The Gilded Web (40 page)

But this time it just could not be done. Although the captain showed her every deference and would need very little encouragement to be declaring himself, she just could not fall in love with him.

“Someone else tell a story,” she said now, as the laughter died down following her latest anecdote. “Walter, you were in London for a few weeks. Something interesting must have happened to you.”

“Well,” he said, “there was the day I tried to get into White's with Hanbury. He said I could look older than I am if I pursed my lips and looked very stern.”

“And it did not work, I take it,” Sir Peregrine said with a grin.

“The years will pass quickly enough,” Lady Lampman said, “and you will be able to join all the clubs you wish, Mr. Carrington.”

It was an inspired moment to call Walter “Mr. Carrington,” Madeline thought. He must appear little more than a babe to Lady Lampman. She flashed a curious look at the lady. She had always found her intriguing. So quiet and unassuming when she had been the rector's housekeeper that she had been scarcely noticeable. And then coming into a shocking prominence as the bride of Sir Peregrine.

Madeline had once fancied herself in love with him, and he had been in the habit of paying her lavish compliments and flirting outrageously with her. She realized now that his intentions had never been serious. But Lady Lampman! How could he have brought himself to such a thing as to marry her? She was so much older than he, and had no obvious attractions.

Madeline looked again, as she had looked many times, for signs of unhappiness or discontent in Sir Peregrine's face, and could find none. What an intriguing relationship theirs was! It was impossible to know if they were mildly contented or desperately unhappy. Impossible to know if Lady Lampman ruled him with a rod of iron, as she sometimes liked to fancy. The woman certainly watched him wherever he went when they were in company.

And she was with child. Madeline would have thought she was far too old.

“Yes, please, Perry,” Lady Lampman said now, handing her husband her empty glass so that he might bring her more lemonade. And she followed him with her eyes as he crossed the lawn and stopped to talk briefly to the rector's wife. He was looking after his wife's needs—like an obedient puppy? Or like a devoted husband?

Madeline found her eyes straying up the river again, as they had against her will at least a dozen times in the past hour. But they were still not returning—Howard, Uncle William, Anna, and Mr. Purnell. They had gone to look at a good fishing spot, though what there was to see in a good fishing spot escaped Madeline's comprehension. She could have gone with them. Uncle William had asked her, and Howard had looked hopeful. Mr. Purnell had not looked at her at all. And of course she had not gone.

Did she love him? That was the word she had used to Dom a few days before. But was “love” a suitable word to describe her feelings for Mr. Purnell? Perhaps “obsession” was a better word. She certainly was obsessed. She avoided him at every moment of the day, and yet at every moment of the day she knew were he was and with whom. When he was within her sight, she tingled with awareness of him and studiously avoided looking at him. And found herself darting glances at him every few moments.

She was very much afraid of him. And she did not know why. There was his way of talking to her, of course. He had never made a secret of his dislike of her and had insulted her on more than one occasion. But then, that was not the sort of behavior that would make her cringe. If any man wished to talk to her in that way, well, she would give as good as she got, and better. She could even enjoy the banter. Not that she had had much practice at that sort of game, of course. In her experience men tended to be worshipful. And boring.

And there was the way he had treated her the last time they had been alone together. She had still not succeeded in shaking the memory of that kiss from her mind. And she was not sure that she had tried very hard. It had been a bruising and an insulting kiss, and she supposed quite sufficient to explain her fear of Mr. Purnell. But for all that, that was not the reason for her fear. Perhaps it was foolish of her to be so trusting, but she did not feel that she had been in danger of being ravished, or that she need fear such danger. She did not believe him quite that unprincipled.

No, she could not explain her fear. It was a fear of the unknown. And Mr. Purnell definitely represented the unknown. There was something about him, something locked up inside him, that frightened her. Not that she feared it would erupt in violence. She was not afraid of being physically harmed by Mr. Purnell.

What was she afraid of, then? Of falling in love with him so irrevocably that she would not be able to feel an interest in any other man ever again? Yes, she was afraid of that. Very afraid. She was two-and-twenty years old, and she wanted to be married. She wanted her life to settle down. She wanted to be in love, to marry, to have children.

And she was afraid of finding herself irreversibly in love and then discovering something dreadful about Mr. Purnell, something that should distance him totally from her regard. Not that it would matter anyway, of course. Not in her wildest imaginings could she ever picture Mr. Purnell loving her, wanting to spend his life or any part of it with her. And yet, in some small way he must share her obsession. She had never heard him treat any other lady as he treated her. He had apologized twice to her—once for what he had said, once for what he had done. And that kiss had been quite unpremeditated; she was sure of that.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she said, smiling up at Sir Peregrine, who had brought her a glass of lemonade too. “It is a warm afternoon. I should tell you about the time Lord Timmins brought me a glass of lemonade at Almack's and tripped just as he was holding it out to me, though no one could discover afterward what it was he had tripped over. The poor man. That was all of three years ago, and I have never seen him there since.”

The others joined in her laughter. They were on their way back, she saw, Anna tripping along beside Mr. Purnell, her arm through his. He was looking down at her, an indulgent smile on his face. Madeline laughed at Sir Peregrine, who was declaring that he was terrified to hand his wife her lemonade lest he spill it all down the front of her dress.

A
LEXANDRA HAD DREADED THE ARRIVAL
of her father, and in the event had fallen into his arms and hugged him with a fervor that had surprised herself quite as much as it had him. She had never been separated from him for as long before, and seeing his familiar bulky figure step down from his carriage outside Lord Amberley's door had made her realize what she had not fully known until that moment: she loved him.

