The Importance of Being Wicked (17 page)

Chapter 15

T
homas and Caro shared a post chaise from Newmarket to London. He managed to resist her attempts to seduce him in the carriage, but truly, she didn't try very hard. Intimate congress in a small and fast-moving carriage was not ideal. Hired chaises weren't dubbed “yellow bouncers” for nothing. They managed to do quite a lot of kissing and cuddling during the journey, leaving Caro anxious to reach her bed, and not alone.

“Stay,” she said. Punctilious as ever, he'd accompanied her upstairs and seen her settled in.

“I mustn't keep the horses waiting.”

“Pay off the postboys. Stay for dinner, and the night. Anne is still with Cynthia. No one will know, if that's your concern.”

“The servants will know.”

“Don't be Lord Stuffy.” She pressed herself against him and pushed his greatcoat off his shoulder. “The Battens won't care.”

He took a step away and shrugged back into the garment. “After we marry, we must find better servants for our London house.”

“There's nothing wrong with the Battens. Besides, they've been with me for years.”

“I'll find them another position. Or pension them off.”

Caro had no intention of allowing any such thing, but she decided to postpone the matter in favor of the immediate task of dissuading Thomas from leaving her alone.

To no avail. She could tell he was tempted, especially after another lengthy kiss. Instead, he delivered more bad news. “I leave for Castleton in the morning.”

“Do you have to go so soon?”

“I told you I have business that cannot be postponed.” So he'd said during the journey, but he hadn't mentioned leaving immediately.

“Let me come with you.”

“I'm sorry, my dear, but I shall be too busy to entertain you. And it wouldn't be proper.”

“Why ever not? Surely your mother is there?”

“I prefer to introduce you to my home as my bride.”

He was not to be moved and left her frustrated and a little hurt.

She didn't believe his excuse about estate business. She knew what called him urgently home: the need to reconcile his family to the match. And since Caro had spent the last seven years not giving a damn what anyone thought of her, she found it infuriating that she minded. Suppose under the influence of his oh-so-correct mother and beautifully behaved sisters, Thomas realized what a disaster she was. Suppose he called off the engagement. Or suppose he didn't, and grew to hate her for the rest of his life.

She already feared the possibility and wondered if she was mad to give in to his begging. She hadn't forgotten his promise to help her “regulate her conduct.” Her mother had spent her life trying to regulate Caro's conduct until Robert saved her.
He
never stopped her from doing anything she wanted. She'd given in to the sweet sincerity of Thomas's desire for her, but how long would that last before resentment and “regulation” set in?

And if he came to his senses and jilted her, how could she bear the fact that she would never share a bed with him, never see the big beautiful body naked? How could she live for the rest of her life with only one quick coupling on a sofa to sustain her?

Hating to spend an evening alone, she walked over to the carriage house, but Oliver, her usual recourse, wasn't there. She wandered restlessly around the small garden; when it grew darker and cold, she paced the house.

Damn Thomas! How dare he persuade her to marry him, then leave her like this. Leave her to face thoughts and memories she preferred to avoid. It reminded her of nights when she expected Robert and he didn't come home.

The next morning, she wrote notes to Anne and other friends. She needed to fill up the house.

One small concern was quickly put to rest. Anne expressed herself unsurprised by the match. “He and I would have done very badly together. I knew he wanted you. And I believe you are well suited.”

“That remains to be seen.” Caro still felt querulous. “I'm not pleased that he's taken off on business. Since we are newly betrothed, he should have stayed with me.”

“But Caro,” Anne said, “that's what gentlemen do. We ladies must find our own pastimes.”

It crossed her mind that at least Thomas's business wasn't at the gaming tables, but Caro was in no mood for common sense. The only pastime that currently interested her involved Thomas and a bed. Or a sofa or, at a pinch, a patch of grass.

If Anne approved the match, the rest of her set was less enthusiastic. Julian and Oliver were the first to arrive on her doorstep and hear the news.

“My dear Caro! There'll be no more cakes and ale for you.” The Duke of Denford's reaction to the news of her engagement to the Duke of Castleton was typical.

Oliver, in his gloriously frank way, worried that meals for starving artists would not be so readily forthcoming. But he was quite hopeful about the opportunities for patronage from Castleton and his connections. He also made it clear he wouldn't be shy about continuing to ask for “loans” from his newly rich landlady.

“Unless you are planning to move out of Conduit Street. Please don't, Caro! It's not just that I would have to move. Nothing will be the same without you here.”

