A Wicked Lady
Anne Herries
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Chapter One
‘
It was early November 1814 and they were in
‘The message I got was vague.’ Lord Giles
Benedict, the Duke of Belmont’s heir, grimaced. He was a handsome man, though
he often looked stern and unapproachable to those who did not know him well.
‘The story about Napoleon plotting an escape from Elba is probably true enough,
for we have suspected that it would not hold him for ever—but these assassination
rumours are rather more ambiguous.
‘Nor I, sir. I’m rather fond of the old boy, reprobate though many think him.’
‘And that does you credit, especially if as I’ve heard he is about to take a young wife, who may well cut you out of the succession.’
‘You know my mind on that, sir,’ Giles said and frowned. ‘Is it your wish that I continue to investigate these rumours?’
‘As I mentioned, I need the Regent to stand firm,’ Wellington said, scowling. ‘You know those fools in London, Benedict. If Napoleon escapes and raises an army to fight for France, I want a free hand. This time we have to beat that tyrant for once and all and no favours granted. In my opinion he has been given too much freedom to date, and if this is not finished he will be a thorn in our sides for evermore.’
‘Then I shall see Ellwood on his way and visit my informants in Paris to further my inquiries; after that, we shall see.’ Giles’s brow furrowed. ‘I know you have no care for your own safety, sir, but I would beg you to take care. England needs you.’
‘Be damned to them all,’ Wellington growled. ‘I have an appointment with destiny, Benedict. I feel it in my water and no wretched Froggie is going to stop me keeping it.’
Giles smiled, knowing his commander of old. They were firm friends and had been since their time together in India—a time that had been hard for Giles, a time that he had buried deep inside himself and had no wish to remember.
‘Then I shall see what more can be discovered,’ he promised. ‘But first I must see Ellwood off. He will carry your message to the Prince, for he is a firm favourite in that direction and your voice will be heard.’
‘Report to me when you are in Paris. I have special couriers, who will bring your message to me secretly,’ Wellington said. ‘And take care, Benedict—these are dangerous times.’
‘Like you, I bear a charmed life, sir,’ Giles said with a grin. ‘I too believe I have a destiny to fulfil...’
‘You cannot do it,’ objected Sir Roderick Hazelmere. He looked at his sister in mild shock and some amusement. ‘No, Maggie! Only think for a moment. It won’t do. It really will not serve.’
He was a handsome young man, fair-haired with deep blue eyes and a sweet smile. Usually of an easy-going nature, he could be thoughtless at times, but the brother and sister were fond of each other despite having been seldom in each other’s company these last years.
‘What is so very terrible? I am merely proposing to set up as a Society hostess in London—and to introduce a very charming young lady as my protégée.’ Margaret Hazelmere raised her fine dark brows at him. ‘I cannot see that my desire to help a friend to find a respectable husband is such a horrendous crime.’
‘She is Lord Monkford’s bastard, that’s what the fine ladies of London will not stomach if they discover what you’re up to,’ Sir Roderick replied. ‘They would send her packing if even a whisper of this got out—and you with her. You ought not to consider it, Maggie. Think of the scandal it would cause. We should never be able to hold our heads up in Society again.’
‘That is precisely why I intend to masquerade as the Comtesse Magdalene de Grenelle,’ Margaret answered serenely. ‘After all, who is to know me? It is years since I was last in England. You said yourself that you hardly knew me when you arrived a few days ago. If I set myself up as a widow and call myself by a French name, no one can deny me.’
It was nearing the end of November 1814 and they were sitting in the sheltered garden of a pretty villa in the south of France, taking advantage of an exceptionally warm day. The villa was the home to which the Contessa di Cabria had retired soon after her husband’s death some six years previously. A very wealthy woman, she had taken her sister’s child to live with her when both Margaret’s parents died within days of each other from a virulent fever. Roderick, having inherited his father’s title and a small estate, had been sent to university. However, it was soon discovered that he had no bent for studying and his aunt had bought him a commission in the army, placed the generous sum of ten thousand pounds in trust for him and informed him that he could expect no more of her.
‘The remainder of my money, which is I confess considerable, will be your sister’s when I die,’ the Contessa had told him. ‘You have intelligence, looks and the good fortune to have been born a man. It is up to you to make your own way in the world. I shall do my best for your sister. She will be provided for whether she chooses to marry or not. If she takes my advice she will think very carefully before choosing a husband. If I had not been forced by necessity, I should certainly have remained single.’
Margaret had been fifteen when she went to live with her aunt. She was then a shy, pretty girl with grey eyes and straight dark hair, which she had worn in plaits around her head. At five and twenty, she had become a very elegant, very assured young woman, her thick shining hair now coiled in a sleek twist at the back of her head—a style that showed off the white column of her neck to perfection.
Her beauty was remarkable, but she wore it with a cool serenity, which led others to mistake her for something other than she truly was. Beneath the mask she had been taught to show the world lurked a very passionate, slightly naughty nature. Had she been born a man, Margaret might have chosen to be a politician, a man of business or a judge, for her wits were sharper than many of the men she had met in her aunt’s salon, but it was more likely that she would have been an adventurer. There was a reckless streak in her that she had tried to suppress, but which would not be quite controlled, no matter how often she scolded herself.
‘Pose as a widow...’ Roderick looked at her thoughtfully. To him she remained his younger sister, but there had been a change in her since his last visit, which had been some months before his aunt died. He had been with Wellington for some years, but his army career had now ended and he was at liberty to please himself.
Looking carefully at his sister, he had to acknowledge that she had the poise and authority of a woman of some stature. Her clothes were of the best quality and elegant, but it was not only that. She had an air of assurance that made her appear older than her years, and there was no doubting that her manner carried weight. Her frowns had thrown him into a quake before now. He loved her dearly as a sister, but would not care to be married to a woman of Margaret’s character, for she was too determined. If she set herself up as the Comtesse de Grenelle, there was no true reason why she should not be accepted. For the past few years Margaret and her aunt had lived quietly; receiving only a few close friends—people who were unlikely to travel to England and even less likely to betray her.
Her brows arched at him, a challenge in her eyes. ‘Yes—why should I not call myself a widow if I choose?’
Roderick could have given her a hundred reasons, but he doubted that she would be swayed by any of them. His sister was too independent, too set on having her way, and would not be deterred from her plans by his objections.
‘But I do not see why you want to do this,’ Roderick said. ‘Caroline is pretty and quite charming. Surely you could find a suitable husband amongst your friends here, where there is less criticism of a background such as hers—why must you introduce her into the cream of English society? I am sure there are scores of men who would be willing to offer for her if you were to give her a small independence. Why subject her to the scrutiny of people who would simply look down their noses at her if they knew the truth of her birth?’
‘Because it is a challenge,’ Margaret replied, smiling at him. ‘And because it amuses me. Aunt Kate told me so many stories—about the stuffy ladies who rule society, and the rogues who call themselves gentlemen. They are frauds and villains, Roddy—and deserve to be taught a lesson.’
‘Steady on,’ Roderick cried, a dark red colour creeping into his cheeks. ‘You cannot condemn the whole of English society simply because one or two of them stray a little.’
‘A little!’ Margaret laughed scornfully. ‘My aunt was herself seduced by a member of her own family, who shall remain nameless. She was barely sixteen, Roddy! When it was suspected that she was with child, a marriage was hastily arranged with a man more than three times her age—a man who made her life unhappy for many years.’
‘Good Lord!’ Roderick looked at her in astonishment. ‘I had no idea. Is that why she was packed off to marry abroad? What happened to the child?’
‘She miscarried after a fall and was never able to have another child,’ Margaret said. ‘You can have no idea of the things she suffered, Roddy—and as for poor Caroline...’
‘Yes, do tell me about Caro,’ Roderick said, a gleam of interest in his eyes. ‘I have often wondered how our aunt came to adopt her.’
‘Caroline’s mother was the daughter of a landless gentleman, who was forced to support himself by being of use to his wealthier friends. She was seduced by one of those so-called friends when she was fifteen. When her father discovered she was with child, she was sent abroad with a duenna to have the child. She was too delicate and fragile to bear children at such a young age and she died. Her child was abandoned to the care of strangers and the duenna disappeared, taking what money and jewels still remained. If our aunt had not rescued Caroline, she too might have died. She would certainly have been cast out into the street to earn her living as best she could as soon as she was old enough.’
‘No—poor child!’ Sir Roderick’s blue eyes clouded with anger. He was as fair as his sister was dark, he taking after their mother and Margaret their father. ‘Good thing Aunt Katherine was there.’
‘She had become friends with Caroline’s mother,’ Margaret went on. ‘She would have been with her at the birth if she could, but her husband forced her to accompany him on a journey to his villa at the Italian lakes. When she returned Caroline’s mother was dead, but she was able to trace the child and she paid the people who had taken her in when the duenna fled. Her husband never knew that she placed the child of her friend with the nuns in one of their orphanages—or that she visited from time to time. Caroline came to us when she was sixteen. It was my aunt’s intention to take her back to England. She believed it right that both Caroline and I should have at least one season in London society, even though she did not approve of marriage—but then she became ill and died.’
Margaret’s voice caught with emotion and she got up from the small wooden bench, wandering over to gaze down at the beautiful scene below. The sea was a wonderful turquoise colour, lit with silver where the wintry sun touched it, and the surrounding hills were thick with lush greenery. It was a paradise on earth, and she had been so happy here with her aunt. There were times when she felt she could not bear to leave this place where she had been so content, and yet of late she had grown restless.
The sudden illness and death of the woman she loved had left Margaret feeling bereft and at a loss, all their bright plans at an end. It was because of her deep love for the woman who had been both mother and friend to her these past years that she had come up with her daring plan, because it would in some small measure pay back the debt Aunt Kate believed she was owed by Society as a whole. And also because the sheer audacity of it appealed to her sense of humour, which her aunt had always maintained was rather outrageous.
‘It is because of your wicked humour that I do not think you should marry, my love,’ Kate had told her once. ‘You are too independent, too proud, and too much of a free spirit to be a good wife, Maggie. Most men want a meek obliging girl as their wife—and those who can appreciate a woman like you are usually interested only in seduction.’
‘Then I shall not marry,’ Margaret had replied with a little shrug. ‘Why should I, after all? You have made me independent. Why should I surrender my freedom for the sake of a man?’
‘I have made you dislike men,’ her aunt had said, touching her hand and looking sad. ‘It is possible to find happiness with a man sometimes, dearest—and love, too, I dare say. I was unfortunate, but you may fare better.’
Her aunt’s stories had given her a deep scorn for men of a certain type, but it was another who had made her feel that she did not wish to marry. Margaret had never spoken of the incident to her aunt and did not do so now.
‘If I am offered love, I may take it,’ Margaret had replied. ‘But I do not need to take marriage, too.’
‘Would you end as poor Caroline’s mother did, dying in shame and alone?’
‘It would not necessarily be like that,’ Margaret replied, an audacious gleam in her eyes. ‘If I took a lover I should know that it was not a permanent arrangement, and I should make my own plans. Throughout history there have been women who have dared to love and flout convention—why should I not do as I please?’
‘And most of them have come to a sticky end, my love.’ Her aunt had shaken her head over this, amused and yet worried for her dearest child. ‘I have taught you too well,’ she said on a sigh. ‘I thought only to set you on your guard, but I have made you cynical. Be careful, dearest Margaret. You may discover that love is not so easy to control as you imagine.’
They had been so close, so loving, and now Aunt Kate had gone. Margaret had never once felt alone while her aunt lived, but now there were times when the sense of loneliness became almost unbearable.
Margaret was close to tears when she felt the touch of a hand on her shoulder and turned to see her brother standing just behind her. Handsome, gentle, what the English were pleased to call a dandy, she cared for him, but knew he had his own life and that he preferred to be in London. At one time she had hoped they might travel together, but Roddy had no taste for it. He was a year older than she was and they had remained good friends, writing regularly to keep in touch, though their lives had taken separate paths for the past ten years.
‘I am not against you, Maggie,’ he said softly. ‘I think you should come back to England—but why not as yourself? We could find someone to introduce you into society, and Caroline could accompany you as a friend.’
‘I have been used to being my own mistress,’ Margaret replied, blinking back her emotion. It was foolish to cry for it could change nothing. ‘I would drive any duenna to tears within a day, Roddy. No, no, I cannot put any poor woman to so much trouble.’ She gave him a provocative smile that brought an answering humour to his own lips. ‘All I need is for you to acknowledge me, dearest brother. You have many friends in society. You have only to say that I am known to you—that you met me while staying with our aunt.’
Roderick laughed, giving in to her, as she had known he would in the end. He shook his head at her, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
‘Well, I suppose it will be rather a good joke,’ he said. ‘And you are right, certain members of Society could do with being paid in their own coin. But if I agree to support you in this madness, Maggie, you must promise you won’t let me down. If something happens, you must keep our secret—you must disappear rather than be exposed as yourself.’
‘Yes, of course,’ she promised, giving him a quick hug. ‘Nothing will happen—but if it should the Comtesse de Grenelle will simply disappear.’ Her eyes danced with wickedness as she gazed up at him. ‘You must remember to call me Comtesse from now on or you will have people think I am your mistress.’
‘Good Lord!’ Roderick said. ‘So they might if I am too familiar. I shall have to be careful, Maggie.’
‘If you must use my name, call me Magda,’ his sister told him. ‘Better people should think we are lovers than brother and sister.’
‘No, indeed it is not,’ he replied, looking shocked. ‘I never heard of such a thing. I shall call you ma’am, or Comtesse when in public.’
‘Thank you, Sir Roderick,’ his sister said and curtsied. Her head was bent, her manner demure, but when she looked up the recklessness was there in her eyes. ‘Oh, my dearest, dearest Roddy—it is all going to be such fun!’
He looked doubtful for a moment. Maggie didn’t know what she was taking on or what old cats some of the Society hostesses could be—but if it was what she wanted he would do it. Besides, he had reasons of his own for wanting her to bring the lovely Caroline Hammond to London.
The weather had been against him for the past two days, his ship held at Calais by the storms that had made even his captain cautious of putting to sea. Armed with news of Bonaparte’s intention to return to France and raise an army once more, Lord Clarence Ellwood looked impatiently at his companion.
‘I’ll be damned if I’ll wait much longer, Giles. If the wind doesn’t abate by the time the tide is right, I’ll go, whatever Jackson says.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Ellwood.’ Giles Benedict raised his splendid dark brows. ‘Your news is important rather than urgent. Wellington has suspected it for months, but we need you to tell the Prince that things have begun to move. What we need to know more urgently is what is likely to happen when Bonaparte lands—is he likely to be greeted by a popular uprising or will it be a limited response?’
‘The Old Guard will rally to him and France will fall to his advance,’ Ellwood said. ‘There’s not much love for the Bourbons, I can tell you, and many will welcome the emperor back. Depend upon it, Giles. I suppose your plan is to remain in France a few days longer to see what you can discover.’ Ellwood was five and twenty, devoted to Wellington, with whom he had served as a young subaltern on the Peninsula, and Giles Benedict was his particular friend.
‘I mean to discover what I can of this talk of a woman spying for Boney,’ Giles replied with a frown. His information was not clear, but it seemed certain that a woman was deeply involved in the plot. ‘I have heard whispers of an attempt to assassinate various members of the English aristocracy, including Wellington. If that could be achieved before Bonaparte’s return, it would almost certainly result in a victory for the French.’
‘You have little faith in our allies, it seems.’ His friend’s summing up of the situation amused Ellwood. ‘Or our generals—though I am with you there. Not many of them can hold a candle to the Iron Duke.’
‘Old Hookey is our talisman,’ Giles replied with a wry smile about his mouth, a mouth that could be hard or generously soft, depending on his mood. He was an attractive man in his early thirties, though not as handsome as his companion. Ellwood was fair with blue eyes while Giles had hair the colour of a raven’s plumage, and his eyes were very dark, almost black at times, but with a silver flame in their depths, especially when he was angry. ‘The troops love and trust Wellington to a man. If he should be murdered, morale would be shattered. He has been warned and will be on his guard, but there are others who may be more vulnerable to the assassin’s ball.’
‘You mean Belmont and the Regent?’
Giles nodded. ‘Neither of them are likely targets in my opinion. I dare say it is Wellington they will go for if they get a chance, but I have done what I can in that direction for we shall need him when the time comes, believe me. Besides, I happen to like the fellow, cursed awkward as he may be at times.’
Ellwood laughed, because this was very true. ‘That’s putting it mildly, Giles old fellow, but I agree. Your mission is more important than mine and you should stay on for a few days, see what you can learn.’ His attention wandered as he saw the carriage stop a little distance from where they were standing. A man of about Ellwood’s age had got down and was assisting a young woman to alight. ‘My God! What a beauty. Look at that hair—it’s like spun gold, Giles.’
Giles Benedict smiled, his gaze taking the direction his companion’s had taken previously. The girl could not have been above eighteen in his estimation and was certainly lovely, but he found himself looking more intently at the woman who had followed her from the carriage. At first sight not as stunning as the fair girl, perhaps, but with a certain style. There was something about her that seemed familiar, but he could not place her in his mind. Had they met at some time—or had he merely seen her from a distance? The memory was obscured for the moment, but he would no doubt recall it in time.
The younger woman was laughing at something the man was saying, laughing up at him in a manner that some might call flirtatious, though it could equally as well be quite innocent. She had what he thought of as English colouring, but her skin had a slightly peachy look as if she had lived in the sunshine of a European country for much of her life.
His gaze returned to the older woman, and he was aware of feeling something that went beyond the interest of a casual observer. He had an urgent desire to follow the woman, to know her better, but in another moment he had suppressed the foolish thought. He had more important things to do!
‘Are you sure we should go on board, Roddy? Would it not be better to wait for another day?’ It was the older woman who had spoken. She was, he could see now, a beauty in her own right, though she dressed in a rather severe if elegant manner. Now that he thought about it, both the ladies were wearing grey—in mourning for someone, perhaps?
‘If you want to attend the Belmonts’ Christmas ball, we should not delay further. As I told you, the Prince of Wales, or the Regent as I should properly call him now, will be the guest of honour and invitations will be at a premium. I can wangle one for you both, but not if we leave it too late. It’s an opportunity not to be missed.’
They had passed by without casting a glance towards either Ellwood or himself. Giles frowned as he wondered about the snatch of conversation he’d heard. It would be ridiculous to read too much into it, of course; all of London society must have been hoping for an invitation to the Belmonts’ ball. Besides, he was looking for a French spy, a woman who would be prepared to lie and cheat for the chance to get near Belmont and mayhap the Regent himself. The Regent was known to have an eye to the ladies; it was Giles’ s intelligence that it had been planned to use a woman because she might have a chance of getting him alone. It would not be the first attempt on Prinny’ s life, though most of them had been kept private for fear of spreading panic.
‘I wonder who that girl was,’ Ellwood said, looking slightly dazed and a little disappointed as she and her party went on board a large ship waiting its turn to depart and disappeared below decks. ‘I know him, of course, or rather I should say that we have met.’
‘You knew the girl’s companion?’ Giles was suddenly alert.
‘Sir Roderick Hazelmere, small country estate, not rich. He was in the army, sold out recently. Looking for a fortune to marry, they say.’
‘I meant the older woman. Do you happen to know her at all?’
‘Sorry. Hardly noticed,’ Ellwood said. ‘Come to think of it, she was rather attractive, well dressed too for a companion. Do you think she was the duenna?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it, too much style. I feel I’ve met her before, though it must be a long time ago. Can’t recall where. Just something that sticks in my memory, but too vague to come to mind. I don’t think it was in England, abroad somewhere—could be anywhere.’
‘Pity I’m not travelling on her ship,’ Ellwood remarked, a rueful look in his eyes. ‘Might have been interesting. I’m talking of the younger lady—dazzling, don’t you know?’
‘You will meet her soon enough I dare say,’ Giles reassured him, a faint flicker of a smile in his eyes. ‘I heard Hazelmere mention Belmont’s ball.’ He frowned as he remembered the rumours he’d been chasing. ‘Keep an eye on her until I get back. Something has rung a warning bell.’
‘You don’t think that divine creature could be Boney’s spy?’ Ellwood was incredulous. ‘Come off it, Giles! Doing it too brown by far.’
‘I meant... never mind,’ Giles said, dismissing the idea. Ellwood was right, it was ridiculous. ‘I shall see you next week without fail.’
The passenger ship was about to clear harbour. Ellwood’s captain was preparing to leave next. Giles watched as his friend went on board, remaining where he stood for a few minutes. Something was nagging at him, but he wasn’t sure what—something about the companion, if that was what she was, though he didn’t think it. She had style, elegance and the wealth to back it up if he was not mistaken. She seemed to have too much confidence to be unmarried so perhaps she was a widow. He was intrigued, though he wasn’t sure why.
Giles found most women all too obvious; the young single ones had an eye to the title that might pass to him on his uncle’s demise, while the others were often only too willing to climb into his bed. He’d had his share of mistresses, none of whom lasted more than a few months, but so far had never found a woman to whom he had the least desire to be legshackled. Marriage was a duty he owed to his family since he was the last of his direct line, but it could wait until he was ready.
Standing at the ship’s bows, the wind ruffling her hair and bringing a few tendrils free of the strict confines in which it was usually constrained, Margaret wondered if the two men on the quayside had heard what she’d said to her brother just before they boarded. It had been a definite slip. Despite all she’d said to Roddy about being careful, she had forgotten the accent she intended to use in her masquerade as the widow of a French Count. Because of the time she and her aunt had spent in France she was able to speak in a creditable accent and her use of the language could not be faulted. Aunt Kate’s friends had remarked on it more than once, though her uncle had merely sneered at her attempt to speak his own language.
A little shudder went through Margaret as she recalled an unpleasant incident with her uncle some months before his death. She had been little more than nineteen and they had all attended a dance at the house of some friends of his that evening.
It had been a very warm night, the air hot and sultry, drawing her out into the gardens to cool her heated skin. She had gone walking as far as the lake, gazing down at its moonlit beauty, drinking in the peace and solitude, when her uncle had approached her. It was a moment or two before she realised that he was drunk, too late for her to leave without his making a clumsy attempt to molest her. She had struggled against his embrace, hating the feel of his wet lips on hers, his groping hands that tried to invade the bodice of her gown. It was not the first time he had shown an interest in her, but always before she had avoided situations like this and blamed herself for giving him the opportunity.
He was very strong and her struggles to throw him off might have been useless had her cries of alarm not attracted the attention of a stranger. The English voice demanding that he should unhand her had finally broken through her uncle’s drunken stupor and he had come abruptly to his senses, muttering something that might have been an apology and making off before the stranger could say more.
‘Are you all right?’
The gentleman’s voice had been concerned, but Margaret had been unable to meet his gaze, overcome by shame at being found in such a compromising situation.
‘May I be of service to you? Escort you wherever you wish to go? I think you are in some distress.’
‘No...’ She could not bring herself to thank him and suddenly ran off in the other direction to that which her uncle had taken.
Afterwards, she had castigated herself for her rudeness. The least she could have done was to thank him for his kindness, but she had been too upset, too shamed by the incident. It was, after all, her own fault for walking alone at night. The stranger must have thought she was meeting a lover—a meeting that had turned sour.
And she ought to have been on her guard. She had always known that her uncle was a despicable man who had caused her aunt much distress. A womaniser with a nasty temper, he had made her aunt suffer for her inability to give him a son. When he died suddenly of a heart disorder only six months later she could not grieve for him. Aunt Kate had not grieved either. Her marriage settlement provided for a large part of his estate devolving on her, though the villa in Italy had gone to a distant cousin.
‘I intend that we shall enjoy ourselves now, dearest,’ she told Margaret soon after she became a widow. ‘Your uncle was not a kind man, but even he could not get out of the settlement—my father made certain of that before I married, and of course I have the inheritance that came to me through my mother. I have money enough to allow us a life of luxury and to make provision for you. My earnest wish is to make sure you are independent, Margaret. You shall never be put in the position I was, never forced to a marriage that can bring you only pain. If you ever marry it will be of your own choosing, I promise you.’
‘You are always so generous to me, Aunt,’ Margaret said. ‘But I do not need so very much. Will you not provide for Caroline, too?’
‘The money will be yours to do as you see fit, though I may provide Caroline with a dowry,’ her aunt said. ‘Her mother was treated as shamefully as I, and I am fond of the child—but you are the daughter I never had, Margaret. Everything I have is for you.’
And it was a considerable fortune. Had she been able to choose, Margaret might have wished to refuse the legacy, which had come down to her from a man she thoroughly disliked. However, without her aunt’s money she would have been forced to earn a living and she knew herself to be too independent to be at the beck and call of another woman. Besides, Aunt Kate had suffered for what she had and so Margaret had reconciled the inheritance with her conscience. She would, in any case, use a part of it to see Caroline settled into the class to which she was entitled to belong.
Margaret brought her thoughts back to the present. The swell of the sea was beginning to ease now, the waves becoming less rough. For herself she had not minded, but she knew that Caroline had been feeling sick since a short time after they boarded. She had left her resting to come up for a breath of air, finding it pleasant on deck, but now she thought she ought to go below and see how her young friend was faring.
Caroline was sitting up against her pillows, a kerchief soaked in lavender water pressed to her head when Margaret entered the cabin.
‘Does your poor head ache?’ she asked solicitously. ‘I thought you were asleep when I left you.’
‘I was for a while,’ Caroline admitted. ‘But the vomiting left me feeling weak and, as you say, I have a headache.’
‘I am so sorry, dearest,’ Margaret said. ‘But the swell is dying down now. It should not be too long before we are in England.’
