you coming, and we hid behind the potted palms. And that is when he grabbed her, and kissed her...’

‘That’s enough, Lizzie,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t know why you’re making up this ridiculous story. I was there, remember? I saw her. If it was as you claim, that he grabbed her and she was just an innocent victim, then she would have slapped his face. But she didn’t, did she?’

‘No. Because he said he’d expose me if she struggled—show them where I was hiding, and it would all come out and I’d be ruined.’

His fingers froze over the pulley assembly. Could that be true? Was it possible that Julia
hadn’t
gone out there to tryst with the actor? That it had been Lizzie all along?

‘Why didn’t she say anything? After I’d disposed of him? Why didn’t she defend herself?’

‘Alec, you didn’t exactly give her a chance, did you? You were so angry you hardly stopped to draw breath.’

And she’d just stood there, as he’d shouted at her. Going whiter and whiter. Trembling. Clenching her fists. And finally, tossing her head and stalking off.

The block and tackle fell from his suddenly clumsy fingers.

What had he done? Dear God, what had he done?

Chapter Twelve

A
lec turned to look at Lizzie, a strange, cold shakiness stealing through his limbs.

‘Why didn’t you say anything at the time?’ He drove his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing all on end. ‘Why didn’t you come out when you saw it was me? I could have understood you hiding if it had been anyone else. But not me, surely?’

‘I wanted to. I tried to,’ she wailed. ‘But Nellie pulled me down and held her hand over my mouth. And whispered it was best to let you get it out of your system. That Julia knew what she was doing. I should let her take the force of your first fury. That you’d calm down, and make up after a day or so, the way all married couples did. Because it had been nothing more than a kiss. And what was a kiss, after all? All the gentry go about kissing indiscriminately at Christmas, she said, once they’ve had a drink or two, and if there’s any mistletoe about. And that you’d get over it. But you haven’t, have you? And you haven’t made up with Julia. Anyone can see that you’re both still really cross with each other. And I can’t bear it any longer. Not when it was all my fault.’

He shut his eyes. Shook his head. ‘No,’ he said grimly. ‘It wasn’t all your fault. It was that...actor’s fault, for using the threat of a scandal to try to extort money from Julia.’ And his own, for being so hasty to judge her.

He couldn’t think what had come over him. He was renowned for being level-headed. He never condemned anyone without a fair hearing, no matter how bad the circumstantial evidence might be.

Yet he’d taken one look at Julia, in another man’s arms, and was overcome with fury. If the actor hadn’t taken to his heels he’d have beaten the blackguard to a pulp. And as for the things he’d said to Julia...

‘Well, now you know the truth,’ said Lizzie firmly. ‘So you can make it up with Julia, can’t you?’

‘Make it up with Julia?’ He turned slowly to look at Lizzie. Her bright, hopeful eyes. And shook his head again. There was no way he could ever make it up to Julia. No way she would forgive him.

He’d called her a trollop.

Twice.

His stomach lurched and cramped, as it would had he fallen from the crow’s nest to the heaving deck below.

‘All you have to do is say you’re sorry,’ Lizzie persisted. ‘Tell her that I owned up. That now you know the truth. And then...’ A troubled frown pleated her brow. ‘Oh. I suppose it would be better if you didn’t admit that I’d told you everything. Tell her,’ she went on, a bit more brightly, ‘that you know she couldn’t have played you false. That now you’ve calmed down, you know there must have been a good explanation for what she was doing in his arms. And ask her to tell you what it was.’

It was too late for that. She’d told him on the spot that he didn’t deserve an explanation. If he hadn’t deserved one then, how much less did he deserve one after an interval of two more days?

‘Let her tell you what really happened. That should do the trick. Especially if you admit that the sight of her in another man’s arms drove you to such heights of jealousy that you couldn’t think straight.’

‘That much, at least, is true,’ he mused. Jealousy. That was what had made him behave so abominably. Not that it excused him. Nothing did. Nothing could. Which meant he couldn’t compound his error by spinning her a pack of lies. There had been enough lies and deceit already in this marriage. It was practically founded on them, which was what made it so shaky.

‘And then just tell her you love her. You haven’t said it to her yet, have you?’

‘No,’ he said bleakly. Because it hadn’t occurred to him that he did. Only now did he see that it was the only thing to account for the way he’d reacted. Why his fury had been so completely out of proportion to the offence.