“I'm sure Caro and Castleton will move to his house,” Julian said. “In Whitehall, I believe. Once a fashionable area. I'm sure you'll enjoy the proximity of so many government offices.”

She and Anne had driven past the house that morning, a vast old place that looked drafty and uncomfortable. It was also most inconveniently located, far from her friends, none of whom held government places. Would Thomas insist on moving there, even against her wishes? How much time would he agree to spend in London? He had told her he'd accommodate Anne's desires, but perhaps a bride without a fortune didn't merit the same consideration. They would have been wise to spend less time kissing and done more talking about their future on the road from Newmarket.

Talking about their future. How dismally commonplace that sounded. She wasn't enamored of moving to the country. Somehow, she'd envisioned carrying on with her old life, in her cozy house, with the constant company of her friends. The only difference would be the absence of duns and debts and the presence of Thomas in her bed.

“It's not going to be the same.” Julian echoed her thoughts. “All these years I spent traveling, around England or abroad, with no place of my own, I could rely on a welcome in Conduit Street. A meal and good company.”

“I know,” Caro replied, touched by the genuine feeling in his speech. “Robert's death was a loss for all of us.”

“Robert was one of my best and oldest friends,” Julian said. “But it was you, Caro, who made this house a home for so many of us. I quarreled with Windermere, then Robert died. I never see Marcus. Now your departure marks the end of my youth.”

Caro wanted to cry. Here she was, about to contract an advantageous marriage to a man whom she might not love but desperately desired. And she felt she was truly killing Robert. Because he'd not only been her husband and her lover, but his friends had given her a family, a warmth and connection she'd lacked from her mother and brother.

“I may have lost Robert,” she said, “but I will never, ever abandon his friends. I won't let Castleton come between us.”

Julian raised his eyebrows, and his lips hardened into a cynical sneer. “If you have anything to say in the matter.” He sounded much more like himself. “I'm afraid you accepted Castleton because you need his money.”

“That's not true,” Caro said. “He's a good man for all his stuffiness. I want to marry him.”

“Are you low on funds, Caro?” Oliver said. “You should have said something. I could sell my Venus and give you the money.”

His question seemed breathtaking in its naïveté. But Caro had never confided in her friends, never told them just how bad her situation was. Not because she didn't trust them but because she preferred to deny the existence of her circumstances. And because explanations would mean speaking of Robert's faults. That Thomas was prepared to take her on, debts and all, was really quite extraordinary.

“May I have a word with you in private, Caro?” Julian asked. “I want to ask you about the
Farnese Venus,
” he continued once they were alone.

“For heaven's sake! That again? How many times do I have to assure everyone I don't have it?”

Julian looked down his nose at her, his eyes boring into hers. “I don't believe you. And I think you'd be wise to tell me the truth.”

Caro held his gaze. “Why? Not that I'm lying, but if I were, why should I tell you?”

“Robert left you in trouble. I wish I were in a position to help, but this damn dukedom has been nothing but an expense for me so far. You may protest as much as you like, but I know you accepted Castleton for his money. And if that is true, the Titian can save you. You might be able to get as much as three thousand pounds for it.”

Caro gaped. “Three thousand! That's much more than I thought it was worth.”

“You see, my dear. You could pay your debts, and you wouldn't have to marry Castleton.”

“Except,” she snapped, “that I don't have it, and I do want to marry Castleton.” She'd never felt more certain of that fact. Ever since Thomas had left, she'd been wavering, wondering if they were mismatched, fearing they'd make each other unhappy. The moment Julian offered her a way out, she was absolutely sure she wanted the marriage. And it was none of his business.

“If you say so,” Julian said, shaking his head. “But think about this. When you marry, your property will become Castleton's property. I don't think he cares much for pictures of undressed ladies. He could demand you sell the Venus, and you wouldn't reap the benefit.”

“This is a fascinating conversation, Julian, and I'm so grateful for your interest in my affairs. How many times do I have to tell you—
I do not have
the Venus.”

She could see he wasn't convinced, but what else could he do? She dared not even look at the ceiling lest Denford divine that the Titian was hidden away upstairs. Its presence in her house felt like a black smudge on her conscience. Not because of Julian. It was no affair of his. But should she reveal its existence to Thomas? Her husband had the right to know what she owned, and she couldn't believe he would force her to sell it. But she could be wrong and Julian right about that.

“If you are to turn Puritan,” Julian said, accepting for the moment that she wasn't going to sell him the picture, “you should have one last celebration here. When does your beloved return to London?”

“He wasn't sure how long his business would take. A week perhaps.”

“You must give a dinner for all your friends.”