‘I have never been to England.’ Caroline’s slightly Italian accent was natural, having lived in Italy for the whole of her life, though she spoke English perfectly. Aunt Kate had insisted that she be taught, and by an English nun who had sought refuge in the sunshine of an Italian convent, but it had still left her with that faint accent, which was charming. ‘I am not sure I shall know what to do, Magda.’
‘You will behave as you always do,’ Margaret told her. ‘Do not let Roddy’s stories of the autocratic hostesses intimidate you, Caroline. As my aunt told you many times, you have every right to mix with them. Your mother was the daughter of a gentleman even if he did not behave in a gentlemanly fashion when he banished your mother and her duenna to the continent.’
‘But I am a... bastard,’ Caroline whispered and tears stood in her lovely eyes. ‘Nothing can change that, Magda. If people knew the truth, I should not be accepted into polite society.’
‘You are my protégée,’ Margaret said and smiled, thinking how gentle and lovely the girl was, almost too obedient. Sometimes she wished for a little more spirit, but feared the nuns had crushed that out of the girl long ago. ‘I shall introduce you as a distant cousin and that is enough. If a gentleman of the right kind shows interest we may tell him the truth, but in the meantime you are going to be invited everywhere and enjoy yourself.’
Caroline looked at her doubtfully. She had been quite happy in the south of France with Margaret, and there were young men who had paid her attention, young men she felt might have offered for her in time. But it was her guardian’s wish that they come to England for this season of triumph and she had not liked to speak her mind too plainly. Besides, it might mean that she would see more of Roddy; of all the gentlemen she had met, he was the one she admired the most.
Sir Roderick seemed to Caroline an upstanding gentleman of good character, gentle, considerate, generous and kind. If she could choose, she thought that she might like to be his wife, but of course she wasn’t clever or beautiful enough. He must know many other young ladies who were far more qualified to be Lady Hazelmere than she, and she did not suppose for one moment that he was in love with her.
‘Do you think this gentleman might not be angry when he learns the truth?’ she asked mildly. ‘Will he not feel cheated?’
‘I do not see why he should,’ Margaret answered with a slight frown. ‘You are Lord Monkford’ s daughter after all. He did not marry your unhappy mother, but he certainly fathered you, Caroline. Your mother was the daughter of a country squire he thought beneath his touch, but still of good birth. And besides, you will have ten thousand pounds when you marry and that is a not inconsiderable sum for any gentleman to consider.’
‘You should not give me so much,’ Caroline said a little unhappily.
‘I can spare it without affecting my own lifestyle,’ Margaret assured her. ‘I have no wish to live in London once you are safely wed, and shall return to my villa in France, where I shall live quietly for the rest of my days.’
‘But you will visit me sometimes?’
‘Yes—or you may bring your children to visit me,’ Margaret told her. ‘I have so many friends in France that you need not fear I shall be lonely.’ Even as she spoke, Margaret recalled the restlessness that had come over her of late. She did not welcome it or understand it, for her mind was set on the path her own life would follow. She had no wish for a husband, and had come to England only for Caroline’s sake.
Yet there was a tiny seed of doubt in her mind, an acknowledgement deep down that she longed for something more—perhaps for adventure, excitement. She did not know and dismissed her thoughts with a shake of her head. Woolgathering! She was here to find a husband of the right kind for Caroline and that was all that mattered.
Chapter Two
Giles was vaguely dissatisfied as he approached Le Havre, where Lord Ellwood’s own ship would be waiting to take him back to England. These past few days in Paris had brought few results in terms of actual information, though he had more or less confirmed his earlier suspicions that some kind of a plot to cause mayhem was afoot. The death of Wellington or the Regent at this crucial stage would be a huge blow against the Allies.
There was a chill breeze from off the sea despite the sun, which was trying to break through a haze of cloud. By mid-afternoon it might be warmer, but he should be on his way back to England by then, he thought, and sighed as he reflected that his efforts of late had scarcely proved profitable. He had little more to take back with him than the whisper he’d heard weeks earlier. There was to be an attempt to assassinate various members of the aristocracy close to the Prince of Wales, in particular the Duke of Belmont and perhaps Wellington himself. One man being in London, the other in Vienna, there was obviously more than one plot afoot. Wellington had insisted that Giles must go to London and do what he could to protect Belmont.
‘And the Prince himself if necessary,’ had been Wellington’s last words. ‘With him dead Napoleon would doubtless find it easier to go on the rampage once more. I have no faith in the fools who would rule in Prinny’s stead, believe me.’
‘I am of the same mind, sir. You may rely on me to do all I can to protect both Belmont and the Prince.’
‘You have my permission to use all your resources,’ Wellington said. ‘Good luck, Benedict, and make damned sure you don’t let me down!’
Giles had done what he could to discover more of the secret plots, but so far there was nothing much to go on, though his informant had insisted that the first assassination attempt would take place in London in the next few weeks, before Napoleon’s planned return to France could take place, and that a woman would be at the centre of the affair.
‘I can tell you little more than that she goes under a false name and is not what she seems,’ the Frenchman had told Giles when pressed for more details. ‘I would be of more help if I could...’ He shrugged his shoulders expressively.
Giles had no reason to doubt the veracity of what he’d been told. His informant was a returned émigré, who had everything to gain by seeing a permanent restoration of the royal house of France and an end to Bonaparte’s reign. The Marquis de Chambray hoped to win approval from the Allies and gain a position of importance amongst the ruling party.
‘You have no description of this woman?’ Giles questioned.
‘A woman of style, perhaps, not beautiful in the common way, but attractive to men.’
It was a description that might suit a thousand women, but Giles had not pressed him further for it was clear that the Marquis knew no more. Besides, a lingering suspicion had resurfaced as he recalled the woman he’d glimpsed at Calais. Something about her had nagged at him, lingering at the back of his mind, and he was almost certain he’d seen her before in unusual circumstances. Indeed, she had invaded his dreams of late—erotic dreams, the kind he had not experienced since he was a green youth. He smiled at the memory, mocking his vulnerability to a pretty face. But, no, it was not just her face; it was the mystery, the secret allure of the woman behind the face.
He was certain he knew her from somewhere. But where? The elusive memory escaped him for the moment, but the uneasy feeling remained to tease him. Yet he had no reason to suspect her of being concerned in a plot to assassinate Wellington or anyone else, and of course she was English. Or was she? He’d thought there was a faint accent, but he could have been mistaken. Besides, Chambray had told him that the woman was not what she seemed.
He cursed himself for a fool as he went on board Ellwood’s ship. If the woman was by chance the one he sought, she had gained a head start on him.
Margaret nodded her approval as Caroline pirouetted before her in a pale green silk gown they had commissioned in Paris before they left for England. It had arrived only minutes before their departure, and this was the first time Caroline had tried it on. Fortunately, the fit was perfect and there was no need to summon a seamstress.
‘You look beautiful, dearest,’ Margaret told her and smiled. Already the girl had attracted the attention of several gentlemen, some of whom might be eligible, others definitely not, and as yet they had been nowhere of any real importance. The ball they were to attend that evening would change everything, Margaret thought. The Duke of Belmont’s ball would be a fearful crush and Caroline was bound to be a success. ‘I am sure it is going to be a wonderful occasion this evening.’
‘Will there be many people there?’ Caroline asked a little nervously. ‘Do you think.., will they approve of me?’
‘How could anyone disapprove of you in that dress, my love?’ Margaret asked and kissed her cheek. ‘Besides, you are as lovely inside as you are on the outside, and anyone who knows you must love you—as Roddy and I do, very much.’
Caroline blushed and shook her head. ‘You are prejudiced in my favour, Magda, and Sir Roderick is—is very kind.’
‘Nonsense,’ Margaret replied firmly. ‘My brother enjoys taking you out, otherwise he would not do it. Now, you should change out of that gown for he will be here to take you for a ride in his curricle in another hour and you will not want to keep him waiting.’
‘Oh, no, I should not like that,’ Caroline agreed and went away to ask her maid to help her out of the gorgeous evening gown and into something more suitable for a ride in the park.
Left to herself, Margaret began to consider her own attire for the evening. She looked at the expensive gown lying on the shelves of her armoire and wondered if she ought to have ordered herself a new dress in Paris, something more fitting to her role as chaperon, perhaps. The gown she intended to wear was an emerald green silk and cut quite low in the décolletage, as was the fashion. It had been ordered in Paris for a ball just before Aunt Kate’s death and Margaret had never worn it. She knew it suited her to perfection and yet felt it might seem a little too stylish for the woman she was trying to become. Her mourning gowns had made her look older, but this gown would—her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the bedroom door.
‘Come in, Ellen,’ she said and smiled as her personal maid entered, dropping a respectful curtsy. Having left her own servants behind in France, she had taken her on as soon as she reached London, and the girl had proved most reliable. ‘Did you need me for something?’
‘There is a gentleman below in the parlour, ma’am. He asked if he could see you or Miss Caroline.’
‘Caroline is changing. I shall come down immediately.’
Margaret checked her reflection before going down to the small reception parlour, where uninvited guests were received before being taken to the main suite on the next floor. She had not been expecting a gentleman to call that morning, nor did she believe Caroline had issued any invitations; this being the morning of an important ball, they had decided to spend the day quietly.
‘You will forgive me for calling with no warning, ma’am?’ Giles frowned as her beauty struck him powerfully. She was even lovelier than he had thought when he saw her in France. Yet it was not beauty alone, but the essence of the woman that touched a chord within him, making him aware that he desired her physically.
But that was unforgivable! She was a lady, not a whore, and must be treated with respect. ‘But I believe we have a mutual friend and it is on that lady’s behalf that I am here.’
Margaret stared at the man who was standing before the empty fireplace, trying to recall where she had seen him. She did not think they had met recently, for she and Caroline had attended only a few small affairs at the houses of friends of her brother’s, and she would have remembered such a man. He was as tall as her brother, but of a more powerful build and strong featured, attractive with dark hair and eyes that looked almost black.
Why was it that instinctively she felt that she knew him? It was as if she had known him for a long, long time, as if something inside her reached out to him.
But she was staring and she must not! She held out her hand to him, but instead of touching it briefly with his fingers, he carried it to his lips, pressing a light kiss into the palm. A tiny shiver of pleasure went through her, her cheeks slightly pink as he released her.
‘Is it that we ‘ave met before, sir?’ Margaret asked, remembering to use the distinctive accent she had adopted for their stay in London. It made her voice husky and sensual, though she had no idea of it or the effect it had already begun to have on the men they met in company. It was not a part of her plan that she should be as much sought after as Caroline, and she would have been annoyed if she had realised that the air of mystery about her had set the town by its ears. She usually spoke in perfect English, dropping an h occasionally for effect, now and then using French words. ‘You must forgive me, but I cannot recall your name.’
‘I think we may have met somewhere, though I do not recall it,’ Giles told her truthfully. For he did not count the moment he had noticed her in France. No, they had met much earlier, though he knew not where or when, though he believed that meeting had affected him powerfully at the time. There was something important nagging at the back of his mind, but it would not come to him. ‘I am Giles Benedict, Belmont’s nephew, and here at the pleasure of my sister, Lady Augusta Montclair. She asked me to deliver an invitation to an evening party she is giving next week.’
‘Lady Montclair... oui, this is correct. I believe we ‘ave met at a soirée the other evening and she was kind enough to say she would send me an invitation to her own.’ It had been a casual remark and Margaret had hardly expected it to be delivered so promptly and by the lady’s brother. ‘How good of you to come in person, monsieur. May I perhaps offer you some refreshment?
Her hand was reaching for the bell to summon a servant, but stayed as he refused.
‘Thank you, no. I do not believe I shall stay, for this evening is an important occasion, is it not? You will no doubt be wishing me to the devil. I hope we shall have the pleasure of seeing you at the Belmonts’ ball this evening, Comtesse’?’
‘Oui,
Caroline and I also are, as you say, very much looking forward to it,’ Margaret
replied. ‘It will be the first important occasion for my ward since our arrival
in England. Everyone will be there, n
‘est-ce pas?’
‘Ah, yes,’ Giles said, looking at her with a deceptively casual manner. ‘I believe my sister told me you were French, ma’am? Have you been living in France until recently?’
Margaret sensed that there was more to this casual inquiry. ‘I lived in France for some years after my...‘usband died,’ she said, a faint blush in her cheeks as she lied. ‘Before that I lived in Italy.’
‘But you are not French, I think?’ Giles lifted his brows. There was a prickling sensation at the nape of his neck and he was aware of something. . . not quite right. ‘Nor yet Italian. Would I be right in thinking you have English blood in you?’
Had he unmasked her already? Margaret knew a start of fright as she saw the grim set of his mouth—but that was not possible. She had been so sure that no one would recognise her. She had been a mere child when she left England and had never left the schoolroom. No, he could not know for certain that she was not who she claimed to be. She lifted her head, deciding to bluff it out.
‘My maman was English,’ she told him, her smile as deceptively sweet as his was casual. ‘But my ‘ome is in France now. I am ‘ere only to give my ward a little time of ‘appiness; this is a good thing, non?’
Giles seemed to be measuring his reply, and she guessed that he was uncertain about something, but she was not to benefit from his thoughts—before he could speak, someone came into the room.
‘Ah, there you are, Mag.. .Magda, Comtesse, ma’ am...’ Roddy stumbled over his words as he realised too late his sister was not alone. ‘Forgive me for bursting in on you, Comtesse. I came to inquire if Miss Hammond was ready to drive out with me and your maid told me you were in here.’
‘Mon Dieu! You ‘ave startled me, Sir Roderick,’ Margaret said. ‘I am, ‘owever, delighted to see you so early. I believe Caroline is expecting you, though a little later this morning.’
‘Yes, well, um. . .er, I came early to make sure the flowers I’d ordered for this evening hadn’t arrived too soon. Want them fresh, what?’
‘Oui, certainly. You are always so thoughtful, so attentive to Caroline.’ She lifted her shoulders expressively as she turned to Giles. ‘It is so good to be young, is it not, Lord Benedict—but may I introduce you? Perhaps you do not know Sir Roderick Hazelmere?’
‘Don’t think we’ve met,’ Roddy said, extending his hand and trying manfully to stem the tide of warm colour in his cheeks as he recovered from his blunder. ‘Belmont’s heir, ain’t you?’
‘Yes, for my sins,’ Giles said, hiding his amusement at the young man’s awkwardness. Clearly Hazelmere was enamoured of someone in this house and on more than the usual visiting terms, but of course he had known the ladies before this trip to London since he had accompanied them to England. And it obviously behoved Giles to be on good terms with a man who might prove a vital source of information. ‘Good to meet you, sir. Perhaps we shall meet again soon.’ He turned to the lady of the house once more, bowing his head. ‘I must take up no more of your time, ma’am. Thank you for receiving me. I hope I may tell my sister that you will attend her evening party, though I am assured it is nothing special, just a gathering of like minds, she tells me.’
‘I am ‘onoured that she invites me,’ Margaret told him, her voice delightfully husky, adding to the air of mystery and allure that she unwittingly exuded. Her smile seemed to invite and yet repel at the same time, and was, Giles found himself thinking, damnably attractive. He had been right to be suspicious: this woman was dangerous! He would do well to be wary of her. ‘It was kind of you to come yourself, sir.’
‘My sister was most insistent,’ Giles replied gallantly if untruthfully. ‘Hazelmere, your servant.’ He bowed his head and walked from the elegant salon feeling oddly as if he had somehow been trounced, though he was not sure why. Round one to the Comtesse, he believed.
It had not been easy to get that invitation out of Augusta, much easier to discover that the Comtesse had been invited to the Belmonts’ Christmas ball. Felicia had teased him unmercifully, but he usually found his uncle’s delightful young wife malleable enough. She was a pretty woman, young enough to be Belmont’s daughter and a surprise to the family. Giles’s half-sister, Lady Augusta Montclair, declared that Belmont had done it in the hope of getting an heir in the autumn of his life.
‘Depend upon it, dearest boy,’ Augusta had said darkly when she met him on his return to London. ‘The old rogue wants to put your nose out of joint and disappoint you.’
‘Then he will be himself disappointed,’ Giles had told her, his temper not one whit disturbed by the news, which had greeted him on his return from Paris, of Belmont’s sudden marriage. ‘If he can get himself a son, I say well done to him. I do not rely on his fortune for I have made my own way in the world, and I dislike the estate. No, Gussie, don’t frown at me. I haven’t the least desire to be the fifth Duke. And Felicia is a delightful child. I have always liked her. I wish them every happiness together.’
‘I thought you might have married her yourself,’ Augusta replied with a lift of her fine brows. She was a plump handsome woman, well married with a brood of children and a considerate husband, and wanted to see her brother settled with a wife of his own. ‘I’m sure our uncle did it only to spite you, Giles.
‘My only reservation is for Felicia’s sake,’ Giles replied. ‘She is very young and Belmont is past his prime. I hope she will be happy with her choice.’
‘She seems to enjoy being Lady Belmont,’ Augusta said waspishly. ‘But it was a bargain I should not want to make, believe me.’
Giles knew that his sister, the elder by some fifteen years, and born of his father’s first wife, had always disliked their uncle, though he was not sure why. He actually quite liked the old reprobate, though Belmont’s reputation was not as sweet as it might have been. He did not blame him for having one last fling and was sincere in his good wishes on learning of the marriage. For the foreseeable future his own interests lay in a military and then possibly a political career, and he had no wish to be tied to an estate that he did not even like very much. He had a house in London, which he let during the Season, preferring to stay in lodgings or at his club when he was in town. For the past ten years or more he had spent more time fighting or travelling than indulging in the delights of Society, and thought a life in the diplomatic service would probably suit him as well as any other.
Which was partly the reason he had become embroiled in this affair in the first place, Giles mused, a wry smile touching a mouth he would have been surprised to hear was thought extremely kissable by most women of his acquaintance. Wellington had selected him for more than one delicate mission in the past year or so and they had formed a bond that went beyond the bounds of mere duty. No damned woman was going to murder the commander if Giles could prevent it! Nor yet his uncle! As for the Regent, that was unthinkable but already under control. Prinny would be constantly under surveillance, both within the royal household and, out of it.
His mouth settled into an expression that the polite ladies of London would not have found so seductive, but which would be familiar to the soldiers he led into battle, and to friends like Clarence Ellwood. The Comtesse—or whoever she was, for he was not convinced by her masquerade—would find she had bitten off more than she could swallow if she tried to get too close to the Regent that evening!
‘What made that fellow call so early?’ Roddy asked a trifle indignantly of his sister once they were certain Lord Benedict had left. ‘I damned near made a slip-up there, Maggie. Ellen let me in, but the silly girl never told me you had company.’
‘I shall speak to her,’ Margaret said, a little frown creasing her smooth brow. Something about Lord Benedict’s visit had disturbed her, though she could not say what. ‘But you really must be less impulsive, dearest. People will suspect something if you are too familiar.’
‘Sorry,’ her brother apologised. ‘Didn’t think it mattered at this hour. Too damned early for visits—what did the fellow think he was up to calling like that?’
‘His excuse was that he was delivering an invitation for Lady Augusta Montclair,’ Margaret said. ‘But there was something odd about his manner—did you not notice it?’
‘Can’t say I did,’ he admitted. ‘Too embarrassed at the start. Seemed all right, friendly enough. Perhaps he’s after Caroline. Heard what a beauty she is. I dare say they’ll all be after her by the end of this evening.’
‘She should be able to take her choice of a husband before long, I imagine—’ Margaret broke off as she heard hurried footsteps in the hail and then Caroline came in. ‘So, you are ready, Caro dearest. As you see, Roddy is early.’
‘I thought we’d get off early and then you will have the afternoon to rest,’ he said, his eyes warm with admiration as they lingered on her lovely face. She was looking charming in a carriage gown of deep yellow trimmed with cream ribbons and wore a fairly plain but charming chip-straw bonnet tied with ribbons that matched her gown. ‘Damn it, but you do look lovely, Caro. I swear you get prettier every day. I shall have to fight them off to get a dance with you this evening.’
‘No, you shall not, Sir Roderick,’ Caroline said and blushed a delicate rose. ‘For I shall reserve as many dances for you as you request.’
‘Make it three, then,’ Roddy said at once. ‘And I’ll take you into supper if I get the chance, though ten to one they’ll be in line for that honour.’ He looked gloomy at the thought.
‘You mustn’t monopolise Caroline’s time,’ Margaret said, but smiled on them indulgently. They seemed to like each other well and that was good, for they were often together these days.
Left to herself after they had departed for their drive in the park, Margaret went upstairs to the first floor, to the small, intimate parlour at the back of the house that she liked best and sat down at the desk. Although rented only for a few months, it was a well-appointed house on four levels and the furniture was of good quality. Her agents had executed their commission well and she was very satisfied, both with the house itself and its position in a pleasant garden square that was fashionable, although not the most sought after.
She was glad to have a little time alone for she wanted to write some letters to friends in France, which she thought of as her home these days. England was pleasant for a visit and perhaps she would visit her brother sometimes in the future, though not in town— not after this masquerade. She would be lucky to get through even these few weeks in London without being unmasked, she realised now.
Until this morning, she had thought it was all going so well. She had been accepted by everyone, finding most people willing to be friendly, though some of the haughtier ladies had done no more than nod in passing. However, Lady Felicia, the young Duchess of Belmont, had been friendly, as had Lady Montclair—and it was good of her to send her brother to bring that invitation. Now why had she done that? Would it not have been easier to send it in the normal way?
There had been something odd in Lord Benedict’s manner, Margaret decided, even if Roddy had not noticed it. He had looked at her in such a particular way, as if he were trying to delve into her mind and discover her secrets. And what had he said when he first introduced himself—that he thought they might have met somewhere?
She had thought that she vaguely remembered him... Yes, of course she did! All at once it came flooding back to her. He was the man she’d glimpsed standing on the harbour at Calais as she and the others had gone on board ship. She’d noticed him because... because even then he had been familiar. Yet where had she seen him before that day? She was certain she had, for his deep voice had stirred something in her memory.
‘Oh, no! It can’t be!’
Margaret suddenly recalled the incident she had found so embarrassing some years earlier. The evening her uncle had tried to molest her! She was almost certain that the man who had tried to help her that never-to-be-forgotten evening had been Lord Benedict. Yes, yes, the voice was right and the build, and the stern manner.
Of course she hadn’t known his name. She had never known it. Indeed, she had scarcely been able to look at him that night, which was why she had not recognised him at once. The impression of a handsome man with dark eyes and dark hair had lingered in her mind for years. Indeed, he had featured in her foolish dreams! Though always as a shadowy figure. Often in her thoughts she had wished that she had at least taken the time to thank him, but her distress and embarrassment had made her flee before she dissolved into shaming tears.
She hadn’t recalled it that day at Calais, but, later, when she was alone on the ship, she had thought about the incident with her uncle for the first time in years, and now she understood why. Seeing that man on the dockside had triggered something in her mind, though she had not realised it then. It was the particular way he looked at her earlier that morning and something in his voice that had brought a prickling sensation to her nape.
Time had not changed him as much as it had her, for he was as sternly handsome as he had been that night, and when his mouth set in a certain way it was forbidding. She thought it was that air of command that had sent her uncle rushing away in fear of retribution, and her in dismay. Not that she had feared him. His anger had been all for the man who molested her, she had known that even then, and had she not been so foolish...
There, Margaret’s thoughts were suddenly suspended. Nothing would have happened, she told herself firmly. At the very most he would have given her a slight scolding and then conducted her to her aunt. After that he would have gone on his way and that would have been an end to it, of course.
Besides, her plans did not include an involvement with a man such as Lord Benedict. He was, she was sure, the kind of man Aunt Kate had warned her of becoming entangled with, the kind who was not to be trusted with a woman’s heart. Exactly the kind of man she found attractive. Oh, what was she thinking of? Foolish, foolish!
Margaret put aside her ridiculous thoughts and went to have a lie down. She might as well have a little rest before the evening, because she was feeling a little tired...
She awoke from her dream to find herself drenched in sweat. It was the old dream and the vivid pictures were still in her head. She was in Italy and her uncle had just tried to molest her—and then her rescuer had come and driven him off. But this time she had not run away. This time she had stayed to thank him, and he had taken her into his arms, kissing her hungrily, passionately, making her tremble and cry out as she gave herself up to his loving.
Whatever had caused her to have such a dream? Margaret was shocked at herself. Her dreams had always, always stopped at a kiss—the romantic foolishness of a young girl. But this time she had been a woman, responding to her lover’s ardent need.
She got out of bed and went over to the window to look out at the Street. It was time for her to get ready for their engagement that evening.
‘You look beautiful,’ Caroline said as she saw Margaret that evening. She leaned forward to kiss her cheek, taking care not to damage either of their gowns. ‘You should wear things like that more often, Magda. That gown is most becoming to you.’
‘Thank you, my love. It is generous of you to say so—but you are lovely. You will be the prettiest girl there this evening. All the gentlemen will want to dance with you.’
‘I hope I shall not disappoint you, Magda.’
‘Now why should I be disappointed?’ Margaret studied her face and saw that she was nervous, but doing her best to hide it. She reached out and took her hand. ‘This visit is for you, Caroline. It is not for me. I shall not be displeased with you if not even one gentleman asks you to marry him—nor do I mind how many you choose to refuse. I am merely giving you the chance that should always have been yours, dearest. Do not imagine that you must marry to oblige me. If you have been thinking that, I apologise, for it was not my intention.’
Relief swept over Caroline’s face. ‘Is it truly so, Magda?’
‘Truly,’ Margaret said and smiled. ‘Silly girl! All I want is for you to be happy. That was Aunt Kate’s wish and it is also mine.’