‘Well, then tell her. And convince her that you do.’

‘It won’t do any good.’

‘Of course it will. Once she knows that you love her, too, she will forgive you anything.’

Love her...too? That implied that Julia loved him.

Oh, dear God—of course! Lizzie believed they had fallen for each other on sight. That it was a love match between them. She had no idea that they’d only married because of the terrible indiscretion they’d committed.

But Julia had
never
loved him. She’d only agreed to marry him because he’d insisted. And because it was better than facing the possibility of having a child out of wedlock. And now that he’d given her a taste of his bitter jealousy, his violent temper, and his hasty condemnation of her when she’d been completely innocent of any wrongdoing—had in fact been selflessly shielding a vulnerable younger girl from a situation that had gotten out of hand—she never would.

* * *

Twelfth Night couldn’t come fast enough as far as Julia was concerned. Because then everyone would go home. She was sick of them all whispering about her behind their fans, stealing glances at her whenever Alec walked into the room, to see how she would react. Or he would react.

He’d taken to being scrupulously polite the last couple of days. As if, now his first flush of anger had died down, he was resigned to having the kind of wife no man could want, but no gentleman would complain openly about.

Those few days they’d shared such passion, which had given her such hope, might as well never have happened.

‘I must say,’ said Aunt Constance, strolling into the breakfast room, and up to the buffet table, which was kept stocked with a selection of fresh cakes and cold meats all day long, ‘that I’m really enjoying this house party. I haven’t had so much fun for years. To think I expected the usual dull round of family sniping, behind masks of polite, restrained behaviour. Instead of which there’s been a delicious undercurrent of torrential passion.’ She sighed, and lowered her eyelids. ‘Two indecently hasty marriages and a defenestration.’

‘I’m so glad,’ said Julia with a tight smile, ‘that we have provided you with so much entertainment.’

‘Oh, don’t poker up so,’ said her aunt, knocking back a glass of Madeira in a most unladylike fashion, and holding out her empty glass to the footman whose turn it was to make sure guests could have whatever reviving cordial they fancied, no matter the time of day. ‘I think the better of you for acting like a real woman instead of a plaster-cast saint. I used to think you so deadly dull, but now...’ She cast a speculative eye over Julia’s tense posture.

‘There is just one teeny little thing I feel I should tell you.’ She waited until the footman had retreated to a safe distance, having replenished her glass. ‘If your mama had lived to see you reach marriageable age she would have done so, but since you have no mama, and your other female relatives don’t appear to have the backbone to approach you,’ she said with a wry twist to her mouth, ‘it falls to me. Julia, my dear...’ she leaned in closer and lowered her voice ‘...you should never, ever dally with the help. Not until you’ve presented your husband with an heir, anyway. After that, nobody will bat an eyelid if you want to have a few adventures.’

Julia didn’t think that was the kind of advice her mother would have given her at all. But she didn’t like to say so. Aunt Constance was trying, in her own inimitable style, to be helpful, which was more than any of her other relatives had done.

‘I don’t suppose, after your little
contretemps
with your husband, there is any need for me to tell you to be a little more...circumspect in future. Men of our class don’t expect their wives to be wholly faithful. But they do expect discretion. They don’t want everyone to know they cannot keep their wives satisfied, d’you see? Reflects poorly upon their masculinity.’

If they didn’t want people to know they couldn’t keep their wives satisfied, they wouldn’t throw their wives’ lovers through windows, Julia wanted to say. Not that she’d had a lover. The very thought of Eduardo’s kiss made her stomach curdle all over again. To cover her revulsion, she turned slightly away from Aunt Constance on the pretext of picking up a plate.

‘When you next come up to town,’ Aunt Constance continued, blithely unaware she was talking arrant nonsense, ‘you must come and call upon me. I have a little group of friends, all married ladies, who meet together to study...
literature
.’ Her tongue flicked over her lower lip as she said the word, which made it come out sounding like a most lascivious, and improper pastime. ‘You would enjoy it.’

‘Thank you, Aunt Constance,’ said Julia politely.

Aunt Constance went off into a peal of laughter.

‘I do declare you look as if butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth! You are priceless!’