“To introduce them to Castleton?”

“Don't be dense, Caro. Before he comes back. One last glorious revel at Conduit Street before you leave, a final celebration of the Townsend set. You could call it a farewell to Robert, if you like.”

The idea beckoned enticingly. One last, grand gathering of the kind she and Robert had held together so often in the early days. A chance to be the hostess of the most amusing and disreputable young people in London, one more time. And she could afford it now, just like the old days. The best dishes ordered in, wine flowing like the Thames.

“I don't know. I've mourned Robert for so long, and now I'm to start a new life. It doesn't seem fair to Thomas.”

“What he doesn't know won't hurt him. You know it'll be a much better party without him.”

Five days later, on the arrival of a letter from her betrothed postponing his return, Caro regretted the virtuous impulse that had rejected Julian's suggestion. If she couldn't entertain, she decided, she could at least shop. Toward the end of Robert's life, when the stream of bills coming into the house expanded to a torrent, Caro had made an effort to retrench. In the interests of economy, she hit upon a strategy based on the French fashion for light muslin gowns. She would give up costly materials and dress simply. Her expensive dressmaker, the best in London, who luckily still extended credit to the Townsend household, made her a complete wardrobe of white gowns. Always white. It became her signature. It turned out to have been a brilliant notion when she became a widow. Instead of going into full mourning, she merely replaced the colored ribbons and sashes with black. Thank heaven she'd never resorted to dye. Since she couldn't order new gowns—the old ones had never been paid for—she'd have been stuck in black forever.

The economy of the white wardrobe hadn't been an unalloyed success. The garments got dirty and required frequent laundering. And all that washing wore them out. She needed some new clothes, badly.

Frankly, she was a bit sick of white. And of muslin. She had a yearning for silks and satins, fine woolens and twills. And bright colors. Red perhaps. She'd never worn so much as a scrap of ribbon in red, which her mother had decreed a hue that clashed with red hair. It was about the only one of her mother's precepts she'd never disobeyed. It was time.

Chapter 16

O
n his twenty-first birthday, at his father's request, Thomas had signed a good many legal documents renewing and extending the various trusts governing the Castleton properties. This was normal. Wise aristocrats who wished to retain their wealth placed as much property as possible under the protection of entail. Unfortunate habits like gaming and falling in love with grasping courtesans had a way of affecting scions of even the best-regulated families. Had Robert Townsend's forebears been so prudent, Caro wouldn't be in her current fix.

Obeying his father, Thomas hadn't thought to inquire about the provisions made for his sisters. Margaret, only a year younger than he, married and took with her a dowry of twenty-five thousand pounds. He'd assumed the twins would have the same amount. The greatest shock of his inheritance, after learning that his father had gambled on the Exchange and left diminished accounts and a pile of debt, was the fact that the Ladies Maria and Sarah Fitzcharles had been left penniless. Less than penniless. The trusts had been set up so not a penny of capital could be diverted to the twins. And Thomas, all unknowing, had cooperated in his sisters' disinheritance. When the truth came to light, he swore he would make up for it by savings from his own income.

Poring over the trusts with his man of business, Thomas discovered one oddity. And now that he was committed to marriage with a woman who brought him nothing but debts, he needed to explore it.

On reaching Castleton, he sent a servant to request an audience with his mother and attended the soon-to-be dowager in her sitting room. They'd never been on intimate terms. The duchess had very properly concerned herself with the education of her daughters, while Thomas was his father's son.

“I am to be married, ma'am.”

“Miss Brotherton said yes, then? Your father would be pleased.” A stranger wouldn't detect the edge of sarcasm in her voice. Nor would Thomas have, in the past. But a new sensitivity had arisen from thinking about marriage, his own and the institution in general. The Duchess of Castleton was not a woman given to much nuance of expression, or animation of any kind. The prettiness that had captivated his father had long since faded. Were it not for her fine clothing, she'd seem quite an ordinary woman. She still favored the silks and lace of a decade ago rather than simple muslins like Caro. Caro's wardrobe expenses must be modest, Thomas thought with relief.

His mother also liked her jewelry, rarely appearing unadorned by precious stones from the Fitzcharles accumulations. That was why he needed to speak to her.

“In a sense,” he replied to her question. “Not Camber's granddaughter. Her cousin. She was formerly a Miss Brotherton, but Caro is the widow of the man called Robert Townsend.”

“A widow is she?” Was that a flicker of knowledge in the impassive eyes? She could have heard gossip about the Townsends despite her long absence from London and the
ton.