‘I have been happy ever since your aunt took me into your home,’ Caroline said. ‘She was always so kind and you have been as an elder sister to me. If I liked someone enough I think I should enjoy being married, having children—but I would not marry because the gentleman is rich or powerful. I was afraid you might want me to make a prestigious marriage, but I do not think I should be happy married to someone I cannot truly like.’
‘Then I shall hope you find love,’ Margaret said and was sincere in her wishes. ‘Now, I think I heard Roddy arrive, and he is impatient, as you know, so we shall not keep him waiting.’
She was thoughtful as they went downstairs and watched her brother’s face light up as he saw Caroline. Perhaps she had been wrong in her original plan to marry her protégée off to a gentleman from the cream of society, but all might not be lost; this visit was proving interesting, if nothing more.
The short drive to the Belmonts’ magnificent house was soon accomplished and they waited in line for their turn to be received by their host and hostess for the evening. They were greeted warmly by both the Duke and Duchess and passed on into the various reception rooms to mingle with the other guests.
Since it was the middle of December now, the evening was cold outside but the rooms were crowded to overflowing and very warm, decorated with festoons of greenery tied with silk ribbons. Everyone was in merry mood and the noise of the laughter and tinkling glasses as the champagne flowed was considerable. Seeing that Caroline was a little uncomfortable in this crush, Margaret led the way through to the ballroom, which was less congested, many of the older ladies and gentlemen having chosen to congregate in the main salon to watch the newcomers enter and greet old friends.
It was a colourful scene: the ladies in ballgowns of all hues, ranging from the pristine white to pale pastels, such as Caroline was wearing, to the deepest blues and crimsons for the older ladies. One dowager was dressed head to foot in purple and gold. Jewels sparkled at the pale throats of the ladies, and diamonds flashed from old and young fingers, twinkling in the folds of a snowy cravat here and there, all made brighter by the reflected light from the glorious glass chandeliers shedding their glow over the large room.
Margaret glanced round the room, seeing a few faces she knew. She did not think the guest of honour had arrived as yet, for there was bound to be a large crowd about him. Besides, she imagined the man would have a presence. Aunt Kate had told her the Prince of Wales was flirtatious but charming, for she had met him somewhere when with her husband when he was a young man, but Margaret had never had the pleasure. She doubted she would get more than a glimpse of him that evening, for she was not sufficiently important for her hostess to think of introducing her.
However, her thoughts were soon diverted as the young gentlemen began to arrive, making polite conversation with her before begging Caroline to be allowed the favour of a dance later in the evening. Some of them came ostensibly to talk to Roddy, who was universally liked for his easygoing manners, though their eager eyes betrayed them and it was not long before Caroline was the centre of a lively crowd.
Several of the older gentlemen amongst them had also asked Margaret if she would dance, but she had declined with a smile to soften her refusal. She was present in the guise of a chaperon that evening and thought she would be happy just to watch her young friend enjoying herself.
After some minutes she withdrew to a seat nearer the windows, thinking that she would go in search of a refreshing fruit cup in a moment or two. Caroline was clearly not going to be left a wallflower and she need not watch over her every moment for she had no fear that the girl would be careless.
‘You do not dance this evening?’
Margaret was surprised as she heard the female voice and looked round as the woman sat next to her on the dainty sofa. She was a young woman, pretty, though her colouring was perhaps a little insipid beside Caroline’s—but that thought was unkind and prejudiced, Margaret told herself as she smiled a welcome.
‘Good evening, your Grace,’ she said, her voice made husky and mysterious by just a trace of the accent she had adopted. ‘I am ‘ere as chaperon to my ward, as you know. I thought it best that I did not dance myself.’
‘Oh, pooh, you must not call me “your Grace”, it is too ageing,’ the lady cried. ‘I am to be called Lady Felicia or merely Felicia by my friends—and I hope we are to be friends?’
‘That would be a ‘onour, Lady Felicia.’
‘You say you will not dance. I know it might be frowned on by some as you are here as a chaperon,’ Felicia said and her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘However, you have been noticed, Comtesse. A certain person has asked me to bring you to him, and if he should ask you to dance you may not say no.’
‘A certain person?’ Margaret raised her fine dark brows, feeling puzzled both by the Duchess’s manner and her words. ‘I am not sure I—’ow you say?—I do not know who you mean...’
‘Why, the Prince, of course,’ Felicia said and laughed, her blonde ringlets bobbing merrily. ‘Our own dear Regent, Comtesse—who else? He is the guest of honour and must have his way in all things.’
There was such a naughty look in her eyes that Margaret was betrayed into a laugh, for here after all was a woman with much the same sense of humour as her own, and that was very seldom met with in her experience.
‘You should be careful when you say such things,’ she warned. ‘There are some ladies present who might take what you say literally.’
‘There are some who would only be too willing,’ Felicia quipped, her expression leaving nothing to the imagination. ‘If I had not been so recently married... Prinny is a charmer to those he approves of, Comtesse, and I believe he is quite taken by you. He said he had heard of you and asked me to introduce you.’ It was clear that she herself was a charming child and that she did not think before she spoke.
‘Then I shall be delighted to do so,’ Margaret said and rose to accompany the lively young woman into a smaller salon off the main reception rooms, where it seemed the Prince Regent had decided to receive those he perceived worthy of notice.
She was smiling as she saw the rather plump, but undeniably still attractive man she recognised immediately from descriptions she had had of him from others, though this was the first time she’d seen him in person. London was thin of company at the moment and she had attended only small, private affairs until this evening. Her smile faded as she saw the face of one of the men standing nearest to him and knew him for her visitor of the early morning. She noticed that his nose was beautifully straight and he was looking down it at her. She avoided meeting his eyes, which were once again intent on her face, as if he sought to recall something he had forgotten.
‘Sir, I would like to present the Comtesse de Grenelle,’ Lady Felicia said with a smile made intimate by old friendship. ‘Comtesse, the Prince Regent, beloved of the ladies, young or old. I warn you to take care for he is the most terrible charmer.’
The brilliant sparkle in her eyes brought a laugh from the Regent who turned to Margaret with interest, his gaze going over her in the measuring way of a connoisseur. It was true that he had something of a reputation amongst the ladies, or so Margaret had heard, though it was also said he had married his first love, Mrs Fitzherbert, even though the marriage was morganatic and had since been officially denied. In the year 1795 the prince had been obliged to marry Caroline of Brunswick, a lady he disliked, who was presently living in Italy by mutual agreement.
‘Comtesse,’ he said and took the hand she offered as she dipped a slight curtsy, kissing it more lingeringly than perhaps was customary for a polite introduction. ‘Come, will you not sit with me, madam, and tell me a little of yourself?’
‘With pleasure, sir,’ Margaret replied and sat on the chair that had been vacated by a gentleman at the ladies’ approach. ‘I do not know what I may tell you that will interest you. I have lived very quietly for some years now.’
‘They tell me you are a widow—is that of long duration?’
‘I was married only a short while,’ Margaret said, a faint colour in her cheeks as she lied. Her voice was made even huskier by emotion, for her aunt’s death still affected her. ‘Afterwards, I lived with a... friend. She too was a widow. It was she who adopted Miss Hammond and we ‘ad talked of bringing her to London for a visit, so when my friend died I decided to go ahead with our plans once our period of mourning was over. It is, you see, a very simple story, n’est-ce pas?’
‘For which we may be grateful, else you would not have been here to grace these rooms this evening, nor the lovely Miss Hammond.’ The Prince Regent’s eyes seemed to hold a hint of amusement as he looked at her, which made Margaret wonder. Surely he was not thinking of making her a proposal of a nature she would be obliged to decline? ‘Demme, but I’m thinking that would have been a great shame, would it not, Benedict?’
Was it her imagination, or did the Regent’s words contain a laughing challenge for the man who watched her so sternly? Those eyes were almost black, she thought, but there was a hint of silver in their depths—but she was staring again! She averted her eyes, a faint colour in her cheeks as she recalled her dream. No, she would not let him overset her! If she blushed and simpered like a green girl, the wretched man would imagine she was setting her cap at him.
‘Indeed, it would have been a pity if two such lovely ladies had not been here this evening, sir,’ Giles answered, a tiny flicker in his cheek as he spoke but showing no other sign of emotion. He too had dreams he wished to suppress, for it was not a part of his plan to be seduced by her charms. And yet she made him instantly aware of his own need. ‘Comtesse—do you dance this evening? I would be grateful for the honour of being your partner.’
‘Thank you, monsieur,’ Margaret replied, feeling her cheeks heat as she met his penetrating gaze. ‘But I am ‘ere as my ward’s chaperon and I think it would look—’ow you English say? Not quite proper, that is it, non? It is not permitted for the chaperon to dance, I think?’
Unconsciously, her accent had become deeper as she spoke to him, as though needing all her defences against him. She had sensed something disapproving in his manner and felt that he disliked her—so why was he inviting her to dance?
‘You must not let the tabbies deprive you of pleasure, Comtesse,’ the Regent said and stood, his girth less of an intrusion now he was standing than it had seemed sitting. ‘Come, you shall dance with me first and after Benedict shall have the honour. Chaperon or not, the wagging tongues will soon cease their clacking if it is seen that you dance to oblige me.’
Margaret had no option but to agree. To refuse the Regent was impossible since he was both the guest of honour and, because of his father’s illness, the ruler of England. Their dance was pleasurable, for he was light on his feet despite his size, and soon over. He left her with every sign of having enjoyed himself and made an audible remark indicating that the Comtesse had obliged him to his hostess a moment or two later, which had the effect of silencing any who might have criticised her. As every lady knew, a request from the Regent was tantamount to a command that one refused at one’s peril.
After their dance ended, Margaret was immediately claimed by Giles Benedict, a circumstance that did less than please her, but since the Regent had ordered it, it was unavoidable.
The nearness of Lord Benedict’s powerful frame set a shiver running through her, which she immediately controlled, though she was aware of a heightened colour in her cheeks and a feeling of light-headedness. She was floating on air! How very strange. She took a deep breath to steady herself and it was as well she did. The touch of his hands at her waist sent a thrill of pleasure cascading through her entire body, making her feel slightly odd. Her heart was beating wildly and she felt her cheeks grow warm.
However, she found that he was a skilled and pleasant partner, and some of her wariness left her as he conducted a polite exchange of mere nothings. Margaret reasoned with herself. These strange feelings coursing through her were mere madness and temporary. She had only to endure a few minutes of this uncomfortably close contact and then he would leave her. Yet perversely there was a part of her that wished the dance might go on for ever.
‘You dance well, sir.’
‘Anyone would dance well with such a partner,’ he replied, and as she gazed up at him Margaret’s heart jerked. His eyes had deepened in colour and were so intent that she could not help thinking he felt much as she did, was aroused by the close proximity of their bodies. Her pulses raced as his fingers seemed to tighten about hers and she felt his heat burn into her. ‘You are a very beautiful, desirable woman.’ The huskiness of his voice aroused pictures in her mind—frightening, vivid pictures of herself naked in his arms. It was that wretched dream all over again and this time she was in a ballroom!
Dreams were one thing—this was reality. Margaret was almost certain that he wanted to make love to her, and, a little afraid of this strange new sensation, instinctively, she retreated, her manner becoming cool once more. ‘I am flattered, sir.’
His gaze narrowed and in the next moment his expression hardened as if he had ruthlessly squashed all feeling. And then their dance was ending.
It was as he left her that something he murmured set a tingling down her spine. ‘The Regent was taken with you, my lady,’ he told her. ‘But be warned: though some may think it, he is not a fool and neither are his friends.’
Now what did he mean by that? Margaret watched him walk to the Regent’s side, feeling both bewildered and angry. Did he think she had set her cap at the Prince? That perhaps she had some idea of becoming his mistress? There were ladies who would consider this a high honour, but she was certainly not one of them! Her irritation at this misconception knew no bounds and she wished she might have demanded an explanation of his hints, but this was neither the time nor the place.
She was once again approached by gentlemen wishing to dance, and as some of them had been refused earlier she could not risk offence by doing so again, now that she had been seen willing to dance. Inwardly, she cursed the circumstance that had led to her being so obliged, but as her anger abated she began to realise it was very pleasant to dance again, and to enjoy the evening more than she would otherwise have done.
Her brother asked her for a dance just before supper, remarking mournfully that he doubted he would stand a chance of getting Caroline to himself for supper.
‘Devenish has been bristling round her like a dog with a bone,’ he muttered. ‘And Monkford’s eldest is making a cake of himself—a veritable mooncalf.’
‘You need not concern yourself about Lord Monkford’s son,’ Margaret told him. Roddy did not know the truth, but Caroline was aware that the young man was her half-brother. ‘But I saw her dance three times with Mr Rushford. I understand he has quite a large fortune. He seems a pleasant young man and it would be a good match for her.’
Sir Roderick gave her a speaking look. Indeed, he opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, realising that he could not say such a thing to his sister and in public. But his opinion of Rushford had suddenly undergone a sea change. Instead of thinking him a decent fellow, the man had become a pompous idiot not fit to clean Caroline’s boots!
‘Not sure I care for that idea,’ he muttered gloomily. ‘She might look higher.’
‘Might she?’ Margaret asked, a hint of mischief in her eyes. She was not aware of it, but she looked both beautiful and a little wicked as she teased and provoked her brother, of whom she was very fond. ‘I do not think we could expect an old title for her in the circumstances, do you? No, that might be too much—but Mr Rushford has no such concerns. His father left him a fortune and he is his own master...’
‘Yes, well, I dare say,’ Roddy muttered, his cravat feeling dashed tight all of a sudden. ‘But there might be others with as good a claim to her affections as he.’
Margaret laughed and tapped his arm with her fan. ‘One of them not a million miles away, I might guess? Foolish, Roddy. I merely tease you—but if you have ideas of your own it might be as well to make Caroline aware of them.’
‘Bamming me, were you?’ Roddy said ruefully. ‘Might have known it.’
Her eyes sparkled at him, a provocative smile on her lips.
Observing Margaret from across the room, the Regent made a soft remark to his companion, which sent Giles on an errand he was loath to complete.
‘Your pardon, Comtesse,’ he said, his face expressionless, his eyes dark with suppressed annoyance. ‘The Prince Regent asks if you will make one of his party. They are about to go into supper now.’
It was a signal honour, for a large round table had been set aside for the Regent and those he favoured to partake of the lavish supper provided by the Belmonts, and one that Margaret felt constrained to accept despite her own preferences.
‘My lord,’ she said, inclining her head and taking the arm he offered. ‘You have campaigned with the Duke of Wellington on more than one occasion, I believe? Your sister told me that you were one of his most trusted aides.’
‘It has been my honour to serve him.’
‘Yes, it would be an honour. He is a brave man.’
‘And sometimes reckless.’
‘Truly? I had not thought it. He has had much success with his campaigns, I believe?’
‘Wellington takes risks others dare not, but he bears a charmed life and usually wins through. His enemies have been confounded many times and I pray they always shall be.’
‘I am relieved to hear it, sir, though I believe for the moment he has no wars to fight? Am I right in thinking that he is at the Vienna Conference?’
‘For the moment, as you say,’ Giles acknowledged. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Why did she want to know about his relationship with Wellington? And what business was it of hers where the Iron Duke was at this moment? Was she playing a deeper game than he guessed? ‘But for the future—who knows?’
‘Ah, this is something we may all ask,’ Margaret replied and tipped her head to one side as she looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes. ‘It is, ‘ow you say, that none ‘ave the knowledge of the future.’
Giles’s gaze ‘was intent as he looked at her. It was strange how her accent deepened whenever she spoke to him, and that her English was perfect other than when she deliberately pretended to not quite understand. He was becoming more and more sure that the so charming Comtesse de Grenelle was not what she claimed. Belmont thought he’d got hold of the wrong end of the stick, was amused by the idea that a woman like the Comtesse might be planning to assassinate him, and the Regent had brushed off the idea as nonsense. They were both enchanted with her, but Giles remained suspicious, despite being very aware of her in a physical sense. He would not deny that she was beautiful, or that there was an underlying sensuality about her that appealed to something deep down inside him.
But he must keep his mind on what was important here. The stability of Europe might depend upon it. If the assassinations of Wellington and the Prince Regent could be accomplished, it might lead to a lessening of purpose amongst the Allies. There were those who inclined to the idea that Napoleon’s return could be no worse than the Bourbons, and many in France were openly speaking of their dissatisfaction.
It would do Giles no good to be distracted by the Comtesse’s charm. He would swear that she was hiding something—and he was going to discover what it was, if it took him a week or a year.
It was odd that the thought of getting to know her was becoming more and more appealing every time he met her! And he was fairly certain that he would be meeting her again in his dreams that night...
Chapter Three
Margaret listened to Caroline’s happy chatter on the way home, her mind only half-attending as she relaxed to the comforting clip-clop of the horses’ hooves. She was well aware that the evening had been a success as far as her ward was concerned, and she was certain that the invitations would pour in for the rest of their stay in England. Caroline’s dowry was not huge, but it was respectable, and her beauty was such that she would not have been friendless without a penny to her name.
At least three of the gentlemen vying for her attention that evening were in the happy possession of independent fortunes. Of the three, Mr Rushford had seemed the most particular, which was the reason for Roddy’s little burst of jealousy. A secret smile touched Margaret’s lips as she reflected on the possible outcome. Her sisterly affection might have prejudiced her in Roddy’s favour, but she could not see that any girl in her right mind could prefer either of the other gentlemen.
She had been aware of a certain reluctance to marry on her brother’s part, but he might change his mind very quickly now that several other gentlemen had shown an interest in Caroline. Margaret suspected that her brother had been toying with the idea of looking for a rich wife. His own estate was small, though quite adequate for his needs. Caroline’s ten thousand would enable them to visit London when they wished and Margaret would give her brother another five thousand pounds as a wedding present. She had not told him of her intention, for she did not wish to influence him, but she could well spare it, for her own needs were modest. She intended to live very quietly on her return to France.
Parting from Caroline at the top of the stairs, Margaret went to her own room. She allowed her maid to help her out of her gown and then sent her to bed with a smile and a quiet word of appreciation.
Left alone, she brushed her glorious hair, which fell in a thick, shining curtain to her shoulders once released from its coiffeur, staring at het reflection in the pretty dressing mirror. The frame was shaped like a shield, fashioned in rich mahogany and inlaid with a stringing of light-coloured wood and had been one of many presents from her aunt, and the glass showed her an attractive woman with sad eyes.
Why was she feeling this way? It should be a night of triumph. Caroline was an undoubted success, her future surely assured. For Mr Rushford would not care a fig that she was Monkford’s bastard. Lord Ellwood had also been most attentive, though Margaret believed it was less likely that he would offer, given his reputation as something of a flirt. That young man was still playing the field for the moment, as he was entitled to do, of course. No, she rather thought it would be either Mr Rushford or Roddy who won Caroline’s heart. Indeed, it might already belong to Roddy, if her dawning suspicions were correct.
So why did Margaret feel so very low now that she was alone with her thoughts? It was ridiculous to feel lonely! She had many good friends who would welcome her on her return to her home—but did she want to live by herself? She could employ a companion, of course, but for some reason the life she had planned held little appeal for her at that moment. Longings and desires she had learned to suppress had somehow made themselves felt as she’d danced with him.
Oh, it was all the fault of that wretched man! Margaret put down her hairbrush with a little bang. Why must he look at her in such a way that it caused her heart to skitter like a leaf caught in a mischievous wind? She had done her utmost to hide her feelings as they danced, but there was no doubting that the touch of his hand, his nearness, had brought her to a new awareness of herself. She had come suddenly, tinglingly, alive in a way that she had never dreamed she could be. Then to see such disapproval in his eyes, to hear the threat in his words! Did he truly imagine she had set out to entice the Prince Regent?
Surely not! She had done absolutely nothing to bring herself to the Regent’s notice, nor had she gone out of her way to attract his interest. He had laughed a few times as they spoke, seeming amused, though she had not been certain whether it was her words or his own thoughts that had brought a twinkle to his eye. He was pleasant enough as a companion, but the thought of being his mistress was abhorrent to her. Indeed, she had met few men that appealed to her senses at all—and the one who did was impossible! His touch might make her heart race, but she did not like him, no, not at all.
It was grossly unfair of Lord Benedict to suspect her of being in any way a flirt. Indeed, the last thing she wanted was to be the Prince Regent’s mistress—or any man’s mistress, come to that.
If an errant thought popped into Margaret’s head at that moment she dismissed it instantly. She would never consider being Lord Benedict’s mistress either—even if the touch of his hand did arouse such very exciting feelings. Besides, he was unlikely to ask her. It seemed that he neither approved of nor liked her very much.
Oh, be damned to the man, she thought inelegantly, and retired to bed in high dudgeon. He was not worth worrying over and she certainly did not intend to let him disturb her sleep.
Yet her sleep was again disturbed by vivid dreams that night, even though in the morning she could not quite remember them, only that they had made her toss and turn restlessly for an age. So annoying! And so foolish. Giles Benedict was nothing like the man in her foolish dreams, for that man was generous, warm and loving. He did not look at her with suspicious eyes or make comments that were meant to prick her...
Margaret might have drawn some satisfaction had she known that she was not the only one to lose sleep that night. On his return from the ball, most of which he’d spent close to the Prince’s side, Giles had paced the floor of his bedchamber until the early hours.
Curse the woman! She had succeeded in getting beneath his skin despite his suspicions of her. His uncle had dismissed the suggestion that the Comtesse de Grenelle might be in the pay of Napoleon Bonaparte’s friends.
‘You know I value your opinion, Benedict,’ he’d said. ‘Your advice has proved solid in the past, but this time you are wrong. Comtesse de Grenelle is charming and quite harmless. In my opinion, neither a spy nor a potential assassin.’
‘I am aware of her charm, sir—but there is something not right... something hidden.’
‘I dare say there is some mystery about her,’ Belmont agreed. ‘Had I not recently married my darling Felicia, I might have found her irresistible. But if there is an assassin skulking somewhere, I am willing to wager it is not her.’
Giles had given way on the point, knowing it was impossible to sway Belmont once his mind was made up on the subject, but he was still uneasy. There was something wrong, he was certain of it. Something about her niggled at the back of his mind, something he ought to recall but could not.
The trouble was, he found the Comtesse too damned attractive! Dancing with her had aroused a hot coursing desire in him that had shaken him to the core. It had been unexpected, taking him off balance and requiring an iron will to control. He could not recall ever having been aroused like that simply by touching a woman’s hand, and certainly not in public. Good grief, he had been tempted to spirit her away to a secluded corner and ravish her there and then! Anyone would think him a green youth instead of a man well versed in the conducting of such affairs.
It was both annoying and inconvenient to feel such desire for a woman he suspected of being a threat to the stability of England. Obviously, she was more dangerous than he had imagined at the start—but who was she really? Not who she professed to be, he would swear. And why was she here in England? His mind went round and round like a dog on a spit wheel. Why was she here?
Surely it could not be merely that she wished to find a husband for her ward? It was clear that Sir Roderick was in love with the girl. The Comtesse might have stayed at home and let matters take their own course if that was her sole purpose. No, she must certainly have another... something secret and devious.
And somehow Giles had to discover what it was before it was too late. The safety of the Regent and his own uncle might depend upon his vigilance—and he could not remain vigilant if he allowed himself to be seduced by a husky voice and a provocative smile.
To Margaret’s satisfaction, several gentlemen called to leave their cards the following day, and the invitations to dinners, soirees, dances and all manner of delights began to arrive in quick succession. London society was actually quite a small closed circle, open only to the privileged, and since many of the same people were to be seen at all the large events, the Comtesse and her ward met most of their new acquaintances during the next few days. One notable exception was Lord Benedict. Not that that was of any consequence, since he had shown no interest in Caroline whatsoever.
Telling herself she was relieved not to have been forced to endure his company, Margaret still found herself looking for Lord Benedict’s commanding figure when she attended Lady Montclair’s musical evening. He would surely have attended his own sister’s special evening?
‘You are looking as lovely as ever, Miss Hammond,’ Augusta Montclair said as she welcomed them to her home. ‘Do go and find your friends, for I am sure they are eager to see you.’ Her bright eyes went over Margaret. ‘You look beautiful. Not many women could wear that shade of dull gold, but you can, Comtesse. And I know that your gown could only have been made in Paris—it has such style!’
‘You are very kind to say so,’ Margaret said. One glance round the room had told her that there was no sign of Lord Benedict. ‘Your brother does not attend this evening?’
‘It is the veriest nuisance,’ Augusta cried and tossed her head in annoyance. ‘He swore to me that he would have returned from his mission by this evening, but as you see he has not. I am cross with him and shall tell him so when next I see him.’
‘He has gone away?’
Lady Montclair looked vexed, for her brother’s insistence that the Comtesse and her ward must be invited this evening had raised cherished hopes in her breast.
‘To France I believe. Oh, it is always the same with Giles. He is forever chasing off on some mission for the Prince or mayhap Wellington, though I ought not to say since it may be secret. He is set on a diplomatic career, you see, and I suppose that must involve a lot of very dull, boring work. I do not know why he does not marry and settle down, for he is perfectly well able to afford it. He told me that he has no interest in his uncle’s title or fortune and wished Felicia well in her efforts to provide an heir for the family, but he might set up his own household if he chose. His own name is an old one and he is the last of the direct line. I have told him to get himself an heir and come home, but he does not listen. As it is he leaves everything to an agent, but, conscientious as Mr Marsham is, it is not the same. But Giles says he does not wish to settle yet and spends his time travelling. Of course he will have to return if Belmont dies without issue.’
‘I see...’ Such personal information was of no interest to Margaret, of course. ‘Perhaps Lord Benedict does not care for the country life?’
