The Exploits & Adventures of Miss Alethea Darcy (17 page)

Which irritated him. Besides, he had a suspicion that very little actually daunted Mrs. Vineham, whatever her shrieks and pretence at helplessness. You couldn't have been married to Vineham these ten years and survived without you were as tough as old boots.

Wytton's mother, Lady Hermione Wytton, had often chafed him on his misapprehension of women. “It is why you have never married, Titus,” she had said more than once. “You do not make any push to understand what you consider the weaker sex, and your life is the less interesting because of the lack of any such rapport.”

“I have all the rapport with the female sex that I desire” had been his cross reply; was she questioning his manhood?

“Oh, you have commerce with women of the usual kind, and there is Emily to cosset and comfort you, but you may believe me when I tell you that you have not the slightest notion what is going on inside Emily's head—or her heart, for that matter.”

His private opinion, that what might or might not go on inside a woman's head was of little importance, he kept to himself—wisely, for Lady Hermione Wytton had a sharp tongue when she chose to use it.

Had she been right about Emily? Of course not. This marriage to Lessini only proved that you couldn't trust a woman's heart or reason. She had clearly taken up with the man on a whim, seduced by his amiable manners and charming smile. How like a woman to be seduced by what had no substance.

Opposite him, Alethea stirred, yawned, stretched. Lithe as a cat, and with about as much sense, he thought disagreeably. He need not rack his brains over what to do about her immediately, however. She was heading for Venice, and it might very well be that he was doing the same. In which case he could ensure that she was safely handed over to Wytton, and then he could wash his hands of any responsibility for her. God knew what Wytton would make of this excursion of hers. If he had any sense, he'd at once send word to Darcy—wasn't the man in Vienna just now?—and leave it to him to sort the whole sordid business out. He doubted if Napier would take his wife back after such a jaunt; she would have to live quietly, abroad, under the care of some duenna.

“Why do you look so severe?” Alethea asked him. “Is it to do with our journey? Is there some further delay?”

“I? Look severe? I'm sorry you should think so. No, we are very near Domodossola, I am sure. There is a spittal there, where you may rest.”

“Spittal?”

“It is a hostel, a place where travellers stay, with beds and food.”

“But I understand it is possible to leave for Milan immediately. It is late afternoon now.” She pulled out her half-hunter. “Our journey has taken some fifteen hours. Fifteen hours!”

“Fifteen of the longest hours I ever wish to spend,” said Warren from his corner.

It was with great relief that Titus got down from the chaise, and turned to hand Alethea down. She had forestalled him, jumping down to the ground beside him, and looking around with alert, interested eyes, every fibre of her being alive with anticipation.

“I long for food,” she said. “Then I must find when I can continue my journey to Milan.”

Titus strode over to a fat man in a long apron, who was talking to one of the outriders. He spoke in rapid Italian, and then came back to Alethea.

“The coach for Milan leaves in less than an hour and travels through the night. You will be too tired, I think, to undertake another journey immediately.”

She stiffened, caught sight of Figgins and called out to her. “Figgins, see to the luggage, for we go directly on to Milan.” Then, to Titus, “I am not at all tired, you know, for I have slept on the way down. I wish to be in Venice as soon as I can. Do you make a halt here? It seems a very gloomy kind of a place, this spittal.”

Warren had drawn apart, and was dressing down his valet, who looked very much the worse for wear.

“We go on tonight,” Warren was saying. “It is a flatter journey; you will not mind it.”

“Is it not unkind to bring such a poor traveller with you on such a journey?” Signora Lessini asked.

“He looks after my clothes and my person too well to be left behind, ma'am,” said Warren shortly.

“If you go on tonight, you will be in Milan in good time tomorrow,” Titus said to Alethea. “The roads are supposed to be perfectly safe.”

“I was quite disappointed that we met with no mountain bandits,” Alethea said blithely. “Do you make a stay here?”

“I think not.”

 

Titus strode into the spittal, shrugging off his greatcoat as he went and calling out to a servant to bring him food and wine, immediately, he had no time to lose. A nimble waiter followed him, saying,
“Sì, sì, signore,”
in cheerful tones, and dived ahead to open a heavy wooden door.

“A private room,” the waiter announced with satisfaction, then added, “except for the English signora,” and whisked himself away.

Emily was sitting on a chair beside a window. Outside, sun slanted down across the mountains, sending brilliant rays to light up an otherwise dingy parlour.

Titus glowered at her and then began to prowl about the room, picking up ornaments, looking at a book, casting it aside, glancing at a newspaper, sending frowning sideways looks at Emily as he went to and fro.

“Sit down, Titus, for heaven's sake; you make me feel quite queasy, pacing up and down like that.”

“Thank you, I have been sitting for so many hours, I need to stretch my legs. Where's that husband of yours?”

“Mr. Lessini has gone for a walk in the town, to stretch his legs and to buy one or two items we need. May I recommend you take a mountain walk, to work off your fidgets?”

“I have no time, I go straight on to Milan.”

The waiter flew in with another cup. “The signore can take coffee while his food is being prepared.”

“I said wine, I don't want coffee.”

Emily gestured to the chair on the other side of the low table where the coffee-pot stood. “If you don't sit down, then I shall go and find somewhere else to sit, where I may be more comfortable.”

“Oh, very well.” Titus lowered himself into the chair. Damn Emily, always so calm, and, now he came to think of it, always telling him what to do. “You're managing me, Emily. I find I don't care for that.”

“I don't suppose you do, not now.”