“Mrs. Townsend is a young woman, only twenty-four years old.”

The duchess nodded. “So I would suppose. I know of Townsend and his exploits. He was a member of a rather wild and notorious set in his youth. What happened to them?”

Thomas had no idea why his mother should be interested in a group of young men unconnected to the family. “One of them recently became Duke of Denford. Dreadful fellow. I did hear talk of others, but I don't know them, unless you mean an artist named Bream.”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter. I wish you happy.”

“Thank you, ma'am. I'm sure I will be. Now I must consult you about my sisters. We haven't spoken of this, but my father wasn't always wise in the management of the family assets.” Loyalty prevented him speaking more strongly. “He made no provision for the twins. I cannot sell any land, so I must find at least ten thousand pounds apiece for them out of my reduced income.”

“Are you asking me to help?” she said with distinct bitterness. “I would do so, but my own settlement is modest, commensurate with the fortune I brought to the marriage. Your father had rigid notions of justice.”

“I am sorry for it. You may be assured I shall not let you go in want. More pressing is the necessity of providing for the girls. They'll reach marriageable age in two or three years.”

The duchess looked at him blankly. A thought tickled the back of his mind, a notion he'd avoided exploring. Why do so when he never expected to mention the subject? Openness for its own sake wasn't a valued trait in his upbringing.

“It's strange the duke didn't lay aside sums for the twins. Margaret was handsomely dowered. Why didn't he do the same for Sarah and Maria?” He approached the crux of his inquiry carefully, hesitating to ask a question that could never be withdrawn. “My father was above all a correct man. Why did he behave in a manner so out of character?”

“I disagree,” she said. “His treatment of my daughters was very much in character.”

“Your
daughters? Surely his too.” The duchess said nothing, and the horrifying suspicion hardened to certainty. There was a ten-year gap between the births of Margaret and the twins. His collar felt tight, his palms damp with fear. “Did you play him false?” He could scarcely believe he'd voiced such a terrible accusation.

His mother's face was almost unrecognizable in its raw defiance. “And if I did? What if I sought affection elsewhere after he withdrew his? A woman cannot live without warmth.”

His mind reeled. He stood, towering over the seated adulteress, his fists clenched. He saw her expression turn to one of fear, and he struggled to control his anger and assimilate the significance of his knowledge calmly.

He thought about the girls. If the twins weren't his father's responsibility to dower, being no offspring of his, they were still Thomas's sisters and as such he had a duty to them. Now, even more, they needed his protection. And his money. Ten thousand each wasn't enough, he needed twice as much. Not a breath of scandal must touch them, no gossiping speculation that they had so much less than Margaret. He would never tell another soul about their disgrace.

“Madam,” he said. “We shall speak no more of this, ever. Your good name and that of the girls must be maintained.”

He would protect her reputation out of respect for the family, his sisters' out of love.

His mother started to say something. “No more! The matter is forgotten.” Except that he would never be able to forget, or forgive.

His mother nodded, then looked surprised when he resumed his seat. Much as he'd like to withdraw from her polluting presence, he still had business to discuss.

“When is the wedding?” she asked.

His marriage that would bring nothing but added burdens to his purse. Had he known the truth, he'd never have been so irresponsible.

He thanked God he hadn't known.

“Soon, I hope.” He wished he was in Caro's arms now.

“I suppose you wish me to leave Castleton House.”

“The sooner the better. If the Grange or another local house is not to your taste, you may remove to one of the estates in another county.” His dignified reserve slipped, and he couldn't help letting his disgust show. “I will not bring my bride to Castleton until you have left.”

He wasn't sorry to see her flinch. “I shall take the girls with me.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible. As their guardian, I must have my sisters under my roof.”

“I thought you might not care for them, now,” the duchess said.

“Sarah and Maria are my sisters and my responsibility.”

“I will not leave them behind.”

“In that case, you may stay in the vicinity.”

“I'll move to the Grange. I would like my daughters to live with me. Since it's less than a mile away, you can surely oversee their morals while they live with their mother.”

He most certainly would. It went against the grain to let the twins go, but having them live apart from their mother would cause the speculation he wanted to avoid.

This concession should make his next request fall on receptive ears. “What about the jewels?” he began. “Some are your personal property, but Caro must have the entailed pieces. She dresses simply, so I daresay she would be amenable to sharing them with you. She must have first choice.”

“As is her right,” said the duchess.

“There is yet one curious matter I must discuss with you, ma'am. The Stuart Twins. For some reason I can find no mention of them in the settlement papers, and it occurred to me I have not seen them in many years. I assume they are in your possession?”