‘Oh, I think he likes it well enough. Our families have known each other for ever, of course, since my late father’s estate marches with Belmont’s own, though much smaller, of course. Giles was a frequent visitor at Belmont House when he was in the schoolroom. I thought he would settle to a country life—but then he went into the army and when I next saw him he had changed. I confess that I do not know why. I suppose he grew up, though I have wondered if he was crossed in love.’
‘I dare say it was just that he learned more of the world once he was in the army. I have heard that meeting with death on the battlefield is a life-changing affair.’
Augusta grimaced. ‘I dare say. I know Giles has been wounded once or twice, though he made nothing of it and had recovered by the time he came home. Oh, we should not have begun this, Comtesse. Why should we discuss my wretched brother since he did not see fit to attend my party when he promised he would? And after being so particular about delivering that invitation too!’ She made a little gasping sound, her face reddening as she realised what she had said. ‘Not that I would not have sent it, but he was so particular.’
‘I dare say he had no choice but to carry out his mission,’ Margaret said and moved on, saving her hostess from further blushes.
Augusta’s blurted confession had made Margaret thoughtful. It was curious that Lord Benedict should have asked his sister to provide an invitation for her and then not be at the party. Yet, if he had been sent on an important mission, it might have been beyond his power to refuse. On the other hand, why had he insisted on delivering that invitation himself?
It was a small mystery, thought provoking but impossible to solve—and she was spending far too much time thinking about the man as it was these days. She made up her mind that she would put him from her thoughts immediately.
Giles arrived back in London at an hour that was too far advanced to think of attending Augusta’s soirée. His journey to France had been undertaken not at the Regent’s instigation, but at his own. However, his inquiries in Paris had met with a complete blank. No one amongst those informants he trusted had even heard of the Comtesse de Grenelle. Indeed, one of them had gone so far as to declare that he believed the last legitimate holder of that title had met his death at the hands of Madame la Guillotine at the very beginning of the terror.
‘Jacques de Grenelle was barely fifteen and had no wife to my knowledge,’ Giles had been told. ‘His parents were executed with him and there were no cousins or relatives to inherit the estate as far as I am aware. The de Grenelle chateau was destroyed by fire by the mob and the family has died out. I do not know who this lady may be, my lord, but I would swear that she is an impostor.’
If the mysterious Comtesse was masquerading under a false name she had to be dangerous, Giles reasoned. Why else would she pretend to be something she was not? She was clearly a lady and wealthy—so why play a game with Society if she did not have some nefarious purpose?
His instincts had warned him from the beginning that she was not all she seemed; that accent could not be faulted and she had clearly lived in France for some years, for when she spoke in French as she did on occasion, her command of the language was perfect. Yet he understood that she was not wholly French and nor, it seemed, was she a comtesse.
Giles was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of this mystery, but how best to proceed? He knew that he had allowed his anger to show after their dance, perhaps because she had made such an impact on his emotions. He had succeeded only in causing her to withdraw from him, to look at him with suspicion. If he continued to show her hostility, she would withdraw further and he would have no chance of gaining her confidence.
Only by getting closer to her did he stand a chance of leading her into making a mistake. Friendship and familiarity might prompt her to let something slip, but perhaps she had already taken a dislike to him? And vet he had sensed that she was as disturbed by the sensations their dance had aroused as he had been himself.
His brow furrowed in thought. She was a widow, therefore she had experienced a man’s loving, had perhaps taken lovers since her husband’s death. If he played the game differently, pretended to be attracted to her—to desire her as his mistress...
Giles swore as he paced the room. Damn it! He did desire her as his mistress, despite suspecting that she had a sinister purpose behind her masquerade. Would it not make perfect sense to use an attraction he believed was mutual to break down her defences and discover her secrets?
Such behaviour would be a betrayal of those values he held dear. No gentleman would seduce a lady merely to learn her secrets—and yet, if she was what he suspected, she was not worthy of his respect. She was playing a devious game and the only way to beat her might be to meet her on her own terms.
He would, he decided, take things easily, flirting with her and flattering her to gain her confidence. If they should become lovers... His mind shied away from the thought. He doubted that she was a woman to be rushed into any such affair; it would take patience and time to seduce her and if, in the meantime, he succeeded in unmasking her, he would leave her to the mercy of others and walk away.
There was no question of his being romantically entangled. The Comtesse de Grenelle—or whatever her name might be—was a beautiful woman, her voice husky and enticing, but his feelings were purely physical, nothing more.
Strangely enough, once the decision to pursue her further had been made, Giles began to relax, the agitation that had taken him over since the Belmonts’ dance becoming a thing of the past. He knew exactly what he meant to do and would begin the chase the very next time they met.
In the morning he would visit Augusta and ask her when he would be most likely to next meet the Comtesse in company. Better it should seem accidental, he decided; a visit or a personal invitation might seem too obvious. No, he must take it slowly, savour the chase and his eventual victory...
* * *
Margaret was being driven around the park in her brother’s curricle when she saw Lord Benedict walking towards them. He had such an imposing figure and such an air of command that her heart caught at the sight of him, especially when he doffed his hat and smiled. Roddy was reining in his horses so that they could exchange a few words.
‘Good morning, Sir Roderick,’ Giles said. ‘Comtesse, may I compliment you on your gown? It is quite charming, but then everything you wear has its own style. I would suppose it is because you lived in France for so long.’
Why was he smiling at her like that? Margaret felt short of breath as she looked down at him; the look of hostility she had seen in those commanding eyes had completely disappeared and now there was only warmth. Now, indeed, he was the man who haunted her dreams.
‘You do me too much honour, sir.’ She was so taken aback that she had forgotten her accent for the moment, but corrected herself at once. ‘Lady Montclair tells me you ‘ave been in France, non?’
Giles smiled inwardly. His change of manner had shocked her and she had forgotten that charming accent, which was a pity because it was so fascinating, but clearly false. The Comtesse was playing a dangerous game and she little knew that in him she had met her equal. If she thought to fool him, she would discover her mistake!
‘It was a matter of business,’ he said. ‘My sister scolded me for missing her party and I am exceedingly sorry for having done so—but she has allowed me to repair my fault by taking her to the Renshaws’ dance this evening. I believe you and Miss Hammond mean to be there?’
‘Indeed, we ‘ope to attend,’ Margaret replied, keeping her breathing even with difficulty. Why did this man have such an effect on her? She had never met with it in any other, but it had always been so—even that night he’d rescued her from her uncle’s unwelcome attentions. His effect on her then had been so powerful that she had fled into the night rather than face his scorn, but she was older now and more able to control her emotions. ‘I shall ‘ope to see you there, monsieur.’
‘Then I shall look forward to what might otherwise have been an insipid evening. Comtesse, your servant. Hazelmere, I shall be at my club this afternoon, if you care for a hand of cards?’
‘Good of you to ask; don’t mind obliging you, Benedict,’ Roddy said, flattered by this attention from a man he believed would hardly have noticed him before this. He flicked the reins and drove on, glancing at his sister once they were out of earshot. ‘And you know what that means, Maggie—the fellow’s after you.’
‘Please do not be foolish,’ Margaret said, her stomach fluttering as if a host butterflies had invaded. ‘He was merely being polite.’
‘Benedict would have ignored me a few weeks ago. He mixes with Ellwood and his crowd and they’re a bit high in the instep, you know. It’s because he thinks I’m a friend of yours that he asked me to join his set at the club. I’ve been going there for years when I could, never been asked to play by any of that crowd before. He wants to pump me for information about you, depend upon it.’
‘Then you must make sure not to give him any.’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’
‘Of course not. But be careful all the same. I do not quite trust him, though I do not know why.’
‘I told you, he’s after you.’
‘Perhaps he is interested in Caroline.’
‘Don’t think she’s in his line. Might be if he was looking for a wife, but can’t see it, not with his uncle just wed to that young filly—no need for him to do his duty unless Belmont fails. No, he’s looking for a new mistress, mark my words. I did hear that he’d broken with his last high flyer some weeks ago.’
‘That is coarse, Roddy. I do not care to hear such talk.’
‘It’s the truth all the same, Maggie. Depend upon it, he thinks you’re fair game, being a widow and all.’ He glanced at her. ‘Might be awkward for you, deuced awkward, if he makes you an offer of carte blanche.’
‘Not at all.’ Margaret had recovered her composure now that she was not faced with that devastating smile. ‘If he should make such an offer, I shall merely refuse it. Naturally, he would not do so if he knew the truth, and so I shall excuse him and make nothing of it. There is no need to be embarrassed after all.’
Her brother glanced at her curiously. She seemed to mean what she said, but he suspected that she had been more affected by Lord Benedict than she would care to admit. She was still something of a mystery to him, for she did not often confide her thoughts to anyone, but he was fond of her in his own way.
‘It’s a pity he can’t be brought to offer you marriage, Maggie. It would be just the thing for you.’
‘Nothing of the sort! I have no wish to marry—and would not accept if he asked, which he will not, of course.’
‘Can’t want to live alone for the rest of your life,’ her brother objected. ‘I know Aunt Kate’s experience wasn’t a happy one, but marriage isn’t always like that...’ His cheerful face took on a gloomy expression. ‘I had hoped I might be happy meself one day.’
‘I am sure you will be, dearest,’ Margaret said, making an effort to dismiss Lord Benedict once and for all from her thoughts. ‘When you’ve finally made up your mind to settle down.’
‘Think I might have,’ he told her still on a gloomy note. ‘Thing is, ain’t sure my feelings are returned.’
‘Are you not?’ A naughty twinkle came to her eyes. ‘And why is that, dearest? Have you spoken to the young lady of your choice?’
‘Dash it all, Maggie,’ he exclaimed. ‘You know I haven’t. The thing is, Caroline seems very taken with Rushford—driving out with him all the time, dancing with him, sitting next to him at dinner...’
‘The dinner was given by his aunt,’ Margaret reasoned, amused by his pique. ‘Caroline sat where she was placed—and there is no reason why she should not drive out with Mr Rushford, and she must dance with someone, after all.’
‘You know what I mean,’ her brother said and flushed. ‘I thought I stood a chance with her, but it all seems to have changed since the Belmonts’ ball. Caroline ain’t the same.’
‘No, I have noticed that she has more confidence,’ Margaret said and smiled at him, her teasing at an end. She realised that he was more upset than she had at first thought, and touched his arm in sympathy. ‘But I still think she rather likes you, dearest. Caroline is trying her wings a little before she settles down. It might be that she is waiting for a sign from you.’
‘Do you think so?’ He looked at her uncertainly. ‘I thought it might be too soon to speak. After all, you went to some expense to arrange this trip for her and she has a right to her pleasure.’
‘Knowing Caroline, I think she might feel even more pleasure if she went to future dances as your fiancée—but I may be wrong, of course. I cannot speak for her. You must ask her yourself.’
‘Supposing she turns me down?’
‘That is a risk you must take,’ Margaret told him, ‘though I think it unlikely myself. Have courage, my dearest, and I believe all will be well.’
‘Maybe I shall, then.’ Roddy brightened and grinned at his sister. ‘Turned the tables on me nicely, didn’t you, Maggie, but I ain’t forgotten. I’ve got a nose for these things and I’d wager that Benedict has it in mind to offer you carte blanche.’
Margaret shook her head at him, but her mouth had gone dry and she was trembling inside. Roddy must be wrong. Surely he was! Lord Benedict had seemed to dislike her at their previous meeting—unless he too had been disturbed by the startling sensations their dance had aroused. Was it possible that when he’d spoken sharply to her, he had merely tried to cover his feelings and now he had come to a decision to pursue her?
What was she to say to him if he did? Her first reaction to her brother’s teasing had been to deny any interest, but in her heart she knew that that was not true. If he should smile at her, caress her, love her, as he did in her dreams, she would find him difficult to deny. But that was mere speculation.
Only time and further acquaintance would tell what Lord Benedict’s intentions towards her were, however, and therefore she would do better not to dwell on such a small incident.
* * *
Margaret saw him almost as soon as she entered the room. He had more presence than any other gentleman present, his manner and bearing that of a man used to command. She had been told that his army rank was a mere captain, but also that he had refused promotion because he wished to stay with his men at the heart of the battle. As their eyes met across the room he smiled and Margaret’s heart seemed to stand still for one moment. In the next instant he was coming towards her, as she had known he would.
This was the sixth night in a row that they had met in company and each time Lord Benedict had singled her out for special attention. Oh, it was all quite discreet, of course, nothing that could cause gossip, but he had a way of smiling just for her. The merest brush of his hand against hers, a lift of his brow as they shared a joke, for it seemed that often they found amusement in the same things; any one of these small gestures was enough to convince her that her brother had been right. It would appear that Lord Benedict was paying court to her. But what were his intentions? And what should her answer be if he made her an offer of carte blanche?
‘Comtesse,’ Giles said as he reached her, ‘how delightful to see you this evening. I was not sure if you would be here and I most particularly hoped to see you.’
‘Pour quelle raison?’ Margaret tipped her head to one side, a gleam of mischief in her eyes that played havoc with Giles’ s libido. ‘You ‘ave some problem, my lord? Is it that you need my ‘elp?’
Oh, God, did she have any idea what she was doing to him? That accent and the broken English, the way she had of pouting her lips, all drove him half-mad with longing. Giles felt the power of her sexual magnetism, his mouth dry as the heat in his groins intensified and he knew an urgent desire to have done with this game and take her to bed. Perhaps then he could lay these devils to rest!
‘Can it be that you do not know I come to these insipid affairs merely in the hope of seeing you?’ he croaked huskily. The woman was an accomplished seductress, he’d swear, and her skills had certainly had a powerful effect on him. He smiled crookedly as he remembered some plan of setting out to lure her into his web. Be damned to that, he was caught in her toils and not even struggling!
Margaret felt a spasm of something low in her abdomen that she vaguely recognised as desire. No man had ever made her feel like this, but she had dreamed of a lover as a young and innocent girl, and in her dreams she had known that love would make her feel this way. Not that she was in love, of course. It was merely the natural desire of a healthy young woman. Aunt Kate had warned her that it might happen.
‘I have known desire,’ her aunt had told her once towards the end of her life. They had been sitting in the warm sunshine, talking together in the garden at the villa as they often did. ‘My marriage made me forget that it was possible to be young and carefree, but when I was a girl I was foolish and headstrong. The man who seduced me was not wholly to blame, though he was older and should have known better, but I was not raped, my dear. At the time I believed I was in love. Had William been suitable I might have married him, but he was a dancing master and my father would not have it. So I was packed off to marry a foreigner, who made me pay for my sin over and over again, especially after he discovered that I could not give him a child. My experiences have led me to a dislike of men in general, but you must not think that there is never a chance for happiness with a man, Margaret—just be careful that you choose wisely before you give your heart.’
Margaret had decided then that she was unlikely ever to meet a man she could care for enough or love enough to marry, but that was before... She must not allow herself to be taken in by his sweet words.
Bringing her thoughts into line, Margaret looked into the face of the man who had just spoken, her chest tight with suppressed emotion. ‘I think you flatter me, my lord.’
‘You are wrong,’ Giles assured her. ‘I always say what I mean. This is not the kind of affair I usually attend. I have used both Felicia and Augusta shamefully to secure me invitations these past few days.’
‘I am not sure I understand you...’ Oh but she did, she did! Her stomach clenched as she saw the burning look in his eyes and felt its heat creep slowly through her veins. ‘You cannot mean...’
‘You know I do,’ Giles murmured in a soft, husky voice that set her pulses racing. ‘The attraction has been there from the beginning—from the moment we danced. Come admit the truth, Magda. May I call you that in private?’
‘I am not sure that we shall be private together.’ She was desperately trying to control the situation, feeling as if she had been swept along by a storm of emotion, like a leaf caught in a gale. She was fighting a hopeless battle, her will to resist ebbing as she gazed into his eyes and saw something that made her want to lose herself in him. ‘Mon Dieu, I think you are a man to be wary of, monsieur.’
‘I am sure we shall find much pleasure in being private together—and the perfect opportunity has presented itself,’ Giles murmured, his voice hoarse with the desire he was fighting to keep within bounds. ‘You must realise that London will soon be thin of company, Comtesse. The Duke of Belmont’s ball was the last important occasion of the year in town. Everyone is drifting away, to Bath or the country. Felicia has invited a party of friends to join her at Belmont for the New Year. You and Miss Hammond are to receive an invitation, I understand, also Sir Roderick and Mr Rushford.’
‘And you, my lord?’
‘Naturally,’ he said and a distinctive gleam came to his dark eyes. ‘It is a perfect opportunity to get to know each other better, do you not think so, Magda? I hope you will accept? I should be disappointed if you did not.’
‘Why is that?’
‘Surely you may guess?’ His dark eyes seemed to caress her and his smile made her feel oddly happy for some foolish, unexplained reason.
‘Perhaps...’ She moved the tip of her tongue over her full bottom lip, never guessing that he thought it provocative and designed to tempt him further. ‘Yes, I think it might serve...’ Her eyes sought his as if trying to probe into his mind and something in them made her heart start to thump. ‘I believe in my ‘eart that Caroline is torn between two admirers at the moment, though she has not confided in me—Sir Roderick and Mr Rushford. A trip to the country might be useful in bringing the matter of her marriage to a ‘ead.’
‘It will give them more time to get to know one another,’ Giles agreed, watching her intently. This was his chance and yet oddly he was loath to press his advantage. ‘It was for Miss Hammond’s sake that you came to London, I believe?’
‘Oui, in part,’ Margaret agreed. ‘I thought it fair that she should have a chance to meet and know the class into which she ought to ‘ave been raised, ‘ad her mother not died when she was a babe. She was adopted by my aunt and placed with the nuns for her education—but both her parents were English and from the gentry.’
‘That is indeed a sad history, Comtesse. To lose everything so young is a terrible thing. I presume they were a country family?’
‘Oui...’ There was something about him at that moment that made Margaret feel this was a man she could trust and like. She had thought him her enemy, but they seemed to have crossed some invisible line without either of them quite meaning to. She hesitated, for some reason tempted to confide in him, the barrier she had raised against him in her mind beginning to crumble. Yet still there was doubt and she held back the words that might have aroused his censure. ‘I can assure you that she comes from... good stock and is born of gentlefolk. ‘Owever, she has no family to provide for her except my aunt—and now me.’
‘I believe she is fortunate to have found such friends. She might otherwise have been forced to earn her living as a companion, which would have been a waste of such beauty. She is a charming child and I imagine you are fond of her?’
‘Very fond. I shall miss her when she marries and I go home,’ Margaret said, betrayed into a careless moment by his sincerity.
‘But you will come to London sometimes?’
‘Perhaps, if it is possible after...’ She realised that she might have gone too far. She did not yet know him and must be careful or she would betray herself. She must see Caroline safe first, and then—then she would be free to do whatever pleased her. But what would please her? Her heart was telling her one thing, her mind quite another. ‘It is, ‘ow you say—what will be will be.’
A little surge of excitement had started to wing its way through Margaret’s body, bringing her to tingling life as she saw that perhaps she need not retire to her solitude just yet. She had long ago decided against marriage, but she was becoming more and more attracted to this man each time they met. There was a gentler side to him that she had not at first suspected, and she had begun to realise that she might enjoy being his mistress for a while. Why not indulge in playing his games? It was the kind of adventure she had planned, a passionate, consuming affair that would fulfil her dreams. She was an independent woman, wealthy in her own right and free to do as she pleased. It would be exciting and pleasurable for as long as it lasted. Time enough to return to France when it was over and live on her memories for the remainder of her life.
It was reckless and perhaps foolish of her to consider becoming this man’s mistress, but, after all, why should she not? It would be a beautiful memory, something to make her smile when she was feeling lonely, which she knew she would at times when Caroline was married.
Having been the witness of her aunt’s unhappiness, Margaret was sure that marriage was not for her, even if Lord Benedict were to ask her, which he would not, of course. His manner of approach was not that of a man seeking to wed the woman of his choice, and she thought that perhaps he too had chosen not to marry.
Some people were not meant for domestic bliss; she had always felt that she was one of them, like her aunt, who had been miserable during the years of her marriage, only coming to life once she was a widow. Margaret’s few encounters with gentlemen before coming to London had left her feeling it would be impossible for her to find a man she could be comfortable with. Her brief experience had taught her that often they divided into two kinds—men who used and abused, or men who thought of women as weak creatures without minds of their own. Margaret’s keen mind would not allow her to be patronised or abused.
And of course she had her aunt’s teachings to guide her. After the Count di Cabria died, Aunt Kate had often told Margaret that she would be quite happy to live alone with only her niece for company. She had expected that Caroline would marry, but seemed to think Margaret would choose to stay single.
‘You are too independent of mind, my dear,’ she had often said. ‘Most men will not put up with that in a wife—though they think it a fine thing in a mistress, I believe.’
‘Is there some reason why it might not be possible for you to return to London?’ Giles asked, breaking into her thoughts.
Margaret had lost herself in her memories and was sharply recalled by something odd in Lord Benedict’s tone. For a moment she saw a hard gleam in his eyes, a hint of hostility, as if he suspected her of some terrible secret.
‘No reason,’ she replied and felt coldness at her nape. What had happened to make him change his manner towards her? It was so strange. One moment he encouraged her to believe he had warm feelings for her and the next he looked at her as if he disliked her. ‘Merely that I may find it preferable to stay at home.’
‘I do not believe I know where you live, Comtesse. In what region of France is your home?’
Why did he wish to know?
Margaret hesitated, uncertain whether to give him a truthful reply, and then she was saved from having to make a decision by the arrival of her hostess, who had decided that the young people should dance if they wished.
‘You do not object, Comtesse?’ she asked. ‘It is merely a little impromptu dance for the young ones and Caroline tells me you play the pianoforte rather well...’
‘I should be delighted,’ Margaret said and sent an apologetic smile at her companion. ‘If Lord Benedict will forgive me.’
Giles watched her walk away with their hostess, cursing beneath his breath. Another few minutes and he might have begun to discover her secrets. He was sure that she had come close to confiding something in him, though he wasn’t sure what it might be. Not that she had made certain plans to help in the assassination of the Duke of Belmont, of course—but perhaps his uncle was right and he had been mistaken in that matter. Belmont was certainly determined to ignore his nephew’s warning—inviting her to join them at the estate was all his idea.
‘If the lady wishes to kill me, best give her plenty of opportunity, what?’ he’d said, a twinkle in his eye. ‘Not that I think it for a moment, but better to have her where you can keep a look out, my boy, don’t you agree? Give the lady her chance and catch her in the act!’
Giles had agreed. It might be foolhardy to take risks, but at least he would be close by to keep a watchful eye on the Comtesse—if that really was her name.
There was a mystery about the Comtesse de Grenelle, he knew that without doubt, but perhaps there was another reason for her masquerade. Her accent was fascinating, but sometimes she forgot it and sometimes she seemed to him to be more English than French. He was determined to get to the bottom of the puzzle, and in the meantime he would continue to pursue her and see what happened.
Giles did not look too closely into his motives for pursuing the Comtesse, even though he was beginning to think that he might have been wrong to think her an assassin in disguise. She was beautiful, sensual and very desirable, and perhaps he need not look further for a reason as to why it was imperative that he should get to know her very much better.
Chapter Four
‘It is very kind of Lady Belmont to invite us,’ Caroline said when asked the next morning if she wished Margaret to accept the invitation. ‘I think that I should like to stay in the country for a while—if you think we should?’
‘I believe it might appear rude if we did not,’ Margaret admitted. ‘The Duchess has been very kind to us both, Caro. I think we must accept.’ A part of her wished that she might find an excuse to escape this visit, but a restless night had provided none that would be believed. It seemed that she must face up to whatever was in store for her at Belmont. ‘Besides, it will be more restful. We have hardly stopped to draw breath these past weeks—and I believe you need time to reflect, dearest?’
‘You are always so kind, so understanding,’ Caroline said, giving her a look of warm affection. ‘I thought I knew my own heart, but... Mr Rushford has been so kind and...’ She faltered and blushed. ‘Oh, I do not know what to do.’
‘Has Roddy spoken to you at all?’
Caroline’s cheeks were pink as she shyly replied, ‘He has paid me several charming compliments, but he has not...’
‘My brother is a fool at times,’ Margaret said, hesitated, and then decided on a direct approach. ‘Would I be wrong in thinking that at one time you had hopes of him, Caroline?’
‘I thought that I should like to be married to him best of all things,’ Caroline said in a muffled voice that carried a hint of the tears she was trying to suppress. ‘I truly did, Magda, but...’
‘Now you are not sure?’
‘Mr Rushford seems to care for me,’ Caroline said, her lovely face shadowed by uncertainty. ‘I—I like Sir Roderick very well, but I should not want to marry him if he does not truly love me. And—and if he did he would surely have spoken before this, do you not think so? Three gentlemen have already asked leave to speak to you and I refused them as best I could without giving offence—why has Sir Roderick not—?’ She floundered to an abrupt halt, blushing furiously.
‘I cannot speak for my brother,’ Margaret said, ‘but I believe he cares for you very much.’ She might have wished to say more, but could not interfere at this stage.
‘Caring and being in love are very different, are they not?’
Seeing the shadows in her eyes, Margaret silently cursed her brother. What was he thinking of? Why hesitate further? If he loved Caroline, he should speak out before it was too late.
‘Would you wish me to have a word with Roddy?’
‘Oh, no! I beg you, please do not,’ Caroline cried, alarmed. ‘I should be so uncomfortable if you did that, Magda.’
‘Then I shall not, of course, but sometimes gentlemen do need a little push, my love. Could you not make my foolish brother aware that you need a sign from him?’
‘Oh, no,’ Caroline disclaimed, clearly distressed by the very idea. ‘Please do not suggest it. I could not, for he might ask me out of a sense of duty and not truly wish it himself.’
‘Then we must simply hope for the best.’