‘Thank you. Now, if you will excuse me?’ She stepped towards the selection of Cook’s fancy cakes. The little treats were about the only things keeping her going through the day. Her stomach churned so much when she sat down to any table at which her husband was also seated, that she could do little more than push the food round her plate. Consequently, she’d wake up starving in the middle of the night and wish she could ring for a pot of chocolate and a plate of toast. But she didn’t have the heart to wake any of the servants. They needed their rest. So she lay there, wishing there was something she could do to fill up the hollowness. Wishing she’d had the foresight to order someone to bring her a loaf and a toasting fork before she’d climbed into bed. Which inevitably led to her recalling the interlude by the fireplace, during which she’d come to think of Alec as someone with whom she could be friends.

But he’d gone, now, that friendly, affable man. The man who’d held her through the night, keeping her warm. She’d huddle further down under the covers, but nothing could dispel the chill that seemed to emanate from her very core. She was starting to think she would never feel warm again.

She finished her first slice of plum cake, and helped herself to another. Though it didn’t make any difference. She was going to feel hollow, she suspected, for a very, very long time. Until she grew accustomed to losing the respect of her husband. Which wasn’t going to be easy. Because, deny it as strenuously as she might through the hours of daylight, during the empty, lonely nights she couldn’t hide from the truth. Which was that she’d started to fall in love with him. Every time she dozed off, she would jerk awake, reaching for him, then recoiling in anguish when all her questing hand found was emptiness. She hadn’t felt so alone since her mama had died. No—even then she’d had her doll to clutch to her chest. But grown women couldn’t have dolls. Instead, they took lovers. Men who’d make them feel desirable at least, if not actually loved, for a few short hours.

But she didn’t want a lover. She wanted her husband. She wanted Alec.

They could have had a good life together if only Eduardo hadn’t...or if Lizzie hadn’t...or she had...aargh!

What she’d felt when she’d discovered David had betrayed her had been nothing like this. She’d been angry, yes. Insulted. But not...shattered. What she’d thought had been love was a feeble imitation of the feelings she had for Alec.

She moved away from the table lest people started accusing her of gluttony. And paused. Hadn’t she only just sloughed off the horrible feelings Marianne had induced, about her being greedy in contrast with the French girl’s bird-like appetite? Hadn’t she decided that comparing her fuller figure to Marianne’s delicate little frame all the time had been a serious mistake? Anyway, what did it matter if she was overweight? What did she care what anyone thought of her looks? Since her own husband couldn’t bear to look at her any more, and she was
never
going to go looking for a substitute, like a pitiful child running round begging someone to love her, then it didn’t matter what she looked like.

She turned, mutinously, went back to the table, picked up a mince pie and crammed it, whole, into her mouth.

If only Alec still looked upset, she could have deluded herself that she’d started to matter to him, too. But after an initial spell of glowering whenever she walked into the room, he’d made a remarkable recovery. Though he never spoke to her, he’d gone out of his way to have conversations with every single other member of her family. Even her older brothers. After an initial reticence they appeared to have accepted him as one of their own.

She might have known Nick and Herbert would bond with the man who’d hurt her so badly. So publicly. They’d probably congratulated him for
taking her down a peg.

Perhaps the most telling thing of all was the fact that he’d made no attempt to regain admission to her room. Not even once.

Sometimes she saw him pacing the length of the terrace, head down, hands clasped behind his back—as though he was pondering some deeply perplexing problem. But for the rest of the day—when he wasn’t charming his way through her family, that was—he disappeared into the east drawing room with the young people, specifically his sister, she supposed.

And when she pressed her ear to the door, she’d hear gales of laughter above industrious noises of hammering and sawing. And flinch away, knowing that he was in there with all those others, enjoying himself immensely, while she...

She sighed, and absently picked up a Spanish biscuit. One good thing about the stand she’d taken in the orangery—at least he wasn’t angry with Lizzie. In fact, by all accounts, Alec and Lizzie were getting on like a house on fire. There hadn’t been a single murmur about Lizzie in connection with Eduardo, either. Which there was bound to have been if anyone had even the tiniest suspicion anything untoward had happened. So this estrangement from her husband wasn’t utterly in vain.

It was small consolation, but all she had.

* * *

At last, it was Twelfth Night. She was eating the last family dinner of the season. And later, she would attend the last theatrical production. And then it would be over. Everyone would leave.

Everyone.

She pasted a bland smile on her face as her Uncle Maurice droned on about some horse he’d backed last race meeting. But her mind was completely taken up with what Alec intended to do once this house party broke up. She’d begun to think that wherever he intended going, he would be taking her with him. That they’d be starting a new life together. But now...?