The Marquis At Midnight (3 page)

In the past, Grace had had reason to be
grateful for this.

She was grateful for it now.

So she lay in bed and, in her own quiet way,
she put the matter into perspective.

Yes, she had kissed the
Marquis of Morvyn, but she had not known it
was
the marquis. Ignorance was surely
her best excuse, although in retrospect… Grace grimaced. In
retrospect, what had she been about, kissing a man she did not
know? Or indeed,
any
man. A lady, no matter how advanced in years or comfortable in
their situation, did not kiss a man she did not know.

Fortunately, she had not run in to Morvyn
when she had returned inside to find Hester and Porter. She had
discovered her friend easily enough, but of Porter there was no
sign.

‘Hester! Thank heavens. Would you mind very
much if we left now?’ Grace had been terrified that the marquis
would appear and had looked nervously towards the crowd that was
beginning to collect their cloaks in preparation for departure.

‘No,’ Hester’s voice had, once again, been
brittle and tight. ‘I am ready.’

‘Where’s Porter?’

‘Who can say? It does not matter. He can
find his own way home.’

In retrospect, it had been an odd comment
and under normal circumstances Grace would have questioned it.
Instead, she found Hester’s attitude a blessing, for at least she
did not demand to know why Grace looked so harrowed or was so quiet
on the carriage ride home. She had been looking rather harrowed
herself.

It had been difficult to get to sleep. Her
mind had continually gone back to the ball, to the unmasking, to
the point where she had looked into those gray eyes and recognition
had struck like a bolt out of the blue. It had been some time since
she had seen the Marquis of Morvyn - she knew the exact date,
actually - but of course he was unmistakable. Once, he had been
Justin’s friend, even though events had proved that this was not
the case.

He had come to Priory Chase twice, the first
visit a week before Justin’s death and then, of course, that last
time, the night before he’d died. On first acquaintance she had
liked the marquis. He had seemed unassuming and intelligent,
although she had barely had the opportunity to become better
acquainted. On both occasions he and her husband had been locked
away in Justin’s study. After Morvyn’s first call, Justin had been
uneasy and restless, quite unlike his usual self. When Grace had
asked him what was amiss, he’d merely told her that he could still
count the marquis as one of his oldest friends. They had gone
through school together, gone up to university together, knocked
around the continent together. One of his oldest friends, Justin
had insisted, right up until that last visit when Morvyn had
betrayed that friendship.

He had not killed Justin, she knew that, but
he might as well have.

Resolving to try and, if not forget, then at
least avoid thinking about the previous evening, Grace rose and
prepared for the day. Her maid was just finishing her hair when a
knock came on the door and Hester sailed in, smiling brightly.

‘Dearest, you’re up!’

‘I slept in,’ Grace admitted. ‘It was a late
night.’ She was hoping that Hester would not dwell on how there had
been other late nights and her guest had still woken, if not with
the dawn, then shortly after.

‘Oh never mind. I’ve only been up for a
short while myself. What shall we do today? I fancy a visit to Bond
Street. Perhaps a new bonnet?’ Hester sat herself down upon the
window seat and smiled at her friend. ‘Nothing cheers me up more
than a new bonnet.’

She was looking particularly fetching in a
morning dress of ivory jaconet trimmed with emerald ribbon that
looked very well with her flame-colored hair, but there was a
hectic tinge to both her cheeks and her tone that made Grace give
her friend a speculative look. This morning Hester, normally pale
as was usual for anybody with such vivid hair, looked positively
waxen and there was no disguising the shadows beneath her eyes. She
was thinner, too, her willowy figure having grown even more so.
Grace had noticed these things when she’d arrived, of course, but
had put them down to Hester’s recovery from a bout of illness back
in January.

Then she had inadvertently overheard a
brief, bitter conversation between Hester and Porter before they
had left for the ball the previous evening. She had come down
stairs and was just about to enter the drawing room to find them
when she’d stopped abruptly, her attention caught by Porter’s
voice, as cold as ice from beyond the half-open doorway.

‘It has to stop, Hester. The man is
dangerous.’