What a sad pair they were, Margaret reflected ruefully. Caroline was unsure of the man she loved and considering marriage with a man who was kind to her rather than risk being hurt. And she—she was caught in a swirling tide that would probably carry her to destruction.
The Belmont estate was huge. There were acres of parkland in which deer grazed, leading to a beautiful natural lake with a summerhouse resembling a Grecian temple and thickly wooded slopes protecting the grounds from the village and farmland beyond. The Duke was clearly a wealthy man, his classically elegant home richly furnished and filled with treasures.
Margaret had come downstairs on her first evening as a guest there and was standing alone in front of a French marquetry cabinet filled with objets d’art and fine porcelain, Caroline having been claimed by a party of young people who had carried her off with them. When she heard a firm tread behind her she knew without turning her head that it was Lord Benedict, for her senses had responded to his presence instinctively.
‘My uncle collects rare and beautiful things. Fine porcelain is one of the interests Felicia shares with him and that set of Meissen figures was a part of her dowry, I believe. They have more in common than many thought. I believe she really cares for him.’
‘Is caring the same as loving?’ Caroline’s words were in Margaret’s mind as she turned to look at him, her heart missing a beat. He was so distinguished, so commanding, a man others would always seek out for advice. She felt a spiral of hot desire curl upwards, warming her body, bringing a becoming flush to her cheeks. ‘Is fondness a reason to marry, do you think? Lady Felicia made her choice for reasons of her own and I do not seek to criticise—but I believe there should be much more in a relationship.’
‘Such as?’ His brows rose.
‘Mutual respect, shared interests, a willingness to give understanding, to allow freedom of thought and desire. And passion, of course at the start, though this may wear itself out and when it does there must be something to take its place. A real and lasting friendship, perhaps?’
‘Ah, you ask for perfection, Magda,’ Giles said and smiled oddly. He was surprised by her declaration, which did not sit well with his previous opinion of her. ‘Such a union is seldom achieved within marriage. I think Felicia’s demands were more modest. Kindness, generosity and affection were all she asked of Belmont and I believe her well satisfied with her bargain.’
‘I do not pass judgement,’ Margaret told him. ‘What is happiness for one person may be otherwise for another. My aunt always told me that I am too independent for marriage and I believe she was right.’
‘And yet you were married?’
‘We all make mistakes.’ She turned her face aside, unable to bear the intent look he gave her, and, hearing a girl’s happy laughter, said, ‘Perhaps we should join the others?’
Giles made no move, his dark eyes intent on her. ‘Your marriage was unhappy?’
She was silent for a moment, then, ‘I prefer not to speak of it.’
‘As you wish.’ Clearly she was in no mood for sharing confidences that evening. He offered her his arm and they walked towards the large yellow drawing room where everyone had gathered in the splendour of the newly refurbished salon. ‘But you cannot wish to spend your life entirely alone? It would be such a waste. You are too intelligent, too beautiful—too passionate, I think, to retire from Society altogether.’
‘It was my intention once Caroline is settled.’
‘But you have reconsidered? I should be sorry if our relationship were to end too soon, Magda.’
‘Do we ‘ave a relationship?’ Her clear eyes challenged him.
‘It is my sincere hope that we shall have a meaningful friendship and perhaps much more. . . much more.’
For one moment their eyes met and held. The smouldering heat in his eyes set off an answering heat in her. When he looked at her that way she found it difficult to breathe, and she was tempted to discard caution. Instead, she took refuge in a provocative smile.
‘You ‘ave a wicked way with you, my lord. I think you are a terrible man. You would ‘ave your way with me, no?’
Her accent had deepened and the way she rolled the two r’s in terrible was so delicious that he wanted to clasp her to him there and then. He laughed, enjoying this deliberate teasing on her part. She surely knew that every word she spoke made him more determined to have her in his bed, to know her in the most intimate way; the thought of touching that lovely body did dangerous things to a certain part of his anatomy. He was glad that the fashion for short coats no longer prevailed. By God, he wanted her! For the moment every other consideration was forgotten. This game begun so idly had become a contest between them and one he had every intention of winning.
‘On the contrary, my lady,’ he murmured huskily. ‘I think you are the wicked one. You have bewitched me. What is the secret of your mystery? Who are you, Magda? I know all is not quite as it would appear with you. Sometimes I think you are laughing at us all.’
His words struck home, for in truth had not a part of her determination to foist Lord Monkford’s bastard daughter on Society been because she wanted to take a secret revenge on those same people who had cast both Aunt Kate and Caroline’s mother aside? Yet she would not permit herself to feel guilty; it was their false pride that made them seek to hide what they called the shame of fallen women and so they deserved to be deceived.
‘If I told you, there would be no mystery,’ she said and pouted at Giles provocatively. Even he deserved no mercy, for was he not trying to seduce her? ‘Is it not more exciting to be a little unsure, my lord—is that not part of the chase that you enjoy?’
‘Yes—no!’ he cried and laughed at the contradiction. ‘You intrigue me, Magda, I admit it. There is some mystery about you and it is a part of your fascination, but not all. I want to solve the puzzle, but more than that I want you, the lovely woman you are, to know you and possess you in the most intimate of ways. There, it is said. Not the words of a gentleman, I grant you. I should perhaps wrap it up in clean linen, but I have always been honest and would not deceive you. I want to make love to you, to taste the honey of your lips, to hold you close and feel you burn for me as I burn for you.’
‘You make your feelings plain indeed, my lord.’ Margaret felt almost faint, her whole body pulsing with a mixture of excitement and shock. He was speaking to a woman he believed experienced in such matters. Had he known the truth he would never have been so open about his desire to become her lover. Her body was throbbing with a passion she had not known was in her and she felt an overwhelming longing to let him carry her off and do all the things he’d promised to her willing flesh. Yet there was within her those doubts that had been planted by her aunt, stilling the reckless side of her nature. ‘Mon Dieu! You are forceful indeed, sir. You must give me a little time to consider. After all, we hardly know one another.’
‘Well enough to know that we both feel the same desire—but you are right, we cannot talk further now,’ Giles said, for they were about to enter the drawing room where the other guests had gathered and he was aware of curious eyes watching them. ‘But please understand that I do not offer lightly. I believe that we should deal well together and that we might share a lasting friendship.’
He had for the moment cast suspicion to the wind and was sincere in his appeal. Her mystery was as deep as ever, but he knew that he had never felt this much for any other woman.
Margaret was unable to answer. She had suspected that he meant to make her an offer, but somehow she had not expected him to be so direct or so swift. It was not the first time such an offer had been made to her, but usually it had been hinted rather than spoken directly, by friends of her uncle, men she had shown the cold shoulder and avoided as much as she could. She had not wanted to make love with any of those others.
But this man was different. He had spoken of getting to know her while they were in the country, but this evening he had been urgent and she was a little nervous of the passion she sensed simmering beneath the surface. She was torn two ways, her body clamouring to know the excitement and pleasure he was offering, her mind counselling caution. Once begun, this affair might flare out of control. And yet a part of her longed for excitement, to know love and passion if only for a short time.
She was relieved when he left her to mingle with the other guests, finding it difficult at first to concentrate on the polite, but often meaningless, conversation of her dinner companions. After a while she began to recover her composure, but Giles was seated at the opposite side of the table and she was very conscious of him watching her as the evening progressed. Once she caught his eyes and his smile seemed to burn her, making her breathless. How very attractive he was!
She found herself looking at his mouth, thinking of how it might feel to be kissed by him.., to be loved by him. Her fertile imagination was telling her that the touch of his hands would be sure and gentle yet firm, that he would know exactly how to bring her to a state of bliss such as she had only imagined in her wildest dreams. Yet if she allowed him to make love to her it would break down all her defences. She would have to confess the truth, to tell him her secret.
No! It was impossible. If she let him into her life she might find it too hard to bear when their affair ended, as it must in time. She would do much better to keep a distance between them. She must concentrate on what her dinner companions were saying!
‘The Regent has promised to come at the weekend, just for two days,’ Felicia was remarking. ‘He cannot stay longer, but it will be good to have his company for a short time.’
‘Prinny is coming here?’ Giles frowned at Felicia. ‘You did not tell me he was expected.’
‘Oh, I must have forgotten,’ Felicia said and turned to someone else. ‘Renshaw holds his ball next weekend, I believe?’
Giles frowned, glancing across the table at the Comtesse. Had she known that the Regent was expected at the end of the week? Was that why she had made up her mind to accept the invitation? She had seemed to hesitate at first, but something had changed her mind. It would, he imagined, be easier to arrange an assassination here in the country than in town.
His doubts had returned to plague him and he had been almost ready to dismiss them. He must watch the Comtesse carefully and press ahead with his attempts to break down her defences. He was certain she was hiding something from him—from the whole of Society.
He would continue to court her, but for the moment he would not seduce her. His impatience had made him lose control earlier, but he was back in command of his senses. It would behove him to be wary. He was aware that what had begun as a game might quickly become far more. Whoever she was, Comtesse de Grenelle had found her way beneath his skin as no other woman ever had, and he would have to take the greatest care that he did not allow himself to become emotionally entangled.
* * *
A few days later Margaret was in the gardens, tempted out by the glorious sunshine, which was brilliant though cold. She smiled as she saw her ward walking with a small crowd of gentlemen in tow. It seemed that even here in the pleasant gardens of Belmont House, Caroline was still attracting more attention than Roddy liked, for he was scowling and looked like a surly bear with a bad head.
Turning away from the rose garden, which was a favourite place for the guests to stroll and talk, Margaret walked through an arched gate into the park. She had decided to try and reach the lake, which was some distance from the house, and perhaps sit for a while in the little summerhouse out of the breeze, which was quite bitter. It would be peaceful there and she needed solitude so that she could think.
She had been seldom alone these past three days, for the house was filled with company and often Lord Benedict sought her out, seeming to know instinctively where she could be found. He had continued to pursue her, though less urgently than that first night. She thought that perhaps he was giving her the time she had asked for, and was both glad and sorry that he was being so gallant. She thought that if he had been more insistent she might have succumbed to his advances by now, but, left to make up her own mind, she found it impossible to decide. Her own reckless nature urged her to take what happiness she could while it was offered, but her aunt’s warnings lingered in her mind.
‘Oh, drat the man!’ she said aloud and then laughed at herself.
What did it matter? The day was pleasant, still and peaceful, disturbed only occasionally by the sound of a songbird high in the sky above her. Gradually a feeling of peace stole over her and she felt the tension fade away as she saw that she was almost at the lake. The summerhouse was closed, but when she looked inside, she saw that it was furnished much like a conservatory with Empire-style bergère furniture and green plants. She hesitated, then turned away to stroll to the edge of the lake, where she stood looking out across the rippled surface of the water, clutching her warm cloak about her.
After a few minutes, she sat down on a wooden bench, taking off her velvet bonnet and releasing her hair from the confines of the pins she had used to secure it, letting the glossy tresses fall unheeded past her shoulders. It was an age since she had felt so at peace with herself, but for a while she could almost imagine that she was back at home; in a moment her aunt would come out and tell her it was time for lunch and...
‘It is a lovely day, though the wind is bitter,’ a voice said, startling her. She had not been aware of his approach, for his boots had made no noise on the soft grass. She turned her head as he sat down beside her, her pulses racing at his nearness. There was a clean fresh, masculine scent about him that stirred her senses. ‘You don’t mind if I sit with you?’
She arched her brows. ‘What would you do if I told you to go away?’
‘I should wonder what I had done to upset you.’
‘Then I shall not cause you to trouble yourself,’ she replied and smiled. ‘Providing that you do not chatter and spoil the peace.’
‘A rare woman,’ he murmured softly, then got up from her bench and sat on a fallen log with his back against a tree, closing his eyes. Margaret glanced down at him, amused that he had taken her so literally, half- wishing that she dare lie down beside him and let the wintry sunshine lull her to sleep as he seemed prepared to be.
She watched a pair of black swans glide silkily through the water, saw a moorhen venturing into the shallows, and then sighed. It was such an idyllic spot, but somehow she was no longer at peace.
‘Did you follow me here?’ she asked at last.
‘I thought it too good to be true,’ Giles said and opened his eyes to gaze up at her. ‘A woman who did not want to talk...’
‘You think so little of our sex, my lord?’
‘On the contrary, I think often of one member of your sex,’ Giles said and sat up. ‘You have been keeping me awake at night for the past several weeks, Comtesse.’
He was alert now, looking at her, and as she got to her feet, he rose too, catching her wrist when she would have turned away. His fingers seemed to heat the delicate flesh as he swung her round to face him and she gazed into his eyes, mesmerised by what she saw there, unable to move even when she knew he was going to kiss her. Her lips parted instinctively, welcoming the firm, warm touch of his own and the tip of his tongue as it sought entry, dancing for a moment with hers as their embrace deepened.
She was swept away by a passion so consuming that she felt helpless, clinging to him as she abandoned herself to it without reserve, her body raging as if with fever. It was as if she was boneless, melting into him, becoming a part of him, losing herself entirely. She had never expected to feel this way, never known it was possible to lose oneself so completely in another, to want to become a part of that other. His mouth moved from hers, allowing her to catch her breath. But then his lips were at her throat, the feeling so deliciously sensual that she arched into him, a little mewing sound escaping her as she felt the hard burn of his arousal pressing through the thin muslin of her gown. He was pushing down the soft gathered neckline, his tongue and lips seeking the soft valley between her breasts, and then nuzzling at the rose pink tips of her breasts that had peaked for him.
He was whispering things to her now, things that made her cheeks heat for shame and yet heightened her desire, speaking softly of his need to fill her, to feel the warm honey of her sex drawing him in, to possess her. Margaret knew that she ought to stop him, she ought to confess that she was not the woman he thought her, but though his words terrified and shocked her, they also thrilled her. She was horrified to discover that she wanted to experience the things he spoke of so temptingly. She must be wanton for she felt no shame, only a fierce longing to be in his bed.
‘You are so lovely,’ Giles murmured huskily his lips against the white arch of her throat. ‘I never meant to let you get beneath my skin the way you have. You are a dangerous woman, Magda, and I have lost all reason...
Something almost accusing in his tone made her pull back, slightly hurt by his words. He was accusing her of having ensnared him and that was not true.
‘I do not know why you should blame me, my lord,’ she said and drew back, pulling the neckline of her gown into place. The moment had passed and she was in control once more. ‘I am sure I have done nothing to encourage this behaviour in you.’
‘Do not play the innocent with me, Magda,’ Giles said and his mouth hardened. ‘Your response just now makes a mockery of false modesty. You are a woman of the world. You understand how it is between a man and a woman—and to say that you have not encouraged my advances when your every look invites me to take you to bed...’
‘I do not think I like you very much,’ Margaret said, angered by his attitude. Did he imagine she was a whore, his for the taking? ‘For a moment I forgot myself, but I shall not permit such liberties again. Please do not follow me, my lord. I am not an opera dancer to be taken at will and discarded when you please!’
She turned away, her head high, shoulders stiff, but her cheeks were flaming. She could not entirely blame him, for she had teased him when it suited her, but his kiss had surprised her, flooding her with a hot desire that was completely unexpected. If it had not been for that note of censure in his voice, she knew that she would have allowed him to continue his lovemaking, and to revel in it.
Well, she was justly served for allowing him too much licence, she thought as she braced herself for his next onslaught. She was prepared for him to follow and try to cajole her, but thankfully he did not and she was allowed to walk alone as she returned to the house, her thoughts in turmoil.
She had been right to fear that, once begun, an affair with Giles Benedict would flare out of control. Anger had made her leave him, but already it was tempered with regret and the knowledge that it was probably too late to try and cut him out of her life; he had already taken too much of her with that kiss.
Watching her walk away, Giles stared in frustration, cursing himself for a fool. The passion and warmth of her response had thrown him, for there was an underlying sweetness, almost innocence that had shocked him. Hers was not the practised kiss of a seductress and he’d known it even as he’d thrown those harsh words at her. It was his own feelings that had startled him, the tide of tenderness that flowed towards her, wanting to surround and protect, to sweep her up in his arms and take her somewhere private. An open-air seduction would have done very well for the woman he had thought her, but not for the woman he had discovered during that kiss. She was too special!
He ought to run after her and apologise, he knew it instinctively, but something held him back. His instincts told him she could not be the woman he’d first thought her, and yet he feared to be taken in by her charm. If she was planning harm to the Regent...
Yet was even that the sum of his doubts? Was there not a deeper, more personal reason why he had struck out in self-defence?
Giles frowned and turned his steps in another direction. He needed to think!
Margaret saw the Regent on her return to the house. He had just arrived and was standing in the hall, talking with his host, but on seeing her he came towards her immediately, kissing the hand she offered in greeting.
‘My dear Comtesse,’ he said, a twinkle in his eyes. ‘How pleasant that we meet again and in such delightful surroundings. You have been walking I see. The air has brought colour to your cheeks.’
Had Margaret known it, her hair was straggling down her back despite her efforts to pin it up again, and with the roses in her cheeks she looked even more enchanting than usual, like a young girl instead of the matron she tried to appear in company.
‘I like to walk when I can, sir. Especially when staying in such a beautiful place. I have been as far as the lake and it was well worth the effort.’
‘Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you on your walk tomorrow morning? I enjoy a walk in good company myself—as long as you do not venture too far.’
‘I should he delighted, sir,’ Margaret replied and smiled, for such a request could not possibly be denied.
She went on and up the stairs, escaping to her own room to repair the damage to her appearance. Gazing at herself in the dressing mirror, she saw that her skin was glowing, though whether from exposure to the heat of the sunshine or quite another cause she was unsure.
She changed her gown, restored her hair to order and went downstairs as the gong was being sounded. Going into the smaller, informal dining parlour used for nuncheon, she saw that Caroline and Roddy were already there, standing by the buffet as they made their choice from the selection of cold meats and side dishes. There seemed to be an atmosphere between them. Caroline looked unhappy and Roddy was clearly annoyed over something.
However, Margaret was unable to ask what was wrong, as there were several more of the Belmonts’ guests already gathered around the table. She was invited to sit next to one of the ladies and engaged in conversation that lasted throughout the meal.
It was not until later that Margaret was able to speak to her ward alone, when they went upstairs together to prepare themselves for the afternoon’s pleasures. Some of the men had gone off to shoot pigeon in the Duke’s woods, others to play billiards in the games room. However, most of the ladies preferred to stroll in the gardens or find a comfortable spot to sit with the latest offering from Miss Austen, Maria Edgeworth, or another of the romantic writers.
Having indulged herself in a good walk that morning, Margaret had decided that she would relax with a book unless Caroline needed her.
‘What are your plans for the afternoon, dearest?’ Margaret asked as they paused at the top of the landing.
‘Some of the ladies are thinking of practising their archery,’ Caroline replied with a little sigh. ‘I may watch them, though Mr Rushford asked me if I would like to go for a drive about the estate in his curricle.’
‘Shall you go? It is a pleasant day for a drive.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ Caroline admitted, ‘but Sir Roderick made such a fuss about it earlier that I said I would—so I suppose I must.’
‘Mr Rushford would think it odd if you cry off. Unless you have the headache, which would be a shame on an afternoon like this. I cannot think you wish to spend it lying on your bed?’
‘No, I do not,’ Caroline said and laughed ruefully. ‘So I must keep my word and go, mustn’t I?’
‘Mr Rushford will not give you cause to regret it, I am sure. He seems a perfect gentleman and has the best of manners.’
‘Oh, yes, I agree,’ Caroline said at once. ‘And very kind. The thing is, Magda, I am almost certain that he means to ask me to marry him this afternoon.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Margaret understood her reluctance. It could be awkward if a man spoke too soon, and must be handled carefully. And she believed that in her heart Caroline wanted only one man, and that was not Mr Rushford. It would not do to play the heavy-handed duenna, but she would try to make things easier for Caroline if she could. ‘And you are not sure how to answer him, is that it?’
‘Yes.’ Caroline sighed deeply. ‘I am not ready to say yes, but I don’t want to say no either. I haven’t made up my mind yet.’
It was Caroline’s choice, of course, but Margaret hoped the girl would not make a terrible mistake.
‘Then simply ask for a little time, dearest. Go and enjoy yourself and do not worry. Things will work out soon between you and Roddy, I am perfectly sure of it. I shall see you at tea perhaps.’
They parted and Margaret went into her own room. She spent a few minutes tidying herself and then took her book downstairs.
She would find somewhere pleasant to sit in the garden and read her book. She walked unhurriedly in the direction of the rose arbour, but found that several others had the same idea and turned away. However, as she walked towards a secluded area she had noticed earlier that morning, she saw the Prince Regent coming towards her and stopped as he smiled at her in welcome. It was surprising to see him alone, but she thought that perhaps he had wanted a little peace for it must be wearisome to be always pursued and never alone.
‘I see you have come out for a little solitude, Comtesse,’ the Regent said as he saw her book. ‘So I shall not...’
At that moment, Margaret caught sight of a man standing in the thick shrubbery close by and something alerted her as she saw him raise his arm and glimpsed a flash of sunlight on metal.
‘Sir!’ she cried and gave the Regent a great push, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees just as the ball went whistling past them, narrowly missing what must have been a prime target. ‘My apologies...’ she whispered, shocked both by what she had done and what had followed.
‘Damnation!’ the Regent cried, startled and angered by the blatant attempt on his life. ‘Where is the fellow?’
‘He ran off as soon as he had fired,’ Margaret said, feeling shaken, though she struggled to appear calm. ‘I am sorry for pushing you to the ground, sir.’
The Regent was back on his feet, not one whit the worse for his tumble, and seemingly unperturbed by his brush with death. ‘Pray do not apologise, Comtesse. Your prompt action saved me from injury or death, and I can only thank you for what you did—damn it, you might have been shot yourself. It was both brave and foolhardy, ma’am.’
‘It was instinctive,’ Margaret said and laughed as she realised she was trembling. ‘But we are wasting time. We should alert the household.’
‘That is just what we must not do,’ the Regent said. ‘No, Comtesse, it will not serve, believe me. We should just upset Lady Felicia and to no good purpose. The fellow will have made off by now and I do not think he will risk another attempt for a while. Will you do me the greatest favour and tell no one what has occurred here this afternoon?’
‘If it is your wish,’ Margaret said and looked at him with respect. ‘You have taken it very calmly, sir. I do not think I could dismiss something of that nature so lightly.’
‘I am more accustomed to these things than you might imagine, my dear Comtesse,’ he said and his eyes twinkled at her. ‘Not while walking in an English garden and talking with a beautiful and mysterious young woman, I must admit—but this is not the first attempt on my life and I dare say it will not be the last.’
‘I would beg you to take care, sir. England cannot afford to lose you, especially in these uncertain times.’
‘Spoken like a true Englishwoman,’ the Regent said and the twinkle had become a positive sparkle, for in her distress her accent had been forgotten. ‘I think, perhaps, I know the answer to a part of your mystery, Comtesse, but one favour deserves another. Keep my secret and I shall keep yours.’
‘It is not a very terrible one,’ Margaret told him with a blush. ‘My aunt met you once in London some years ago and she thought you charming and a terrible flirt, but had great respect for you, sir.’
‘Should I remember the lady?’
‘The Contessa di Cabria.’
‘Ah, yes, I do recall—quite a formidable lady herself, I believe?’
‘Some might think so,’ Margaret said. They had somehow turned towards the house, walking together for all the world as if nothing untoward had occurred. Margaret was reluctant to leave him alone in the gardens, but when she saw Giles Benedict walking purposefully towards them, she turned to the Regent. ‘I shall leave you to Lord Benedict now, sir. If you will excuse me.’
‘Yes, of course, ma’am, and thank you.’
‘It was nothing, sir.’
She walked away before Giles could reach them, not wanting to meet him too soon after the embarrassing episode of that morning.
‘You could not have been more wrong about her,’ the Regent said as Giles questioned him more particularly. ‘Had she not acted so promptly, I might have been injured or killed.’
‘Are you sure it was not just a show to make it appear that she had saved you from an assassin?’
‘What purpose would be served in that?’ Prinny asked. ‘It was an opportunity that will not come easily again; if they wanted to kill me it was the time to do it. I shall take care not to stray so far from the house alone again—at least until we have tracked this fellow down.’
‘It was a man who fired at you?’
‘I never saw the fellow. Had the Comtesse not been so swift to act, he would at the very least have winged me.’ The Regent frowned, his expression harsher than that he had shown Margaret. ‘No, you must look elsewhere for your assassin, Benedict. I want it kept quiet, do you hear? Lady Felicia must not hear of it—but I shall speak to Belmont myself. We must question the estate workers, discover if anyone has seen a stranger lurking about.’
‘I shall begin immediately,’ Giles said. ‘And I’ll employ an agent I know to make discreet inquiries.’ He would also ask some friends of his who had served under Wellington to set up a discreet surveillance, but thought it wiser to tell the Regent nothing about that particular measure.
The Regent changed the subject, determined to make light of the whole affair, and they went on into the house to be met by their hostess, who bore her honoured guest away to tea.
Giles brooded on the latest developments as he went out to set up his investigation. It was unlikely that the assassin would linger after his attempt had failed, but just in case they would make a discreet search of any outlying barns or huts where he might be hiding.
The Regent’s conviction that Comtesse de Grenelle had saved his life was something else Giles must ponder. He was certain that she was not who she claimed to be, but that in itself was not a crime—though undoubtedly many in Society would not agree with him. She would be ostracised if it were known she had practised a clever deceit on them and it was not part of Giles’s plan to ruin her.
However, if she was not the practised deceiver he had first thought her, and that kiss had led him to believe that he was indeed mistaken, where did that leave him and his efforts to seduce her?
Chapter Five
‘May I speak to you privately?’ Margaret was walking alone in the garden when Roddy came up to her. She saw at once that he was distressed, and understood his reasons.