Thomas held his breath. The so-called Stuart Twins were a pair of matching diamond pendants, given by Charles II to Mary Swinburne. The massive gems were the most valuable treasures held by the Fitzcharles family. Yet the settlements signed by Thomas and his father, so meticulous in protecting every piece of property, including many lesser jewels, contained no mention of these famous stones. In the opinion of his lawyer, Thomas had the right to sell them.

He hated to do so, and knew that it would appall his predecessors. But his father had left him no choice. The sale of the Twins would dower the twins.

“I don't have them,” the duchess said. “I haven't for years.”

“Where are they then?”

“I don't know.”

“Did my father sell them?” Damn it! He didn't need this further evidence of the late duke's mismanagement.

The duchess's bland features lit with unmistakable malice. “I gave them away.”

“Gave them away! You had no right, ma'am, no right at all. How could my father have allowed such a thing?”

“I didn't ask him. I gave them to the man I loved. A fair trade, don't you think? A pair of twins for a pair of twins.”

“Did my father know? Why didn't he tell me?”

“Oh, he knew. He didn't keep quiet to protect me, and certainly not to protect my daughters. He didn't wish the world to know him for a cuckold. There was nothing he could do without revealing that he wore horns. I knew he'd feel like that. I knew him very well.”

Thomas's brain reeled. The loss of the diamonds was a blow he'd face later. For now he could only consider what the revelation said about the state of relations between his parents. Plainly, his mother's infidelity wasn't merely an indiscretion resulting from them drifting apart. He'd had no idea of the level of his mother's loathing and wondered if his father's matched it. Given the duke's legacy to the innocent twins, it probably did.

The knowledge depressed him. His father had broken family tradition, chosen his bride for love, not money, and Thomas was about to do the same. Would things between him and Caro turn out as badly?

He refused even to contemplate such an outcome. Caro, for all her wild ways, was true blue. He knew it instinctively.

N
ot surprisingly, news of the engagement leaked out. Oliver's flapping tongue, Caro guessed, though she'd made no effort to keep it secret. The proximity of Bond Street to her house had been a geographical irrelevance, the fashionable merchants of that thoroughfare having closed their books to the widow Townsend. Now they were delighted to reopen their doors to a future duchess, and nothing so vulgar as a price or a bill was mentioned. The reckoning, it was understood, would be sent to her new husband once the alliance was formalized.

Caro saw nothing amiss. She didn't come to Castleton penniless. Once the debts were paid, she reasoned, she'd still have her income, which wouldn't be needed to pay living expenses. Perhaps she should have waited until she'd discussed pin money with Thomas. Pin money was something of a hazy concept, understood only from conversations with her few tonnish women friends. With her elopement, there had been no marriage settlement. Robert had never complained about her expenditures, and Caro didn't regard herself as unduly extravagant. Certainly not by the standards of a duke. Nothing she'd seen suggested that Thomas was a poor man. She recalled the acres and acres of land he'd listed at their first meeting. His courting of Anne was motivated by the eternal ambition of the very rich to be even richer.

During an exhausting morning at the dressmaker, she ordered a dozen ensembles, including a red silk ball gown that plunged in a vee between her breasts. Her new husband would be quite shocked. She was resting in her drawing room, imagining the very enjoyable ways in which he might remove it, when Batten ushered in an unexpected and unwelcome pair of visitors.

“The Honorable Mrs. George Brotherton,” he intoned. Her mother always insisted on being announced with all possible pomp. “Mr. John Matthews.”

Caro rose and offered a superficial curtsey. “Mother. John. What a surprise to see you in London.”

Even more astonishing was that Elizabeth Brotherton embraced her and gave her a peck on the cheek. Caro thought it possible her mother had kissed her when she was an infant, but she didn't remember it. What she did remember was the scent of lavender. Not the slightly astringent smell of the freshly dried flowers but a stale, sickly odor of the heavy face powder her mother always wore.

“My
dearest
child,” she said.

Caro stole a look at John to see how he was taking the demotion from his lifelong position as the apple of their mother's eye. Without resentment. In fact, he regarded his sister with a look of approval.

As did her mother. She hadn't changed much in the seven years since Caro had left the house to meet Robert and never returned. Mrs. Brotherton dressed with propriety, quality without fashion. Since she hadn't adopted the higher waists, the old-fashioned cut of her gown made her seem older than her years. Conversely, although the hair was grayer, her face was relatively unlined, the smooth complexion of a lady who rarely allowed a smile, or any other emotion, to disturb her features. She was smiling now.