‘You are being ridiculous!’ Hester’s voice,
just as cold. That dreadful temper of hers. Grace was well aware
that it had led her friend to say all manner of things she’d
regretted afterwards. ‘He is a friend, nothing more, and I will not
allow you to dictate who I may and may not be friends with.’

‘You will in this instance. That man is not
to be trusted.’ Grace had never heard Porter speak in such a tone
before. Even though he was keeping his voice down it had been
harsh, each word clipped and furious.

‘Oh? And what about me? Do you trust
me?’

‘I am not sure that I do anymore. You seem
to have taken leave of your senses.’ Suddenly, Porter sounded
tired. ‘Seriously, Hester. Everybody is talking about it and it
will stop. Do you hear me? It must stop!’

Unwilling to hear anything more of what was
clearly a personal matter – although she could not help but wonder
who ‘he’ was - Grace had turned and had quickly run back up the
stairs. Once there, she’d descended again, ensuring that she made
as much noise as possible as she did and when she entered the
drawing room, husband and wife were silent. Not speaking. Not
looking at each other. They had left for the ball shortly
afterwards, maintaining their chilly silence in the carriage.

It was all very awkward.

The depths of the fissure that was causing
Hester’s marriage to break apart had not been apparent while he was
away in France, but the moment Porter had returned, their
estrangement had become obvious to Grace. Something was clearly
amiss between the two of them, but did Porter really think that
another man was involved?

‘Thank you, Lucy,’ Grace smiled at her maid
in the mirror. ‘I’m sure I can manage for myself now.’

Lucy, who had been with Grace for years and
knew the nuances of female-speak very well, nodded obligingly and
left the room, quietly shutting the door behind her.

Grace turned and regarded Hester for a long
moment. ‘Now then… I’ve put up with you and your husband snipping
at each other for a week. Tell me what is the matter.’

Hester rose to her feet, all twitchy,
nervous energy. After a moment, she subsided once again, although
her white hands fluttered in her lap like restless moths. ‘The
matter? Why, nothing at all. Men and marriage... What can I
say?’

‘Oh please! Do not tell me again he is
unfaithful, Hester, for I do not believe it for a moment.’

Hester pouted. ‘Not all men are saints,
Grace.’

‘I am not saying your husband is a saint.
Merely that he is not in the least bit interested in other women.
There is something else behind this. You and Porter can barely be
in the same room together. You can’t settle to anything. Hester,
tell me. What is wrong with you?’

Hester stared at her for a long moment,
large blue eyes wide, her misery and, yes, her fear obvious. That
fear tugged at Grace’s heartstrings as nothing else could. Suddenly
Hester’s eyes filled with tears, spilling over, while her pretty
pink mouth began to tremble as if a wall had been breached and the
flood could no longer be held back. Grace rose swiftly and hurried
to put her arms around her friend.

‘Oh my dear! Whatever is it?’

But Hester, who must have been hovering on
an emotional outburst for sometime, was beyond speaking. Instead
she cried, shuddering great sobs that wracked her slender frame.
Grace could do nothing but pat her while making soothing noises,
waiting for the storm to pass and speech to be restored. If she
knew the signs then it would take awhile. Hester had a lot of pent
up emotion to release so Grace waited, rocking her back and forth
like she would a child and after a time, Hester’s sobs subsided
into shuddering hiccups and Grace, ignoring the quite probably
ruined state of her bodice, knew that they were finally getting
somewhere.

‘There now,’ she said soothingly. ‘I daresay
you needed that. Oh, my poor Hester, whatever is the matter? You
can tell me. You know you can.’

Hester raised a blotchy, tear stained face.
Red heads did not come through fits of crying with their looks
untouched and she was no exception. She drew a long, shuddering
breath, then sighed it out again. Grace handed her the handkerchief
that she’d had waiting and her friend dabbed disconsolately at her
face.

‘I can’t. Oh Grace, you’ll think me such a
fool!’

‘Well, perhaps. You can be awfully
nonsensical at times, but tell me anyway. You know you want to and
perhaps it’s not so bad as you imagine.’

‘It is much, much worse!’

‘Oh nonsense. Just tell what’s to do.’