‘Yes, of course, my dear,’ she said. ‘But perhaps I should tell you that Caroline has already spoken to me of your quarrel.’
‘I expected that she would,’ he said and there was a flash of temper in his eyes. ‘She is behaving like a spoiled brat.’
‘Roddy, that is not a very nice thing to say.’ Margaret looked at him unhappily. Her sympathy was aroused, but this was a time for plain speaking if things were to be sorted. ‘You know I think you are both behaving a little foolishly here, but on the whole I blame you the most. You are old enough to know better. And as the man, you must take the lead. Why do you not tell Caroline how very much you love her? Speak to her immediately, before it is too late.’
‘You have no idea of what you are asking,’ he said tersely. ‘It is very difficult—if not to say impossible—’
‘Nothing is impossible, Roddy. I must tell you now, my dear, that I believe you will lose her if you do nothing.’
‘Oh, damn you,’ Roddy muttered. ‘No one asked you to interfere.’
Margaret watched her brother walk away. No doubt that streak of stubbornness in him was the mirror image of her own. She would not have taken kindly to advice from him, and could not be surprised at his reaction.
Margaret was dressing for the evening when her ward came in unannounced. It was obvious from her ravaged looks that Caroline had been crying and she was immediately concerned for her. She dismissed her maid and went to greet the girl with outstretched hands.
‘What has upset you so much, dearest?’
‘I’ve had a terrible quarrel with Sir Roderick!’ A sob escaped Caroline, her shoulders heaving with her emotion.
‘Oh, Caro,’ Margaret said. ‘Was it because you went for that drive with Mr Rushford?’
Caroline nodded and broke into a storm of weeping. It was not for several minutes that she could be comforted enough to speak of what had happened. At last her tears subsided and Margaret gave her a pretty kerchief to dry her cheeks.
‘There, that is better. Would you care to tell me what was said between you?’
Caroline lifted her tear-drenched eyes. ‘He—he accused me of being a heartless flirt!’
‘That was unkind of him. I shall certainly take him to task for it, dearest.’
‘No! No, you must not,’ Caroline begged instantly. ‘Besides, you may not see him this evening. He said that he’d had enough of dancing to my tune and was going home.’
‘Roddy said that to you? It was very bad of him and I am most displeased.’
Margaret was astonished. Her brother was normally the mildest of men. What had got into him of late? She could only assume that he had been driven beyond bearing by his jealousy of Mr Rushford.
‘What had you said to him to provoke such an attack?’
‘Only that... Mr Rushford had asked me to marry him and that I had asked for time to consider.’ Caroline held back a sob. ‘I thought it might provoke him into asking me himself, but it merely made him angry. And then I lost my temper and told him he was impossible and unbearable and that’s when he said he was going home.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Margaret said, looking at her sadly. ‘I dare say he will calm down and beg your pardon later, dearest.’
‘I do not think so. I believe he really meant to go home. He received a letter this morning from his agent asking him to return because there was some problem with the estate.’
‘Ah, I see.’ Margaret nodded. Her brother clearly felt he was needed at home and had blurted it out in a temper. She was a little surprised that he had not troubled to let her know of his decision, but understood that he was angry with her for her plain speaking earlier. If he had not left a letter for her, it must mean that he too was deeply upset about this situation. ‘Do you feel like coming down to dinner this evening, my love? I could tell Lady Felicia that you are resting if you wish?’
‘No, no, I shall go down,’ Caroline said and suddenly there was a brilliant sparkle in her eyes, a determined tilt to her chin. ‘And I have decided to tell Mr Rushford that I shall marry him.’
‘Caroline! This is very sudden, my dear.’ Margaret stared at her in concern, her amusement gone. This was serious, for it would affect the rest of Caroline’s life, and she was not at all sure that her ward’s choice of a husband was a good one. Mr Rushford was perfectly respectable, of course, but his manner was a little condescending at times, which she herself would find exceedingly irritating. ‘Are you sure that is what you want to do, Caroline? You are not making a rash judgement because of your quarrel with Roddy?’
‘Sir Roderick’s unkindness has made up my mind,’ Caroline said defiantly, two spots of bright colour in her cheeks. ‘It is clear that he does not love me. If he did, he would not be so hurtful to me.’
‘Perhaps he himself was hurt?’ Margaret suggested, but she could see that the girl was not prepared to listen. ‘I do not mind what you do, dearest—but I want you to be happy. I dare say Mr Rushford is a very pleasant man, but I would hate you to make a rash decision and regret it for the rest of your life. Will you not think about this for a little while—be sure what you want of life?’ She was concerned for Caroline, for she believed she was making a terrible mistake. ‘I would not dictate to you for the world, indeed, I have no right—but please consider carefully, dearest.’
‘I shall be happy with Mr Rushford. I know he loves me and—and I am fond of him. I think we shall deal very well together.’
‘It is your own decision, of course, though I would advise you to wait for a time, Caroline.’ She could not forbid the girl, she had no right to do so.
‘I do not wish to wait. I know my own mind.’
Margaret reserved judgement. Although she had agreed to act as her chaperon, it was not for her to tell Caroline whom she ought to marry. Besides, if Roddy had not spoken, it might be that he was undecided. She could not interfere between them even though she believed Caroline was making a mistake. Oh, what a coil it was!
Margaret felt sad that Caroline and Roddy had quarrelled for she believed that there was genuine love on both sides. Yet it was surely for them to sort themselves out. Roddy should have spoken boldly, told Caroline that he wanted to marry her. It seemed that, faced with only criticism from Roddy, Caroline had reached her own decision and there was no more to be done.
A little later that evening, Margaret watched the meeting between her ward and Mr Rushford with some misgiving, but when the young man came to her immediately after dinner and asked when he could speak to her privately she put no barrier in his way.
‘Miss Hammond—Caroline—has done me the honour of agreeing to be my wife, ma’am. I am here to ask formally for your permission, and to tell you of my intentions towards her.’ His manner was pompous to a degree she thought unwarranted, though she held her feelings in check and allowed him to continue.
‘She mentioned her intention earlier, sir. As I have no need to ask about your feelings or your ability to provide for her, I can only wish both of you happiness.’
‘You will wish to know about settlements. I propose to settle twenty thousand pounds on my wife.’ He looked exceedingly pleased with himself, almost as though he believed he was doing Caroline a great favour, which set Margaret’s teeth on edge. ‘The income will be hers for life and the capital shall pass to her children on death. I do not approve of ladies being in charge of their capital, you understand. Most do not know how to protect it. It is our duty as their husbands to look after them.’
‘Indeed?’ Margaret’s brows rose. ‘I have always found that attitude a little hard to swallow, sir, for I think a woman as capable of most things as a man.’
Mr Rushford looked into her eyes and realised his mistake. ‘Oh, I did not mean you, dear lady. You are the exception to the rule, naturally. But Caroline is such a delightful child. A pretty little butterfly to be petted and cosseted, I am sure you agree? She does not care to be troubled with business matters. Besides the income from her marriage portion, I also intend that she shall keep her own inheritance, to spend as she pleases.’ He hurried out with this as though to placate her.
‘That is very generous of you, Mr Rushford. Caroline is a fortunate young lady.’ Yet would she be happy despite his generosity? Margaret was not sure and wished that she had done more to urge her ward to caution.
‘I love her very much,’ he went on and this time there was a note of sincerity in his voice. ‘You must believe that I shall do all in my power to make her happy, Comtesse. I thought her affections might be engaged elsewhere, but she assures me that is over.’
‘I see.’ Margaret hesitated. She could not doubt that he cared for Caroline, and that being so perhaps her own reservations counted for nothing. Besides, it was not in her power to forbid Caroline anything, merely to advise. Although she thought of the girl as her ward, it had actually been Aunt Kate who adopted her, and there was no legal obligation on either side. ‘Then, if you are happy, we shall arrange the wedding.’
‘We require only a quiet wedding,’ he said. ‘Caroline has told me that she is the illegitimate child of a titled gentleman, but I do not care for that. I am a countryman at heart, madam, and Society in the grand manner holds little appeal. My friends will not ask who Caroline’s parents are, but welcome her as my wife.’
Again, there was that hint of pomposity, of self- importance, as though he was pleased with his own magnanimity in offering marriage to a girl who was hardly worthy of him. Margaret was aware of a flicker of unease, but she quashed it. Caroline had made her choice.
‘Then she has nothing to fear and everything to gain, sir. How soon would you like to marry?’
‘Would five weeks be too soon?’
‘Not if you both agree. Caroline has many beautiful gowns already and others can be commissioned and made in that time.’
‘I see no point in long engagements and I plan to take my wife to Paris for a honeymoon. Anything she lacks may be purchased there.’
His tone struck Margaret as a little dictatorial and once again she had to smother her doubts as to the wisdom of Caroline’s choice, but the die was cast now and there was no going back.
‘I was thinking that we might spend a week or two in Bath when we leave here. We could journey there in less than a day. Would you wish to arrange the wedding there—or will your family expect it to be at your home, sir?’
‘I have no relations to speak of other than a younger sister, who is still in the schoolroom. She can come to Bath for the wedding. I shall send for her and she may travel with her duenna. I am certain that Sarah will adore Caroline.’ He smiled, clearly well satisfied. ‘It is an excellent idea, Comtesse de Grenelle. I shall visit Bath and make arrangements for the wedding and your accommodation, and then I shall go home to set everything in order for my bride. I shall return here with my sister and her chaperon in two weeks to escort you to Bath, ma’am.’
‘That sounds very suitable,’ Margaret said. There was no doubting that Mr Rushford was very sure of his own consequence, and that lowered her own opinion of him a little, but no matter. It was Caroline’s happiness that was important here, and she seemed to have made up her mind.
Leaving the young man to go in search of his fiancée, Margaret made her way back to the main salon, but was waylaid in the hall by Giles Benedict, whose smile sent tiny shivers running down her spine. Why must he look at her like that? He seemed to give out one signal with his smiles and kisses and another with his words.
‘I believe I should beg your pardon for my behaviour earlier, Magda,’ he said in a voice that set her stomach churning. ‘Perhaps I was too forward?’
‘You take much for granted, my lord.’
‘Will you not forgive me?’ he said softly. ‘I was perhaps too eager, too harsh in my choice of words.’
She refused to be swayed by his persuasive manner. ‘You seem to imagine that I am something I am not, sir.
‘Yes, I think you are right,’ Giles said and wondered if the Prince Regent had mentioned Giles’s suspicion of her purpose here. But no, the Prince might dismiss the idea as foolishness, but he was no fool; he knew that it was best to keep such things close. ‘Because you have been married it does not follow that you are ready to be any man’s mistress. If I have offended you, may I humbly beg your pardon and ask that we begin again?’
Margaret’s resolve was crumbling, her insides turning to liquid fire as she heard the pleading note in his voice. Perhaps her eager response to his lovemaking had given him the right to speak as he had—and he had let her go when she asked. Some men would not have been so obliging, nor would they have begged her pardon.
‘You have not offended me,’ she told him, just the faintest of accents in her voice making it husky and enchanting, inflaming the man more than she knew. ‘I think we like each other, my lord, and. . .I believe there might be something between us. But you must give me a little time. I need to know you better—and besides, I have a wedding to arrange. Caroline and Mr Rushford are to marry in Bath in a few weeks’ time. He is making the arrangements and returning here in two weeks to escort us there.’
‘I should have liked that privilege myself,’ Giles murmured. ‘I shall leave Belmont after the weekend and go to London on business. I had intended to return here, but with your permission I shall call on you in Bath?’
‘We shall be delighted to see you, sir.’
‘For how long will you stay in Bath after Miss Hammond’s wedding?’
‘I am not sure,’ Margaret said truthfully. ‘I had intended to retire to my home in France almost immediately. I have a villa there. It is very pleasant, not too secluded but peaceful—and I have many friends.’
‘I may have occasion to visit France myself from time to time.’
‘Yes...’ Margaret allowed a little secret smile to curve her mouth. ‘I believe you travel quite widely, sir.’
‘That is true, though I am not sure how you knew it?’
Her smile deepened, becoming provoking. ‘That is something I may tell you in the future, sir. And now perhaps we should join the others in the drawing room. If we are both absent too long, it may cause some gossip.’
‘If only there was reason for that gossip I would brave it,’ he murmured, matching, his mood to hers. ‘Can I not persuade you that a walk in the gardens would be beneficial on a night such as this? I am sure the air would do us good and I would endeavour to see that you did not turn cold.’
Margaret laughed and tapped his arm playfully with her fan. ‘Now you go too fast again, my lord. Have patience. If you promise to be good I shall allow you to turn the pages for me as I play the pianoforte for the Duke’s guests, and later you may sit beside me and tell me something of your life.’
‘Will you tell me something of yours?’
His brows lifted, bringing a ripple of laughter from her. ‘I see you are too impatient, sir. You must learn to wait for what you want.’
‘Patience was never my strongest virtue,’ Giles replied and laughed at the way her eyes provoked him. She was an accomplished flirt, but there was something sweetly innocent beneath the sophisticated face she showed to the world, and he believed she would prove worth the waiting.
He would have her in the end, for she intrigued and haunted him, and now that he had let his suspicions go—or almost all of them—he knew that he would not rest until she agreed to be his mistress.
Margaret had dismissed her maid. She sat at her dressing chest, brushing her long hair before the mirror and staring at her reflection without seeing anything. It had been a pleasant evening, perhaps the most pleasant of her life, and that was because Giles Benedict had scarcely left her side all evening.
She had been requested to play several pieces by her hostess, as she’d known was likely, and Giles had turned her music for her. Later, they had sat and talked on a small giltwood settee in the window embrasure, a little apart from the rest of the company. Giles had spoken of his travels to Spain, Italy, France, Austria and Germany. He had fought several campaigns with Wellington on the Peninsula, but he confessed that his true ambition lay in the diplomatic world.
‘I do not care for the life of a country gentleman or to idle my days away in town taking fencing lessons and gambling. I like the cut and thrust of clever minds and the constant battle against intrigue. Wellington has first call on my time and when he leaves Vienna, as he will in a few weeks, I shall join him in Paris, but when things are more settled in Europe I intend to apply for a diplomatic post somewhere abroad.’
‘And have you no plans for a family, my lord?’
‘For the moment, no,’ Giles replied truthfully. ‘If I enter the diplomatic service I could be sent anywhere—perhaps India. I saw service there when I was very young and do not believe that it is a suitable environment for a gently born lady and her children.’
‘Yet there are many wives who follow their husbands there,’ Margaret replied, her gaze intent on his face. ‘Is it not so ‘ere as in France?’
‘Yes, that is true—and some die of a fever. I knew a young lady...’ For a moment the expression in his eyes became bleak and Margaret knew that she had touched on a secret sorrow.
‘Do not tell me if you would rather not,’ she said laying her hand on his arm. ‘I did not mean to pry. It was very bad of me, non?’
‘It was a long time ago,’ Giles said and smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Pamela was delicate and should never have been exposed to that climate. She took a fever and died... three days after we were officially engaged.’
‘Oh...’ Margaret felt the icy chill at the nape of her neck. His revelation was unexpected. This was indeed an intimate detail of his past and it shocked her, making her see him in a new light. ‘Forgive me. I see it pains you to speak of her.’ In her sympathy she had dropped her accent and spoke honestly, as she felt.
‘It was such a waste of all that beauty and laughter,’ Giles said. ‘Of course we were in love and I thought the world had ended. I suppose I found refuge in my work, and since then I have not truly considered marriage.’
In truth he had not considered love, for once burned he had been shy of the fire, preferring shallow relationships that could not touch him. Having wandered in a wasteland of despair for some months, he did not wish to visit it again.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said. ‘It helps me to understand you a little better, my lord.’
‘Will you not consider calling me Giles?’
‘Yes, certainly, in private,’ Margaret replied and smiled. ‘I think I should tell you a little about myself in return for your confidence, Giles. My aunt was the Contessa di Cabria and we lived in Italy until her husband died, when she bought a villa in the south of France—but it was in Italy that I first saw you.’
‘In Italy?’ His brow furrowed. ‘I do not recall— something has been at the back of my mind since I first saw you, Magda, but I have not been able to place it.’
‘It was one evening at a private villa near the lakes,’ she said. ‘My uncle was drunk and he tried to molest me. You cried out to him to stop and came to my rescue and he went off.’
‘And you ran away without a word,’ Giles said, staring at her in amazement as the memory clicked into place. ‘I knew that I had seen you before! Why could I not recall it?’
‘It was such a small incident,’ Margaret replied. ‘I was too embarrassed and shamed to speak to you, and I have always regretted that I did not thank you.’
‘You had no need to feel shamed.’ Giles frowned. ‘That brute should not have behaved so to a young girl.’
‘Yet I was foolish to walk alone. It was not the first time he had looked at me with lust, and there were other men—his friends—who also made suggestions. I was usually careful not to give any of them a chance to find me alone, but that night I was careless.’
‘And your husband?’
‘I am not ready to speak of that yet,’ she said and shook her head at him. ‘An exchange of confidences, Giles, no more.’ Her voice was low and husky with sensual undertones of which she was quite unaware. ‘You are impatient, non? It is, ‘ow you say—that you must play the waiting game.’ She had reverted to her enchanting accent and the change was not lost on him.
‘You are a very wicked lady,’ he murmured. ‘Do you know what those eyes and that accent do to me?’
‘You must be patient,’ she said. ‘My first duty is to my ward. I cannot afford a breath of scandal until she is safely married—and even then I would prefer not to remain where any gossip might touch her. What I do in private hurts no one.’
‘You are suggesting that I should visit you at your home in France?’
‘Perhaps,’ Margaret said and caught her breath as she saw the gleam in his eyes. She had almost committed herself to an affair, but not quite. She rose as she saw that her hostess was ready to retire. ‘We shall see how we go on, sir. I must bid you goodnight.’ She walked to where Caroline was sitting with some of the other young ladies and gentlemen. ‘Come along, dearest, say goodnight to your friends. It is time that we went up.’
Now she was alone in her room, half-wishing that she had made some firmer arrangement with Giles. He would leave for London soon and when he came to Bath she would he busy with plans for the wedding, leaving her little time to be alone with him. And there was an aching need in her that cried out to be fulfilled. He was the black knight of her dreams, the only man who had ever stirred her heart. Somehow she knew that if she missed this chance she would never know love again, never understand what it was to be a woman.
She sighed, wishing that life was not so complicated. Why must there be one set of rules for men and another for young ladies?
If she had invited him to her room tonight it would not be the only such liaison taking place under this roof. Margaret knew that perhaps half of the gentlemen were having affairs with ladies staying as guests here. Some of the ladies were married and unfaithful to their husbands, who turned a blind eye and indulged themselves with a mistress of their own choosing, others were widowed ladies—like Margaret. Except that Margaret’s widowhood was false.
And therein lay her greatest problem, she reflected with a sigh. What would Giles think if he knew the truth? And what would the rest of Society do and say if they learned that she had played such an audacious trick on them?
She wondered now why she had done it. Her brother had suggested that she needed no pretence and could equally well bring Caroline to London as herself, Miss Margaret Hazelmere. It would have meant engaging a companion, of course. But she had not thought her little masquerade could cause harm to anyone since she had no intention of seeking an alliance for herself. It had seemed amusing to pose as something she was not; however, she had not bargained with Giles Benedict.
How could she when she had not known that it was possible to feel this way about a man, when she had only just discovered needs and desires she had not hitherto suspected?
It was a thorny problem.
If she gave into his urging to be his mistress, she would be ruined. That did not matter in itself, because she did not wish to live in London nor to be a part of Society, but she had promised Roddy that for his sake she would not betray her true identity—and he would already be hurt and angry after Caroline’s rejection.
So she needed to be cautious and discreet, and it would be better to give herself more time to know Giles before committing to him. She did not think he meant to use her lightly and throw her over after a brief affair. He had suggested something of a more enduring nature, and she rather thought that he would visit her from time to time, spending a few days or a week or so with her, then going off on his travels to return when it suited him. It was the kind of affair that might suit Margaret, she thought, for she might find marriage too confining... although with a man like Giles Benedict... but it was foolish to let her thoughts travel that road.
He had been quite honest in his approach. It was an affair he sought, even if of the lasting kind, not marriage. He did not love her, for his heart lay in India with the girl he had loved as a young man, but he did want her, to make love to her, to enjoy her company—and she knew that she wanted it too. She thought that they had much in common and would deal well together. But how to explain the truth of her situation? Ah, that was more difficult.
There was no solving the conundrum and she had brought the problem on herself. Had she appeared in Society as Miss Hazelmere Lord Benedict would never have approached her in this way. Indeed, he would have stayed well clear of her as it was obvious that he had no wish to marry.
Sighing, Margaret got to her feet and glanced out of the window. She stiffened as she saw the man lurking in the shadows. He was surely watching the house!
Remembering that the Prince Regent had been shot at earlier that day, Margaret was immediately alarmed. She had imagined that the would-be assassin must have made off as soon as his attempt failed, but it seemed that he was still here. She ought to do something! Alert someone—but who?
The Regent had sealed her to silence with a promise, but she could not ignore what she had seen. Yet she could not go to her hostess for it would upset the Duchess and she rather thought that that lady was in a delicate condition, though it had not yet begun to show.
She must tell someone. She could not go to the Regent’s room, of course, nor to her host for Felicia’s sake—but there was someone. She knew which room Giles was using, for it was only at the end of her own corridor, and would take but a minute to reach.
Pulling on a heavy embroidered robe lest she be seen by anyone, Margaret looked out of her own door. There was no one about and only one small branch of candles still flickered low in their sconces. Picking them up, she went swiftly down the hall on bare feet, praying that no one would come out and see her. Her knock was answered promptly by Giles, still wearing his breeches but with his shirt opened to the waist as if he had been about to retire.
‘Magda?’ He stared at her in surprise and then grinned. ‘My impatient love, I would have come to you had you asked.’
‘Do not be foolish, sir,’ Margaret said and blushed. ‘I have not come to climb into your bed. I have just seen some fellow lurking in the shrubbery and—and I think he means harm to the Prince Regent. I gave my word not to say, but I have reason to believe...’
Margaret was cut short as Giles pulled her inside his room and closed the door, pressing a finger to her lips.
‘Hush, I do not want anyone else to hear of this.’
‘Nor did the Regent, but—’ Giles silenced her with a kiss that took her breath away. She pressed her shaking hands against his chest, holding him at bay.
‘You could not have heard what I said—there is someone skulking in the bushes outside.’
‘He is there to protect Prinny,’ Giles said and smiled, reaching out to touch her hair that was falling about her shoulders in glorious disarray. ‘On my orders, Magda. I have known there might be an attempt on his life; after it was made, I called in men I trust to guard him until he leaves here. He was being constantly shadowed in London, but I did not know he intended to come here and my men had no instructions to follow.’
‘He told you...’ She was bewildered.
‘We are very close in such matters,’ Giles said. ‘Perhaps I should have told you, but Prinny hates a fuss. He is lampooned as a fool in the newspapers, but is actually a rather brave and intelligent man, though sometimes excessive in his tastes. He will take no more foolish risks in a hurry, believe me.’
‘Then I am a fool to have disturbed you—’
She was cut off again as he caught her to him, kissing her with such hunger that she felt herself dizzy with desire and clung to him breathlessly, wanting to surrender herself to him.
‘Giles, I...’
‘We shall talk later,’ he murmured huskily as he swept her off her feet and carried her to his bed.
Margaret made no demur as he set her on her feet once more, one mobile brow arched questioningly. And then the time for speaking out had passed as he began to kiss her—such hungry, tantalising kisses that set her pulses racing and she had no will or wish to deny him. Instead, she gave herself up to the thrill of discovery as his tongue invaded her mouth with little teasing flicks, arousing her so that she felt a surge of white-hot fire welling up from inside her. She whimpered with pleasure as he undid the fastenings of her embroidered robe and helped him to ease it over her shoulders so that it slid to the floor in a whisper. Her fine silk nightgown followed it to the floor, leaving her naked to his devouring gaze.
Even as she felt shyness at being looked at so intently by a man for the first time it was forgotten in a new pulsating sensation, for now Giles was murmuring the kind of compliments that set her tingling with newly discovered desire; he praised her beauty, the milky whiteness of her skin, speaking of his admiration and desire, and then he was kissing her, touching her, loving her with his mouth and tongue. Her breasts were achingly aware of need, a need his laying tongue went some way to assuage, but then the need moved further down to the very centre of her femininity. She gasped as he knelt before her, kissing and licking his way down her flat stomach, down to the mass of dark curls that covered her mound of Venus. He buried his face in the silken moistness, breathing in the scent of her sex, his hand moving between her thighs to seek out... just the right place. She moaned in ecstasy as his finger stroked firmly but softly, making her tremble with the force of her need.
‘You’re so wet, Magda, hot and wet,’ he murmured. ‘I want to feel your heat as you take me inside you, my angel. You drive me wild with desire. Forgive me, I must have you...’
Margaret had moved beyond all recognition of right or wrong. She was aware only of the throbbing need between her thighs, so impatient herself for something she hardly understood but knew must be that the sight of his naked body and the evidence of his erection only thrilled her more. She was swept away on a tide of reckless excitement, prepared to live for the moment, to let the future take care of itself.
‘Giles, please,’ she whispered throatily as he lifted her to the bed and lay beside her, his eyes moving over her with hot intent, ‘I want you to love me now. I want you inside me, deep inside me...’