“Well, Alexandra,” he had said, holding her at arm's length and glancing up the marble steps to where Lord Amberley and his mother waited, and to his wife at the bottom of the steps, “I see you have forgotten your manners, miss.”

And yet, she had thought as he turned to greet Mama in a far more restrained manner and to acknowledge his host and hostess, he had not been angry. His gruffness had hidden some pleasure. Or had she imagined that? Was it possible that Papa could be pleased at being hugged? She had never done such a thing before.

She had had very little private talk with him since. If Mama had recounted her misdeeds, he had not yet found the moment to take her to task about them. He had addressed one remark to her the night before after dinner.

“Well, Alexandra,” he had said, “you will be pleased with the latest news from town, doubtless. The Duke of Peterleigh has just engaged himself to Lady Angela Page. She has made a fortunate catch, under the circumstances. She is seventeen years old.”

What had she felt? Alexandra asked herself now. A sense of finality, as if a door had been finally closed in her face? Yes, she did feel that. Relief? Yes, definitely. It might so easily have been she. In fact, all her life she had expected that it would be she. And she knew now after a few weeks of rapid growing up that she would never have known a moment's happiness in her life if she had married his grace.

Indeed, she thought with some surprise, that ridiculous kidnapping that had been the origin of all her woes had probably been the single most fortunate thing that had ever happened to her. She was in a tangle, and there were worse days to come, but at least she had been made aware of herself as a distinct person, quite separate from her father or the Duke of Peterleigh or any other man. She had a great deal to thank Lord Eden for. She must tell him so when she had the chance, she thought with a smile.

“Alex,” Lord Amberley said to her, taking her empty plate from her hand, “shall we stroll along beside the river with your mother and father? Perhaps we should cross the bridge first. I always prefer the walk at the other side.”

She took her father's arm while Lord Amberley offered his to her mother.

“You have a very pleasant seat here, Amberley,” Lord Beckworth said as they walked. “It is too bad that there has to be such a lot of wasted land.”

“You refer to the valley?” Lord Amberley said.

“And to the land close to the sea,” the other replied. “No good for anything but grazing sheep, I gather.”

Lord Amberley smiled. “You are quite right,” he said. “It is waste land, is it not? It is strange that the idea had not occurred to me until this very moment. And yet the valley and the cliffs are my favorite parts of my land, the parts that make it so very precious to me. Perhaps something is not valueless if it can warm one's heart.”

“The hunting is good?” Lord Beckworth asked.

“Forbidden, I am afraid,” Lord Amberley said, “though I do allow fishing. I have the notion, considered somewhat amusing by many who know me, if not downright lunatic, that wild animals have as much right to life as we do. Your next question is quite likely to be: do I eat meat? The answer is yes, unfortunately. I do not quite have the courage of my convictions, you see. If I lived quite alone, and prepared all my own food, perhaps I would abstain. But I always think how very inconvenient it would be to all concerned if I became so eccentric.”

“Live without meat?” Lady Beckworth said. “It would not be possible, my lord, would it? You would not long survive, especially during the cold of the winter. It seems a strange notion to me.”

“And quite unnecessary,” Lord Beckworth said. “You have only to read your Bible, Amberley, to know that animals were created for man's food. It would be rebellion against God to refuse to accept his gift.”

Lord Amberley smiled. “You are quite possibly right,” he said, “though opinion on the matter does depend on which version of the Creation one reads.”

“Hm,” Lord Beckworth said. “I came down, Amberley, to settle the matter of your wedding. The end of summer, I thought, would be the perfect time. The end of August, perhaps, or the beginning of September. In St. George's. A large enough number will be in town or will return to town for the event if we send out the invitations without further delay.”

Alexandra held her breath.

“Alex and I have not discussed the matter,” Lord Amberley said. “We had certainly not thought of such an early wedding.”

“The best possible thing,” Lord Beckworth said. “Why wait?”

“Ours was a precipitate betrothal,” Lord Amberley said. “We did not know each other at all, and have had only a few brief weeks to become acquainted. I do not wish to rush Alex into marriage.”

“Alexandra will do as she is told,” her father said. “This is entirely between you and me, Amberley. I should not have raised the matter until we were alone together, perhaps. But both Lady Beckworth and Alexandra need to know what we plan.”

They had all stopped walking. Alexandra watched her betrothed with raised chin and compressed lips. He smiled at her.

“I would say rather that it is a matter between Alex and me,” he said with quiet courtesy. “We will discuss the matter and let you know our decision while you are still here. I can understand your wish to know what our plans are. But I believe I can say with some certainty that we will not be marrying quite as soon as you suggest. And probably not in London.”

“Not in London?” Lord Beckworth said, his brows drawing together. “You are to marry in the country, as if you are hiding your shame? Under the circumstances, Amberley, it is quite imperative that your wedding be a very public occasion.”

“When I marry,” Lord Amberley said, his voice no louder or less courteous than it had been at the start, “I will be marrying Alex, my lord, pledging myself to her for the rest of my life. Frankly, it will not concern me at that moment what the rest of the world thinks, or where the rest of the world is. Provided Alex is there, and the people we love most, I shall be entirely happy.”

Papa was breathing rather heavily, Alexandra saw. Mama was looking frightened. Alexandra raised her chin another inch. And then the tension was broken by the sound of Uncle William's voice calling from across the river.