For Grace could not
imagine
what
had
gone so very wrong in such a short space of time. Three months ago
letters from her friend had been bright and cheerful, filled with
the goings on in town and eulogies about her husband, but that
certainly did not seem to be the case now.

Once again, Hester took a long, shuddering
breath and then released it. She seemed to be stealing herself for
a revelation. At least, Grace hoped she was stealing herself. Sure
enough, words started to spill from Hester’s still trembling
lips.

‘I have been most
dreadfully stupid, Grace. I… Well, you know how I like a… a game of
chance, sometimes?’ Hester looked at her, desperate to be
understood, and Grace rather thought she did. Hester loved to
gamble. Usually, it was piquet or whist, but sometimes it was loo,
which Hester had sworn off thanks to her quite abysmal luck. ‘Well,
I was going about with Lady Ramsey, Selena Ramsey,
you
know the one. She’s
really the most dreadful rattlepate. Anyway, we ended up going to
a… a kind of club in Drury Lane. It is a very amusing place, Grace,
I cannot tell you, and we went there quite a lot. Porter has been
so busy with all of that dreary government nonsense he does and,
well…’ she twisted the handkerchief in her restless fingers, then
took another breath, bracing herself for what was to come.
Unconsciously, Grace found that she was also bracing herself. ‘So
we would go along to this club and it was so amusing. I didn’t tell
Porter. He does not like it when I play games and I didn’t think it
mattered. I mean, it was just some fun…’

Hester’s voice had grown wobbly again, but
Grace was beginning to get the picture. Porter was well off, he had
a very decent income of ten thousand a year, but he was a careful
man and, while very generous with his wife, did not allow pin money
for an occupation he found unseemly.

Grace had a sinking
sensation that she knew the next part. ‘Hester. Have you lost
a
lot
of
money?’

Hester stared at her, pale faced. ‘I have,
but that is not the worst of it Grace!’

‘What else could there be?’

‘I was in a dreadful position. I’d lost so
much money, but I knew I could win it back, if I just played
another hand or two. So I… I put up a piece of jewelry. Just until
I’d won the money back, you understand.’

Grace winced. ‘But of course you lost.’

Hester dropped her head. ‘I did. I lost
everything.’

‘What piece of jewelry was it?’ Grace hated
to think. As the wife of Viscount Woodward, Hester had access to a
great many family heirlooms. Surely she wouldn’t have been so
foolish?

‘It was a necklace,’ Hester whispered,
squeezing her eyes shut. ‘Sapphires and diamonds.’

There was a dreadful little
pause. ‘The
Woodward
necklace?’

Hester nodded miserably and
for a few moments the two women sat together in silence. Grace
tried to find something to say, something that would not merely
confirm to her friend that she thought her unbelievably foolish.
For the Woodward necklace had been in Porter’s family for
centuries. His mother had presented it to Hester the day before her
marriage. Good Lord, it was
famous
.

But berating her friend for what must
already be a glaring lapse of judgment was hardly going to help the
situation. Instead Grace asked, rather weakly. ‘Where is it
now?’

Hester chewed her lip for a moment, then
shook her head. She cleared her throat and spoke carefully. ‘It’s
in the hands of Lord Lovington.’

Grace frowned, trying to put a face to the
name. She had only had one Season before accepting Justin’s offer
of marriage and so had not gone about as much as others might have.
The name sounded familiar, however. ‘Lord Lovington? I don’t
think…’

‘Silas Lovington,’ Hester said quickly. ‘A
very amusing man but not… not everybody thinks he is quite up to
scratch. Porter hates him, of course. So I didn’t tell him that I
occasionally associate with his lordship.’

Grace drew back and looked at Hester,
horrified. ‘You’re not?’

Hester looked appalled. ‘Of course I’m not!
Good God, Grace, what do you take me for?’

‘Somebody who is not making a great deal of
sense. What has this Lord Lovington got to do with the Woodward
necklace?’

Hester deflated just as swiftly as she’d
puffed up, indignation disappearing beneath the weight of despair.
‘He picked up my chits for me. I owed quite a lot you see and the
club, well they were threatening to go to Porter and redeem them.
Oh Grace, can you imagine what he would have done? Especially when
I promised that I would not play loo after we were married.’