His flesh burned hers as he pulled her closer, his mouth taking hers in a passionate kiss that swept her breath away, moving down to her throat, her breasts, his tongue laying the rose-dark nipples, moving down again to that most intimate part of her that cried out for his attention. She gasped and writhed as he brought her to a swift, incredible explosion of feeling, and then, even as she cried his name, her nails clawing at his back, he moved across her and she felt the hard nudge of his throbbing maleness. With a groan he thrust into her, stilled momentarily as he felt the impediment and then thrust again, breaking through her maidenhead.
For a moment the pain was sharp, but it was not sufficient to make her draw back and within seconds her hips were grinding against his as she strove to be a part of him, one with his flesh, moving urgently together. She heard his groan of release and then a curse of frustration as he spilled his seed inside her and lay with his face pressed against the fragrance of her hair.
‘I waited too long,’ he muttered. ‘But you didn’t tell me...’
Margaret was glad that she did not have to look into his eyes as she answered, ‘I did not know how to. Besides, I did not expect this to happen just yet. I thought we would take things slowly and then I would have told you, when we knew each other a little better.’
Giles raised his head to look down at her. ‘No, don’t turn away. I’m not angry, Magda, just surprised and sorry. Had I known it was your first time I might have made it easier on you.’
‘You only hurt me a very little,’ Margaret whispered, feeling shy but trying not to show it. He hadn’t intended to deflower a virgin and she was afraid that he might feel cheated because of her lack of experience. ‘It—it was what I wanted. You have no need to be sorry, for I promise you I am not.’
‘You are not angry with me?’
‘No, of course not,’ she said and sat up. ‘There is always a first time, is there not?’ Her accent had deepened, her smile become provocative.
‘Who are you, Magda?’ Giles asked. He rolled away from her, pulling on his dressing robe as he left the bed and handed her nightgown to her. ‘Was there a Comte de Grenelle?’
Margaret dressed, her mind searching for the right answer and finding none that would serve.
‘I shall tell you everything very soon,’ she said at last. ‘For the moment I ask for your patience, Giles. My secret is not shameful, but I wish to keep it a little longer—just until Caroline is wed.’
‘You will not trust me?’ His brows arched.
‘Forgive me, please? Once Caroline is safe I shall tell you all, I promise.’
‘And in the meantime? You wish to keep me at a distance?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said and gave him her naughtiest smile, reverting to the broken English and accent she knew he found fascinating. ‘You ‘ave seduced me, my lord, but I confess that I like it—and I ‘ope you will not tire of our—friendship too soon. Please come to me in Bath as you intended and who knows...’
Giles laughed. She was enchanting, a delightful blend of innocence and wanton abandon that had given him more pleasure than he had felt in the arms of any other woman he had taken to his bed. Her eyes gleamed with mischief, her smile so provoking that he felt himself growing hard once more.
‘You make me want to return very quickly, Magda,’ he murmured. ‘Since you were virgin until this evening I shall not indulge my own need again just yet, but do not expect such forbearance when I return.’
‘I shall not expect or ask for it,’ she replied. ‘You will forgive me if I return to my own room now, Giles. I must be discreet for Caroline’s sake. I would do nothing that might compromise her happiness.’
‘I could consign Caroline to perdition most willingly, my love,’ Giles murmured huskily. ‘But I shall allow you to go.’
‘Thank you.’
Margaret moved to go past him, but he caught her wrist, his dark gaze seeking hers. ‘I am forgiven? You will not shut me out of your life? You will tell me everything?’
‘Oui, it is a promise—n’est-ce pas? I hope you will forgive me when I have made my confession, which is a little naughty but not so very terrible, I think.’
She rolled her r’s, making him laugh as he released her.
‘I am not certain who was the seducer here, Magda.’
‘Who can say, my lord? Perhaps neither of us could have resisted at such a moment—non?’
And then she was gone, leaving behind the scent of her perfume and Giles to stare after her in frustration. She had bewitched him and he was not sure he would ever be the same man again!
Chapter Six
Would this tedious journey never be over? Margaret’s head was aching, and she felt out of sorts with herself as Mr Rushford danced round them like a broody hen when they alighted from the carriage. His manner had become increasingly pompous throughout the day and she had grown weary of his fussing over small things. In his company constantly these past hours, listening to the way he spoke to Caroline, which to her mind seemed to belittle her ward’s intelligence, it had begun to seem that he was one of those gentlemen who imagined that females were vapid, weak creatures who could do little or nothing for themselves. And his behaviour towards his sister was little short of tyrannical.
Margaret had not thought him so irritating before this, but then she had never spent so much time with him in a confined space. But at last they were in Bath and she would be able to send him packing very shortly.
‘I hope this will suit your consequence, Comtesse?’ Mr Rushford asked, looking mightily pleased with himself as he indicated the house. It was indeed a fine example of the new building that had taken place in recent years, being one of several terraced houses that were designed in the shape of a crescent. ‘I promise you it was not the first I looked at and quite the best I was shown.’
‘It will do very well,’ Margaret replied for she could do no other, though for her own taste she would have preferred something smaller. ‘It was very good of you to escort us here yourself, sir—but I believe you must have many other concerns. We do not want to monopolise your time and shall see you in the morning. This evening I believe both Caroline and I will want to rest.’
‘But I...’ He gave her a look that was somewhere between outrage and disbelief, but, meeting an implacable one from Margaret, was forced to bow his head. ‘Yes, of course. I would not want to tire either of you. I shall see you tomorrow, dearest Caroline. Indeed, you do look a little pale. Yes, I shall leave you to rest this evening. Comtesse, your servant.’
Caroline sighed as she went inside and took off her bonnet. Several of their own people had gone on ahead to prepare for their coming and she smiled a little wearily as they were greeted by friendly faces. Margaret was receiving a report on the house and its permanent staff from her personal dresser, and Caroline ran on ahead to the room where her own maid was waiting to help her ease away the strains of the journey.
Margaret noticed the sigh and long face, but did not follow immediately for she wanted to meet the housekeeper and discuss the household arrangements, which Mr Rushford had insisted on making for her. It was necessary to make a few changes, but she had no real fault to find with his choice of a house and went up to her own room feeling more in tune with herself than she had on arrival.
She was just wondering whether she would bother to change her gown for dinner, which would be served she had been told in an hour, when Caroline tapped at her door and asked if she could come in.
‘Yes, of course, dearest,’ Margaret said. ‘I was just considering whether or not I ought to change my gown, but I do not expect company and we shall dine quietly together.’
‘I came to tell you that I am not hungry,’ Caroline said and gave another deep sigh. ‘My head aches and I would rather just rest in my room—if you won’t think me a terrible grouch?’
‘Is your head very bad?’ Margaret asked, looking at her in concern. ‘I am so sorry. Shall I make you a tisane and bring it to you when you are in bed?’ She declined to mention her own headache, reserving all her sympathy for her ward.
Caroline hesitated, and then agreed. ‘It began aching some time ago and now it is throbbing. I did not want to say anything earlier because Mr Rushford makes so much fuss...’ She blushed as she realised what she had said. ‘I know he means well and is concerned only for my comfort, but...’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Margaret said and smiled. ‘Some gentlemen do seem to imagine we ladies are poor creatures who need looking after every moment, when all we really want is a little peace—especially when we have the headache.’
Caroline’s frown lightened. ‘I knew you would understand. Poor John is so kind and generous, but he does fuss so. I dare say he will grow out of it in time.’
‘Yes, I dare say,’ Margaret agreed, though she doubted it. Men like John Rushford were prone to worship their own consequence and expected a certain conformity from their wives. He would drive Margaret to distraction within a week—but she did not have to marry him. ‘As you say, he is both kind and generous.’
Margaret hesitated, wondering whether she ought to say what was in her mind. If Caroline had changed her mind about the marriage she would support her, take her back to France and hope that another, happier match presented itself when the scandal had died. However, as yet Caroline had said only that she had a headache and to put doubts in her mind might cause friction between them. The girl surely knew that she would support her in any decision she might make, so there was no need to say more at the moment.
Caroline went away to her room, and Margaret, not in the least tired, her headache easing now, went down to partake of the excellent supper their cook had prepared for them. She ate it alone, then made a tour of the house before retiring, armed with a book by Sir Walter Scott that she had been wanting to read. The book had been loaned to her by Lady Felicia, who had promised to retrieve it when she visited Bath for the wedding.
The wedding list had grown somewhat since congratulations and cards had poured in and several friends had already sent gifts. Margaret reflected that that might not altogether suit Mr Rushford, but since the expense was hers he really had little say in the matter. Caroline had added several names herself, and Margaret was anxious that her ward should be happy with the arrangements.
As she sat before her dressing mirror, gazing at her reflection in the mirror, Margaret’s thoughts turned towards her own future. Lady Felicia had invited her to visit them again after her confinement, and several other friends had offered kind invitations. She could if she chose remain in Bath until the spring and then take a house in London... A smile touched her lips as she thought of the letter she had received from Giles just before she left the Belmonts’ home. In it he had said he was impatient to see her again and would be with her in Bath within a day or so of her own arrival.
Much of her own plans depended on his, she realised, feeling a flush of warmth spread through her body. She would, after all, be Giles’s mistress, at least for the immediate future. How shocking that was! She knew that she had stepped beyond the bounds of acceptable behaviour for a young woman of her class by going so willingly to her lover’s arms, and yet she could not regret it. However, it did mean that she must keep up her masquerade, for already Felicia had begun to suspect there was something between them, and though she might smile and condone it in a widow she would think it unpardonable in a single woman. Indeed, she would probably be ordered to cut Margaret. Lord Belmont would certainly not think her a suitable companion for his wife if he guessed how shockingly she had behaved.
Margaret got up and went to bed, opening her book and beginning to read, but finding it difficult to concentrate even on Sir Walter’s incomparable lines. She had wondered what might happen if she were to conceive a child, but of course the answer was simple. She would go home to France, where she would live quietly, receiving those friends who wished to call, but content with her child and her memories.
Nothing would make her give up this brief time of happiness, which had been offered so unexpectedly. She had been a little shocked when she reflected on what she had done that night at Belmont, but a short time of contemplation had settled her mind. She was past the first flush of her youth and had no wish to make the kind of marriage Caroline had chosen, even if it was offered her. No, it would suit her to remain independent and to receive Giles as her lover when he chose to visit. She suspected that she might find it painful when their affair ended, as it would in time, but she had made up her mind not to think too much about that.
She would take what she could from life from now on, she decided, and, smiling, blew out her candle and closed her eyes. Very shortly she was sleeping, at peace with herself and the world.
Giles frowned over the letter that had reached him when he returned to his lodgings in London that evening. Wellington had written in confidence that an attempt had been made on his life, and by a French woman and her male accomplice.
It
was well that you warned me, Giles, Wellington had
written, I was suspicious of the lady
from the start and when she fainted at my feet I called an attendant instead of
hastening to her assistance myself I was therefore able to fight off the
assassin who tried to stab me in the back. I know I have no need to warn you to
keep this to yourself but the pair have been arrested and will be held
accountable. I am glad to hear that an attack on a certain person was
prevented; though that may have a different source, as you know. I believe my
own life is no longer at risk, but you would do well to remain vigilant.
It seemed that Giles had misjudged the Comtesse de Grenelle from the start. His information had been correct, but he had picked the wrong quarry. He was relieved that the attempt on Wellington had been thwarted. Particularly as he had only that evening received word from his agents that the attempt to shoot the Regent had been by a known agitator, who had published inflammatory material about the Prince and was even now being sought by the runners from Bow Street.
Magda was not the scheming assassin he had suspected; Giles realised that he had wronged her and felt the sting of shame. His feelings towards her were far from clearly established in his mind, for he knew that she affected him powerfully, in a way no other woman ever had. She had agreed to be his mistress, but even in that there was shame, for he had given her little choice, his forceful seduction sweeping away her resistance.
And she had been a virgin. He was frustrated by her refusal to tell him her story, and what could only be her lack of trust in him. Nor could he blame her, for he had in his own opinion treated her shamefully, his determined assault on her resulting in reactions and feelings he had not dreamed of. What if she should deny him— refuse to allow him near her? Giles discovered that he would find that more painful than he could ever have imagined previously, and wondered at himself.
What were his feelings for Magda exactly? And who was she? Could she be brought to trust him sufficiently to tell him her story?
‘What is the matter, dearest?’ Margaret asked, looking at Caroline’s unhappy expression one morning. They had been in Bath for some days and she had noticed her ward was looking less than happy of late. ‘Is something troubling you?’
‘Oh, no,’ Caroline said and sighed. ‘It is just that... Mr Rushford did not like the way I behaved at the assembly last night. He said I was too forward with one of my partners, and that people had noticed.’
‘I did not notice anything untoward.’
‘No, nor would anyone with an ounce of sense,’ Caroline said angrily and then blushed. ‘Oh, I should not have said that. It was very rude of me.’
‘1 would not expect you to speak of the gentleman you mean to marry in such terms, dearest.’
‘I wish I were more like you,’ Caroline said. ‘You are so kind to me that I feel as if we are related, but I am not at all like you.’
‘You are more like me than you realise,’ Margaret said with a smile. ‘I believe you have more spirit than most believe.’ Including Mr Rushford, who might be in for a surprise after they married. ‘I have been called stubborn, and I think you too have that trait.’
‘I am all mixed up...’ Caroline sighed. ‘It might have been better had I listened to your advice, rather than ignoring it.’
‘Are you regretting your decision to marry Mr Rushford?’
‘No... I do not think so,’ Caroline said, looking doubtful. ‘At least, only sometimes. He can be unbearably irritating at times...’
‘Yes, I have observed it,’ Margaret said, hesitated, and then, ‘If you should change your mind, my love, you have only to say.’
‘You are so good to me,’ Caroline said and hugged her. ‘You are like the mother I never knew, my sister and my friend all in one.’
‘Well, put your bonnet and shawl on, dearest, and we shall go shopping. I always find that the best cure for the blue devils...’
* * *
Margaret saw the gentleman’s hat on the stand in the hall as she and Caroline returned from a shopping trip on which they had been joined by Mr Rushford for most of the morning. Politeness had made her offer him a light nuncheon, but he had taken himself off, claiming a prior engagement and promised to escort them to the Assembly that evening.
‘A gentleman has called?’ she asked when the parlour maid came to take her pelisse and scarves.
‘It is Sir Roderick Hazelmere,’ the girl said. ‘I did tell him you were out, ma’am, but he insisted he would wait.’
‘Yes, that is perfectly all right,’ Margaret said. She had heard the smothered gasp from Caroline, but ignored it. ‘Shall you greet Roddy and get it over, my dear—or would you rather take your parcels to your room?’
‘May I go up first and come down in a moment? I— I should like to apologise, but I need a moment...’
‘Yes, of course,’ Margaret said and smiled at her. The girl looked pale and nervous, but she must be wondering how Roddy would take the news of her engagement.
Margaret walked into the small rear parlour where her brother was standing with his back to her, staring out into the garden. His shoulders looked stiff and straight and she guessed that it had cost him something to come to them that morning.
‘Roddy, my dearest,’ she said as he turned and saw her. ‘I am delighted you could come. I was worried about you when you disappeared like that with no word.’
‘That was wrong of me,’ he said, a dark colour flooding his cheeks. ‘I flew into a temper and stormed off and I have repented of it ever since—especially when I read that notice in The Times. I have no one to blame but myself. Caroline had every right to make her own choice.’
‘She has made her choice,’ Margaret said. ‘I am not sure that it was a wise one, nor that she would have made it if you had spoken of your own feelings, Roddy. I did advise you to speak to her, my dear.’
‘I couldn’t, Maggie,’ he said in a strangled voice. ‘I had no right. Rushford can give her so much more than I...’
‘I am sure your own estate is adequate, Roddy.’
‘You don’t understand,’ her brother replied, looking wretched. ‘I’ve been a fool—gambled more than I could afford. It happened in London just before we went down to the Belmonts’. I lost five thousand guineas in one night and have had to mortgage some of the land to pay the debt.’
‘Oh, Roddy,’ Margaret said, feeling shocked as she saw the despair in his face. ‘Why on earth did you not come to me, my dearest? You must have known I would pay the debt for you. I was going to give you five thousand pounds as a wedding present, and I could manage a bit more if you need it.’
‘Dash it all, Maggie, I can’t sponge off you,’ Roddy said and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m ashamed of myself for being such a fool.’
‘I have far more than I need,’ Margaret assured him, ‘and I shall give you a draft on my bank immediately so that you can settle your debts. Would six thousand guineas cover all you need?’
‘More than enough,’ he said, his colour deepening. ‘I’m such a fool, Maggie. I couldn’t cope with seeing Caroline with that damned prig and took myself off in a temper when all I wanted was to beg her to marry me. I should have listened to you, but I was too proud. I love her so much... I’m not sure that I can bear to stay for the wedding. To see her marry that fellow would tear the heart out of me.’
‘Roddy—’ Margaret broke off as she heard a gasp, and she turned her head towards the door to see Caroline standing there, her face ashen. It was obvious that she had heard at least some of what he had been saying. ‘Caroline, my dear.’
‘Sir Roderick...’ Caroline’s eyes were huge in her pale face as she walked into the room. She looked like someone moving in a dream, clearly stunned, disbelieving. ‘Did you mean...?’
‘Caroline!’ He strode to meet her, his face working with the emotion he was striving to control and failing. ‘I beg you to forgive me for the wicked things I said to you. I was mad with jealousy and angry with myself for not being able to offer you marriage.’
‘But I have my ten thousand,’ Caroline whispered, her voice little more than a croak. ‘I could have paid your debt.’
‘I could not have taken that!’
‘But it was yours if you’d asked. I would have given you... done anything.’ She stared at him, the glitter of tears in her lovely eyes. ‘I did not think you cared at all.’ A sob rose in her throat as he seized her hands and pressed them to his lips. ‘You seemed angry all the time and...’
‘Only because I was jealous of all the others,’ Roddy said. ‘That damned prig Rushford more than any of them. He isn’t worthy of you, Caro. He may have a fortune, but he’s a pompous ass and I’m certain he won’t make you happy.’
‘But... I’ve promised to marry him,’ Caroline faltered, a tear trickling from the corner of her eye. ‘It is all arranged, announced in The Times...’
‘You can tell him it’s off,’ Roddy growled. ‘Or I shall for you. You cannot marry that damned fellow, Caro my darling. You will be miserable.’
She looked a picture of misery as it was, her eyes dark with the tears she struggled to hold back. ‘I don’t know,’ she choked. ‘Oh, I can’t... I can’t talk about this now...’ Giving a cry of despair, she turned and fled from the room.
Roddy started to go after her, but Margaret called him back.
‘Leave her for the moment, Roddy.’
‘But she is upset. She doesn’t want to marry him. I know she doesn’t.’
‘If that is her decision, she will make it herself,’ Margaret told him. ‘Let her have time to think this through, dearest. A decision like this bears heavy consequences for her—for you both. I shall talk to her myself shortly and then we’ll decide what to do for the best. You ought not to get involved. Mr Rushford would be within his rights to sue you for enticement. No, you must have patience. If Caroline breaks off her engagement, I shall take her home to France and you may come to her in a few weeks. We shall arrange a wedding when sufficient time has passed—for both your sakes.’
‘Damn it, Maggie! I love her. I want to comfort her.’ He glared at her, clearly frustrated by her counsel. ‘She needs me...’
‘You must be guided by me in this,’ Margaret said. ‘Of course I understand your feelings, my dear. However, you have both been foolish and impulsive and that is why you are in this predicament. There will be such a scandal. You could lose much more than five thousand pounds if Mr Rushford chose to sue, Roddy.’ She moved towards him, laying a hand on his arm, then taking his face between her hands and smiling up at him. ‘You know that I want you to be happy, my dearest.
‘Lord Benedict...’ a maid announced from the doorway and Giles walked in as Roddy bent his head to kiss her cheek.
‘Forgive me if I come at a bad moment.’
‘Giles...’ Margaret was struck by the icy tone of his voice and then immediately realised what had caused it. ‘You ‘ave not come at a bad time, my lord. I ‘ave been comforting my foolish friend. I fear he is suffering from the pangs of frustrated love. I would tell you in confidence that Caroline’s marriage to Mr Rushford may be cancelled.
‘Come to her senses, has she?’ Giles asked, a faint flicker of humour in his dark eyes as he realised he had once again jumped to conclusions regarding Magda. ‘That’s a tricky situation for you, Hazelmere. Rushford is a pompous ass, but dangerous. You’ll have to go carefully or you may find yourself caught up in expensive litigation—men like that have a habit of standing on their rights.’
Roddy’s face was a dark brick red. ‘I know I’ve been a damned fool,’ he muttered. ‘Maggie has spelled that out for me, believe me. I should have come to her in the first place instead of rushing off the way I did.’
‘Matter of a gambling debt, was it?’ Giles nodded wisely. ‘I did hear something. Are you in need of a loan? Glad to be of help if you’re bothered.’
‘Maggie has sorted that for me,’ Roddy said, completely forgetting that his sister was supposed to be merely an acquaintance. ‘Didn’t want to ask her, of course, but should have known she’d stump up—always does when I need her.’
‘Oh, Roddy,’ Margaret said, and sighed. She raised her brows at Giles, a rueful smile on her lips. ‘Well, I suppose there’s no hiding it now—this forgetful gentleman is my brother. I am Margaret Hazelmere, and I must beg you to keep my secret for the moment, Giles.’
‘Miss Margaret Hazelmere?’ Giles looked at her intently. ‘Would I be correct in thinking that there was no Comte de Grenelle?’
‘I believe that the last holder of that title was executed during the Terror,’ Margaret admitted ruefully. ‘It was merely a little subterfuge that I believed could harm no one. My brother begged me to enter Society as myself, but the thought of a duenna irked me beyond bearing. I have been accustomed to being my own mistress, you see, and since I had no desire to marry...’
‘So it was merely a little masquerade?’
‘I told her it would provoke a scandal if it got out,’ Roddy said. ‘But she wouldn’t listen. She is too independent and contrary for her own good sometimes—but it’s my fault she’s been found out. Sorry, Maggie.’
‘It will not go beyond this room,’ Giles promised, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. The sheer audacity of her masquerade appealed to him, though he knew the consequences if she were unmasked. ‘I assure you I can be the soul of discretion when I choose.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Roddy said. ‘We’re going to be in enough trouble when this thing breaks as it is—and that’s my fault as well.’
‘I think I shall ask Mr Rushford to call,’ Margaret said as Giles remained silent. ‘I shall explain that Caroline has decided she needs more time and...’
‘You might do better to plead illness,’ Giles said, looking thoughtful. ‘If you take her away somewhere quiet and let the whole thing blow over that might be best. She could write to Rushford and tell him that she has decided, after a period of reflection, that they are not suited. I believe he may cause you a deal of trouble if he feels his consequence has been slighted.’
‘I think I should deal with the fellow,’ Roddy said, his face assuming a stubborn look.
‘You would be unwise to do so at this stage,’ Giles replied with a considering look. ‘My advice would be for you to leave Bath rather than give Mr Rushford cause for suspicion.’
‘I’m not going without talking to Caroline.’ Roddy’s hands clenched. All this advice was very well, but damned interfering! ‘I shan’t just give her up—no matter the consequences.’
‘No one has suggested that, my dear.’
‘It sounds suspiciously that way to me, Maggie.’
‘Will you take Roddy away with you, my lord, and try to talk some sense into his head?’ Margaret begged, meeting Giles’s eyes in desperation. ‘1 shall discuss this quietly with Caroline and try to discover what she really wants—and then I’ll let you know, Roddy. If she wants to see you, you may come this afternoon and talk to her alone. It is not one of our at-home days and you will not be disturbed.’
‘You need not let me know. I shall be here at three o’clock,’ Roddy said, his mouth set determinedly. In that moment he looked very like his sister and Giles wondered that he had not noticed the resemblance before. ‘I shan’t be kept from her, Maggie. I know she can’t want to marry that fellow—’
‘Go away, Roddy!’
‘Yes, bear me company,’ Giles said. ‘I have a horse to see and I would value your opinion, Hazelmere.’
‘Really?’ Roddy was so struck by the signal honour that had been bestowed on him that he allowed himself to be ushered from the room and out of the house. ‘Well, that’s damned good of you, Benedict. Always fancied myself a judge of horseflesh, you know.’
Margaret breathed deeply as she heard the front door close behind them. Her secret was out and she could not let herself think what might happen next. Giles would surely think her a scheming minx for playing such a trick on Society as a whole, and on him in particular. He would also think her fast and without shame—and she had given him good reason!
But she could not worry about that just at the moment. The matter of Caroline’s wishes in all this must be her first priority. Squaring her shoulders, she walked up the stairs and knocked at the girl’s door.
‘May I come in, dearest?’
There was a moment’s pause, then, ‘Yes,’ in a muffled voice. Caroline was lying on her bed, her face red from weeping, but she sat up when Margaret came to her and handed her a kerchief. ‘You must think me very foolish? I have behaved very badly, have I not?’
‘You have been a little misguided and impulsive,’ Margaret said. ‘It is awkward, but the situation is not irretrievable, dearest. What is important is what you want to do.’
‘I—I love Roddy. I always have,’ Caroline said and blew her nose on the kerchief. She brushed the back of her hand across her face. ‘I should never have encouraged Mr Rushford. I—I do not truly like him very much. I think I accepted him out of a desire to spite Roddy. . .to make him suffer for being so horrid to me.’
‘Ah...’ Margaret nodded her understanding. ‘You have discovered that Mr Rushford is not quite as pleasant as he first seemed?’
‘He thinks that I should be guided by him in all things, that I am foolish and have no opinions worth listening to,’ Caroline cried, a spark of indignation bringing back the spirit to her eyes and banishing the tears. ‘Roddy is never like that—is he?’