“What do you mean by that? Not now? Not ever.”

“Nonsense, my dear. I've been managing you for years, and you have never complained. It was one of the reasons you sought my company.”

Titus felt a surge of anger rising in his gullet. He took a hasty gulp of coffee, swallowed it the wrong way, and succumbed to a fit of coughing. “Now look what you've made me do,” he said when he had recovered.

“Did it burn your throat? I'm sorry for it, but it is not wise to drink hot liquid when you are breathing so heavily.”

“I was not breathing heavily.”

“You were. It is something you always do when you are working yourself into a rage.”

Titus felt it wiser not to argue this point. “I resent that remark about your managing me, I resent it very much indeed. When one is in love with a woman, one seeks her company for reasons very different from a wish to be ordered about.”

“Managing is not precisely ordering about, and you were not precisely in love with me.”

He stared at her. What was she saying? Had she taken leave of her senses? “Dear God, Emily, we have been as close as two human beings can be these seven years and more. How can you say I was not in love with you? I suppose what you are saying is that you were not in love with me, and that's obvious enough, now that you have chosen to marry another man in preference to me.”

“We dealt very well together, and I took great pleasure in your company, in bed and out of it, if that is what irks you.”

“Dealt, took, all in the past tense, all finished now that Thruxton is dead,” he said bitterly. “The minute you were a free woman, you deserted me.”

Emily was a most patient woman, but her mouth tightened at this. Titus was too preoccupied with his own resentment and hurt to notice. “I dare say that, merely because I happened to be out of the country at that time, you felt I had deserted you. But, Emily, you must have known it was no such thing. A word from you, and I would have been at your side. By the time I heard that you were a widow, you were already planning a trip down the aisle with a damned Italian music master—”

He stopped, realising from the flash of fury on Emily's face that he had gone too far.

“Carlo is a fine and distinguished musician, and it is a profession that I happen to honour,” she said coldly. “I know I am considered to have disgraced myself; I was born an Uppinger, daughter of a baron, and here I am married to a foreigner who writes music. Do not forget, however, that my impoverished, if noble, father sold me to Thruxton, who was not a member of an ancient and noble family but a brewer, albeit a very wealthy man who had inherited the business together with considerable estates. His money made him respectable and kept me, just, within the circle of society in which I had been born.”

“And now you have excluded yourself from it for ever.”

“With very few regrets. London society has its ways and manners, but I have lived in that world for long enough. I crave a new life, new places, new people, and it so happens that I fell in love with Carlo almost as soon as we met.”

“And when was that? Exactly when did you meet this paragon that you've chosen to marry?” Good God, had she been in love with the fellow even when she was still his mistress? Look at the blush on her face, she knew she was in the wrong.

“Where and how I met him is entirely my own business, Titus. Had you been in England when I was widowed, it would have made no difference. I would under no circumstances have agreed to become your wife, Lessini or no Lessini.”

He couldn't believe his ears. “What?”

“No, Titus. Indeed, I loved you dearly, and always will, in a way, but you need a different kind of wife from me. We should not suit as man and wife, we would have a very disagreeable life together. We came together when you were lonely and unhappy, and I gave you comfort and consolation, and yes, a great deal of love. We had merry times together, with no ties, and we met one another's needs.”

“And what is so very different about a marriage?”

“We should never be equals.”

Titus frowned. Equality between a man and a woman? What nonsense was this? “A man is master in his own home.”

“Or so he likes to think, but that is precisely my point. I manage you, as you put it. I have cosseted you, and made allowances for your temper and nightmares, and given you some peace of mind.”

“You make yourself sound like my nurse when I was a boy.”

“Exactly, Titus. And how very cosy it has been for you, but I find I do not care to have a husband who needs so very much looking after, and indeed I believe your needs now are not the same. You should look for a wife that you have to take some care over, and yet one whom you may respect. As she will respect you, for indeed, Titus, you are a rare man and are destined to make some woman extremely happy. Find someone you can laugh with, and admire, and who loves you wholeheartedly—as a man, and as an equal.”

Titus heard her words, but felt that he could not grasp their meaning. “Is it because you are two or three years older than me? Is that it? Does such a trifling difference in age matter?”

“I am four years older than Carlo.”

“Lessini, Lessini, that is all you can talk about. Curse him, I wish I could run him through with my sword and put an end to his husbandly capers.”

“Titus!”

“Oh, you know very well I would do no such thing. However, ma'am, I consider that you have made a bad choice, and one you will live to regret. I bid you good day, and wish you a comfortable and safe journey, and, of course, my best wishes for your future health and happiness. Waiter! I will eat in the dining room, and send my man to me.”

He flung himself out of the parlour, almost sure that he could hear laughter from within as he slammed the door behind him.

 

Alethea had also been shown into a room with one of her fellow travellers, but she was even less happy about it than Titus.

“Lord Lucius,” she said, stopping in the doorway and making as though to retreat.

Moving with remarkable swiftness, he had shut the door and drawn her into the room before she could protest. Angrily, she shook his hand from his arm.

“My dear Mr. Hawkins,” he said, standing much closer to her than she cared for. “Pray call me Lucius as my friends do, for we are quite well-acquainted enough for such familiarity, do you not think so? And I am sure we are going to be friends, very close friends. I shall call you Aloysius.”

“I would much prefer that you did not, sir,” said Alethea, trying unsuccessfully to edge away from the man. Whatever perfume did the man use? He smelt like a civet cat. She wrinkled her nose in disgust.