‘No, he isn’t,’ Margaret agreed. ‘He is probably too easygoing for his own good and you will have him eating out of your hand when you are married. He can be impatient and sometimes thoughtless, and stubborn, too, but I have always thought him exceedingly affable. His behaviour towards you at Belmont was out of character and brought on by jealousy.’
‘But... how can we be married?’ Caroline stared at her miserably. ‘I have promised to marry Mr Rushford and I don’t see how I can get out of it. It would be a terrible scandal.’
‘Yes, there will be a scandal,’ Margaret agreed. ‘I must admit that things will be difficult for you and Roddy in the coming months. It may be that you will never be admitted to the best circles again here in England.’
‘I do not care for that,’ Caroline said. ‘I would much prefer to live in the country with...’ She gulped back a sob. ‘Only I think it will be very difficult to tell Mr Rushford.’
‘Roddy is calling at three this afternoon,’ Margaret told her. ‘Do you wish to talk to him alone?’
‘Yes, please, if I may?’
‘I shall leave you to talk, but you must promise to be patient and not do anything reckless, my love. I think I shall speak to Mr Rushford myself and explain that you are not feeling quite the thing. I shall ask that the wedding is postponed. We shall go away, perhaps to France, and then in a week or two you will write to him and tell him that you cannot marry him.’
Caroline looked at her doubtfully. ‘Supposing he will not agree to a postponement?’
‘Then I shall tell him that you are too ill to be married for the time being.’ Margaret frowned for a moment. ‘I could tell him that you have an hereditary weakness of the chest from your mother and that your doctor has advised sea air.’
‘Magda!’ Caroline stared at her. ‘That would be a lie.’
‘Not the first I’ve told,’ Margaret said and smiled oddly. ‘I would prefer to tell the truth and shame the devil, as the saying goes, but for your sake I am prepared to tell a few white lies if necessary. We shall see how things go, dearest. Now wash your face and I shall send a light lunch up to you. I shall tell any callers that you are not well, and you may come down when Roddy calls.’
‘What about the Assembly this evening?’
‘I think we must cancel our appointments for the next few days,’ Margaret said. ‘It would be awkward if you were to meet either Mr Rushford or his sister in company.’
‘Sarah will be upset,’ Caroline said, who had come to like Mr Rushford’s sister in the short time she had known her. ‘I think she was hoping that she would have more freedom when her brother married.’
‘Yes, well, that is not your problem,’ Margaret said, though she too felt a little sorry for Miss Rushford, who she had met on several occasions since her brother had brought her to Bath. She thought Sarah seemed a plain shy creature much under her brother’s domination. ‘Try to rest now, Caroline, and do not worry too much. I shall do my best to smooth things over with Mr Rushford.’
‘Thank you. I am sorry to be so much trouble to you.’ Caroline looked a little ashamed of herself. ‘I should have listened when you told me to wait and consider. I knew almost at once that I had acted unwisely.’
‘You made a mistake, but that was my brother’s fault as much as yours,’ Margaret said. ‘Now wash your face and eat your lunch when it comes, and then you will be fit to see Roddy.’
She left Caroline to reflect on what she had said, and went to her own room to tidy her gown. She did not look forward to the interview with Mr Rushford, whom she suspected might be difficult to deal with on such a matter, but it must be done. Caroline could clearly not face such an ordeal in her present state, and it would be best to confine her to her room for a while rather than let her be exposed to any unpleasantness.
It was all such a coil, she thought and sighed, for there was her own problem to be considered when Caroline’s was solved.
Margaret sent a letter to Mr Rushford almost immediately, telling him that they were forced to cancel their engagements for a few days due to Caroline’s having taken a little chill. She begged him not to call, telling him that the girl was not able to see anyone for the moment, and that she would write as soon as it was possible for him to see his fiancée.
When Roddy was announced she took him into the small back parlour and left him there. Caroline had heard and was swift to come downstairs. Before the door closed behind her, Margaret heard their cries of endearment and knew that they had flown to each other’s arms.
Now why could they not have done that weeks ago?
She shook her head over it, but left them to their private conversation.
However, it was not a half an hour later that the front door knocker was rapped imperiously and when the housekeeper went to open it, she heard the loud, demanding tones of Mr Rushford.
‘I wish to see Miss Hammond or the Comtesse de Grenelle.’
‘They are not at home to visitors, sir.’
‘I am not a visitor. I am Miss Hammond’s fiancé.’
‘I am sorry, sir. Madame told me no one was allowed in this afternoon.’
‘You are impertinent. Fetch your mistress to me at once!’
‘I cannot, sir. I have my orders.’
Margaret went out into the hall. ‘I will see Mr Rushford for a moment,’ she said. ‘I am sorry to disoblige you, sir, but we may ‘ave a contagious disease in the ‘ouse. You will forgive me if I do not come too near you.’ She coughed slightly. ‘I do not wish to give you this putrid cough.’
‘Contagious?’ He looked at her in alarm. ‘I did not realise. I thought it just a chill...’
‘I did not wish to alarm you, but the doctor fears it may be something worse... diphtheria or...’ She had said enough and Mr Rushford’s face turned pale as he took a step backwards. ‘Of course it may be just a chill, but it would be best if you wait until I send for you. You understand, non?’
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he said. ‘I did not perfectly understand.
‘I am so sorry you ‘ave ‘ad a wasted journey,’ Margaret said, breathing a sigh of relief. For a moment she had feared that he would refuse to leave the house without seeing Caroline. ‘Please, I beg you will not worry too much. I shall write to you very soon, I dare say.’
He tipped his hat to her, turned on the doorstep and went off at a pace that made Margaret smile inwardly. She felt no remorse for having deceived him, for he deserved no sympathy. Had he demanded to see Caroline and been distraught with worry she might have felt otherwise, but his manner had made it clear that he was more concerned for his own health than his fiancée’s.
She returned to her own sitting room and was engaged in writing a letter to some friends when Roddy and Caroline entered the room together. They were holding hands and it was clear from their faces that they had settled their differences.
‘So, you have made up your quarrel, then?’
‘It was so silly of me,’ Caroline said and blushed. ‘We both want to apologise to you, Margaret. We have caused you a great deal of trouble.’
‘I do not mind for myself,’ Margaret replied.
‘As you know, I have no wish to live in England, and shall return to France as soon as it may be arranged. I think it best if you come with me as I suggested, Caroline. As I said, you may write to Mr Rushford in a few weeks. I shall speak to him before we leave, but you need not be here. I will arrange for you to go on before me.’
‘We want to be together,’ Roddy said his cheeks heated, a stubborn light in his eyes. ‘Let Rushford do his damnedest. In heaven’s name, he can’t force Caro to marry him if she does not wish to.’
‘No, but he could make things very uncomfortable for you both,’ Margaret warned and smothered a sigh. Roddy’s worst fault had always been his impatience. ‘It would surely be best for you to let him down lightly, Caroline. In fact, I must insist that you do things my way. I cannot be a party to any other arrangement. You must at least have the decency to consider Mr Rushford’s pride, if nothing else.’
‘We don’t want to wait weeks and weeks to be married,’ Caroline said, a tearful note in her voice. She looked at Roddy as if begging him to help her. ‘We love each other and we want to marry as soon as possible.’
‘Nevertheless, you must leave a reasonable period between jilting one man and wedding another,’ Margaret said, feeling like an ogress, but knowing she had no choice for their own sakes. ‘Otherwise you will make me regret my decision to give you this time in England, and you will seriously displease me—that goes for you too, Roddy.’
‘Dash it all, Maggie! You don’t understand how we feel.’
‘I understand more than you imagine,’ she replied. ‘However, I must ask you to give me your word that you will do nothing reckless.’
‘I would never do anything to hurt you,’ Caroline said and a tear trickled down her cheek. ‘But I will not meet Mr Rushford and I do not see how I can stay in my room all the time—especially if he comes looking for me.’
‘You may leave me to deal with that,’ Margaret replied. ‘I shall arrange for a carriage to take you back to our house in London. There you will wait for me, and we shall travel on to France together. Once you are safely on your way, I shall tell Mr Rushford that you are ill and cannot marry him for the moment. I think that by the time you write to him from home he will have accepted the inevitable, and then we may think about arranging a wedding for you and Roddy.’
‘Dash it all, Maggie! You take too much on yourself. This is between Caro and I.’ Roddy looked stubborn, clearly prepared to fight for his love and Margaret smiled inwardly, though she gave no sign of it.
‘I am asking you to do this for my sake, if not your own.’
‘Please go,’ Caroline whispered, looking at him with tear-blinded eyes. ‘We have to do what your sister says.’
‘I don’t see that at all,’ he protested, but as she made a little choking sound he cursed beneath his breath. ‘Oh, very well. I’ll be sensible since you ask it of me, Caro— but I insist on escorting you to London, and I shall accompany you both to France.’
‘As you wish,’ Margaret said, feeling unable to continue the argument. ‘Please go now, Roddy. I took a risk letting you come here in the first place. Mr Rushford was refused, and if he should hear you spent the afternoon here he would become suspicious.’
‘I’ll be here in the morning without fail,’ Roddy said, looking mutinous. ‘And I shall escort Caroline to London. You may do as you please, Maggie, but if I stay here any longer I shall knock that damned fellow’s head off his shoulders.’
Caroline looked horrified as he went out, clearly in high dudgeon.
‘He is angry with me, not you,’ Margaret reassured her. ‘I am only imposing these restrictions for your own benefit, Caroline. You and Roddy will be living in England when you are married, and even in the country it is uncomfortable to live beneath the shadow of scandal. You would not be happy if your neighbours decided they could not know you.’
‘I know you are right,’ Caroline admitted on a sigh. ‘But you won’t make us wait too long?’
‘No longer than necessary,’ Margaret promised. ‘Go up to your room now, my love. It will be best to keep up the pretence of your illness if we are to deceive poor Mr Rushford. I do not care for the man myself, but there is no doubt that he has suffered a slight from your change of heart.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Caroline said. ‘It is so very bad of me but I cannot—I really cannot marry him.’
‘No, my dear, of course you cannot,’ Margaret said and smiled. ‘I wouldn’t allow it, but we must let him down as kindly and as discreetly as possible, do you not agree?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Caroline said. ‘Roddy is so impatient and when he is with me... nothing else but being his wife seems to matter. Yet I know you are right, Maggie.’
‘The sooner it is done the better,’ Margaret said. ‘We shall have your trunks packed and you may be on your way first thing in the morning. After that I shall speak to Mr Rushford.’
Chapter Seven
‘Have there been any more callers?’ Margaret asked later that evening when she was served a simple supper of soup, fresh bread and a little cold chicken on a tray in the back parlour. ‘No one asking for me?’
‘No, ma’am. Two ladies called and left their cards, but I told them Miss Hammond was not well and that you were not at home.’
‘Lord Benedict did not call?’
‘No, ma’am. No one else.’
Margaret was left to eat her supper alone, for Caroline was busy supervising her packing and had requested only some tea and cake in her room, as she had no time for more. It had been decided that she would take just a bag and her small trunk with her. Everything else would follow later with Margaret’s own things.
‘I may as well have everything sent home to France,’ Margaret said. ‘We shall stay in London for a few days to close up the house and pay the staff, but then we shall leave. I shall feel more comfortable once we are at home. Besides, it will not do for you to be seen in town since you are supposed to be ill.’
Caroline had pulled a face at this, but made no further comment, apparently resigned to her fate for the time being.
Margaret did not relish her own role in this sorry affair. Even though she did not particularly like Mr Rushford, she could not but feel that he had been badly used. It would have been better if Caroline could have faced him to apologise in person, but she knew that that was beyond her ward. Besides, she suspected that there might be an unpleasant side to Mr Rushford when he felt himself slighted. She would give Caroline and Roddy a day’s start, then she would tell him that the wedding must be postponed. It was perhaps a little deceitful of her, but no worse than she had done before by pretending to be other than she was—something that had given her several pangs of conscience since she had discovered that she actually liked many of the people she had expected to despise.
Having settled her mind on this point, she allowed herself to think about Giles Benedict. She had expected he might call later in the afternoon to see her and was a little uncomfortable with her thoughts. It must have been a great surprise to him to discover the truth of her identity. She had planned to tell him once they knew each other a little better. He might have understood her reasons for behaving as she had by then, but coming so suddenly upon her secret would have been shocking indeed. Young, single ladies of good family did not take lovers, and on the rare occasion when such a thing did happen it was frowned upon and hidden away as a shameful secret. He was bound to think the less of her and to suspect that she meant to trap him into marriage.
Of course! Margaret’s cheeks flamed as she realised why Giles had not called. He was considering his position. As a gentleman he would probably feel that he had compromised her. Indeed, if the truth were known, she was ruined. She would be cast out as a fallen woman, shunned by the ladies who had welcomed her as friends.
She would mind being cut by some ladies—Felicia Belmont for one—but others would not cause her grief. Yet she thought she could bear even that if only Giles did not turn from her. She was afraid that he would either end the affair at once—or, worse still, insist on marrying her.
Marriage to Giles might have been pleasant under other circumstances, Margaret reflected, but not if he felt obliged to offer for her because of what had happened between them. Oh, damn Roddy and his loose tongue! Had he not blurted it all out like that she might have enjoyed a comfortable relationship with Giles for some months. Now it seemed that all was changed. Quite clearly he was holding back for the moment, and perhaps he was angry with her.
Finding that she had lost her appetite, Margaret left her chicken untouched and went upstairs to see what she could do to help Caroline with her packing and think about beginning her own.
Roddy helped Caroline into the carriage the next morning, then turned to take his leave of his sister. She accepted his kisses, waving as he mounted his horse to ride beside the smart travelling chaise. Caroline had her own maid and one other with her for propriety’s sake, and Roddy would accompany them on horseback.
If they had been seen leaving in a carriage together all sorts of rumours might have started, and Margaret hoped to brush through the sorry affair with as little scandal as possible.
She wrote a few letters cancelling engagements for the next few days, and letting friends know that Caroline was unwell. It left a bad taste in her mouth for she did not enjoy deceiving people who had been kind to them like this, but it seemed the best way. At noon she had a simple nuncheon and then set out for the lending library, returning some books Caroline had borrowed. She met several ladies and gentlemen, who inquired after her ward, and was forced to repeat her tale of Caroline’s illness.
‘We heard that she had diphtheria,’ one lady said and kept her distance from Margaret as if she feared that she too carried the dread disease.
‘No, no, it was nothing of the kind,’ Margaret replied. ‘I did not want to say—but I believe it may be an ‘ereditary weakness she ‘as from her poor dear mother.’
‘Oh, how sad,’ the lady said, looking relieved. ‘I know these things do run in families and that they can be very bad. I am so sorry. Will the wedding have to be cancelled?’
‘I fear it may be.’
‘Well, that is a shame. Tell me—was it Dr Morrison or Dr Boland that you called?’
‘I...’ Margaret coughed. ‘Oh, please excuse me. I must not stand in this chill wind. I am used to a warmer climate, you understand, non?’
She hurried away, feeling wretched and wishing that she had never begun this masquerade. If only she had come to England as herself—and if only she had insisted Caroline wait for a while before becoming engaged to Mr Rushford. The blame was hers, she decided. She had made two ill-considered decisions and now she was regretting them.
She felt the sting of further regret when she returned to the house and discovered that there had been no message from Giles. It seemed clear that he had decided their affair was best ended, and Margaret was aware of an ache in her heart. How foolish she had been to allow her own desires to sweep away all caution and surrender to his loving that night. He had lost all respect for her and wanted nothing more to do with her, it seemed. Well, it served her right! She had begun that foolish masquerade and had no one but herself to blame for the consequences.
Margaret wrote to Mr Rushford that evening, telling him that the wedding must be postponed for a while, and had the letter delivered to his lodgings immediately. She had also told him that Caroline wished for no visitors and that they were returning to France as soon as possible.
We
shall, of course, write to you when there is any news, and beg your pardon for
any disappointment you may have suffered at this delay. Caroline begs for your
forgiveness and your forbearance, but cannot bring herself to see you at the
moment.
It was best to keep it short, Margaret decided after several attempts at what was perhaps the hardest letter she had ever written in her life. She would have liked to write to Giles as well, but since he had not furnished her with his address in Bath she was unable to do so and laid down her pen.
She had decided to leave Bath in the morning. There was nothing more for her to do here and she had begun to feel that she would not be able to compose her emotions until she was at home once more.
She had foolishly allowed herself to dream and now the dream had ended, and she was punished for it. A wry smile touched her mouth as she reflected how right Aunt Kate had been to warn her of the perils of loving unwisely.
Giles had seemed to be a man she could deal with, a man who would not bore her or fuss over her or try to wrap her in chains of duty—but a man like that was clearly not the kind to relish being deceived and trapped. Since he had not come to see her, he must suspect that she had set out to trap him, but instead of offering her marriage as she’d feared, he had decided to ignore her altogether.
Margaret thought that of the two, she preferred the course he had chosen. It would have been too painful to be offered marriage as a duty—but how much sweeter it would have been if he could have accepted what she offered as it had been intended. A love that asked for no favours and no strings. Hers was a free spirit, independent and strong, and the affair she had envisaged with Giles could have been all that she desired, but she had believed he was different, and now it seemed that he was after all a man of his age. Hemmed about by convention and a sense of what was proper, he had failed to see the uniqueness of their love. Unlike the black knight of her childish dreams, he would not sweep her before him on his horse and ride into the sunset.
But perhaps he had not felt the completeness that Margaret had experienced in his arms? She had been merely a challenge, a woman he found amusing for a while, and he could not accept the unconventionality of their relationship.
She felt saddened and hurt by his failure to understand her nature, but there was no bitterness, no regret. He had not seduced her, for she had responded willingly to his lovemaking, and she would remember that night for the rest of her life.
It was a brief moment to last her a lifetime, Margaret reflected, for she doubted that she would ever trust enough to love again. But she would not let her disappointment sour her. She had friends, and there would be Roddy and Caroline’s children to love and spoil. Besides, she might travel, for it had always been her desire to see more of the world. She thought that she might like to see the wonders of China and India, to become one of those intrepid ladies who stepped out of their world and found a new one beyond the confines of the narrow life they had been born to.
Her mood lifted at the thought, her head raised as she contemplated a lifetime of learning and discovery. At least she would not die without having tasted the sweetness of love.
Margaret had her carriage brought round early the next morning. She saw no reason to delay, for she did not particularly wish for a difficult interview with Mr Rushford should he call, and the roads would be quieter at this hour. The sooner she was in London, the sooner she could begin her preparations to return to France.
Her journey was without incident and quickly accomplished since she travelled post and changed horses frequently, and it was early evening on the following day that she was welcomed into her London house by the housekeeper she had employed on her arrival.
‘It is good to have you back, ma’am,’ the woman said and curtsied. ‘Your room is ready for you and a meal will be prepared shortly. Had we known you were coming, it would have been sooner.’
‘But surely Miss Hammond told you that I would be here within a day or two?’
‘Miss Hammond, ma’am? Is she not with you?’ The housekeeper looked surprised.
‘No—no, she is not,’ Margaret said and frowned as the icy finger trailed down her spine. ‘Perhaps I misunderstood her. She may be staying with friends.’
‘Yes, ma’am. It’s an exciting time before a wedding, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. You have not seen Sir Roderick Hazelmere, I suppose?’ At the woman’s puzzled look she smiled easily. ‘No matter. Excuse me, I shall want a tray of tea in the parlour—and some bread and butter and cold meat will do very well for my supper, thank you. I must go up and refresh myself after the journey.’
Where could Caroline and Roddy be? Margaret’s mind wrestled with the problem even as she accepted the answer. They had deceived her and eloped together. She had no doubt who the instigator of the change of plan must be. Her brother had been determined he would not wait to make Caroline his bride, and had merely seemed to accept her stipulations until he had Caroline away from her.
She was furious with them. How could they play such a scurvy trick on her? It was beyond anything! She had trusted them, and they had given their word to behave decently—at least Caroline had, she remembered. Roddy had merely grunted and looked stubborn. She had been naïve to trust him! Yet she had expected better of him than this, but perhaps he considered that all was fair in love as in war.
It was all very well, but she would have to deal with the consequences. The circumstance of their disappearance was bound to get out and then there would be a terrible scandal.
How could she have been fool enough to let them go off alone like that? She ought to have left Bath with them, and sent her letters later. Yet she had never dreamed that they would behave so badly towards her. It was hurtful and unpleasant—and might result in serious consequences. Litigation could ruin a man and Roddy was now very much to blame for Mr Rushford’s loss of a bride. It was not unknown for such cases to come to court, though many preferred to accept being jilted and brush over the scandal as best they could. Caroline would be ruined socially, of course, and Roddy might be ruined financially if Mr Rushford decided to press for damages.
Margaret felt close to tears, but anger prevented them from falling. Why should she bother her head over the ungrateful pair? She had done her best for them and this was the outside of enough.
An hour or more spent pacing the parlour left her no nearer finding a solution to her problem. She could not chase after the errant pair, nor did it seem worthwhile since nothing could be gained by preventing the marriage, and that might not in actual fact be possible. Caroline was not truly her ward but Aunt Kate’s and it was doubtful whether Margaret had the authority to stop the wedding. Roddy knew that, of course, and had no doubt taken it into consideration.
Well, they had made their bed and they would just have to lie on it, Margaret thought angrily. There was nothing she could do for the moment, rack her brain as she might for a way out of this dilemma.
The best thing she could do was to close the house in London as quickly as possible and return to France.
Feeling as she did now, she was not sure that she wanted to see either her brother or Caroline again!
In the morning Margaret’s anger had abated somewhat, but was replaced by anxiety. It really was very foolish of the pair to behave so badly, but she could do nothing about it now.
She spent the day seeing to her affairs in London, giving her staff notice and paying them their wages to the end of the period for which she had engaged them. The keys must be returned to the agent’s office, and she could safely leave that to her housekeeper after she had departed for France.
‘I shall be sorry to see you go, ma’am. I thought you might stay for a few months.’
‘My plans ‘ave always been loose,’ Margaret replied with a little shrug. ‘Who knows, perhaps I shall come ‘ere again.’
She knew it was doubtful that she would visit London for some years. Perhaps one day when the Comtesse of Grenelle had been long forgotten she might risk it, but not in the near future.
Most of her possessions had already been sent on ahead, but she spent the last evening finding books and packing small items that had been forgotten. Discovering the book that the Duchess of Belmont had loaned her, Margaret packed it neatly and wrote a letter to thank Felicia for her kindness. She had already written to say the wedding had been cancelled and made no further mention of it or her own plans.
It was as she was on the verge of retiring to bed that a loud knocking at the front door made her pause at the foot of the stairs.
‘Now who can that be at this hour?’ the housekeeper asked as she went to answer it.
Margaret said nothing, but was not in the least surprised when she heard Mr Rushford asking angrily for her or Miss Hammond.
‘Ah, Mr Rushford,’ Margaret said and smiled pleasantly. ‘Will you please come into the parlour? I fear you ‘ave made a long journey for nothing.’
‘I demand to see Caroline,’ he said as soon as the door was closed behind him. ‘I do not know why you have spirited her away like this, madam, but I shall not stand for it. I have my rights. Miss Hammond promised to marry me and I have been to a great deal of expense for her sake.’
‘I am sorry if you ‘ave spent money that you would not have done otherwise,’ Margaret said. ‘The ring you gave Miss Hammond will be returned, of course, and any other gifts you may ‘ave made her—though I think there was none of any particular value?’
‘I intended to give her jewels when we were married,’ he retorted, his face purple. ‘I meant expense at my estate in preparation for her coming.’
‘Ah...’ Margaret nodded. ‘I thought that must be your meaning, sir. You will lose little by it since it is for your own benefit as well as your wife’s—and of course you may marry.
‘Not good enough, madam!’ he cried, clearly furious. ‘I am not deceived by your lies. Caroline was seen driving away from Bath in a closed carriage, accompanied by Sir Roderick Hazelmere—and everyone knows that you encouraged the match between them. You have cheated me and I intend to be repaid.’
‘You are holding me personally responsible?’ Margaret stared at him in disbelief. ‘If—and I say if—Miss Hammond has chosen not to marry you, that is her affair. You cannot ‘old me accountable, sir.’
‘You were her guardian and you signed the marriage contract,’ he said and his expression was what she could only think exceedingly nasty. ‘Everyone knows Hazelmere has mortgaged his estate to pay a gambling debt—hut you are a wealthy woman. The choice is yours, madam—either you restore my fiancée to me or face a law suit.’
‘That is ridiculous,’ Margaret replied. ‘No court would find for you in such a case.’
‘There is precedent,’ he said triumphantly. ‘Lord Rawlish withdrew his permission for his daughter to wed after the contract was signed and he was forced to pay damages of fifteen thousand pounds. I shall ask for ten—which was the sum of Caroline’s inheritance.’
‘But you were to allow her to keep it.’
‘That was before this shameful seduction, which you have connived at from the start!’
‘I ‘ave done nothing of the sort,’ Margaret replied, struggling to keep up her accent.
‘Then why was Hazelmere always here at any hour of the day or night?’ he demanded. ‘He was at the house when I called the other afternoon in Bath—and do not lie, for I have it on good authority and a witness I may call at will. You agreed to this elopement and lied to me about Caroline’s health—deny it if you can.’
‘No, I shall not deny it,’ Margaret said, anger stripping her of all caution. ‘If you must have your pound of flesh, sir—sue and be damned to you. The truth is that Sir Roderick is my brother and that is why he was allowed entry whenever he chose—and why I entrusted her to his care.’
Rushford’s mouth fell open. ‘I don’t believe you— Hazelmere doesn’t have a sister.’
‘Clearly you have not done your research properly,’ Margaret said, a deadly smile on her lips. Now she no longer made any pretence, speaking crisply in her most English voice. ‘If you intend to press for damages I would advise you to do so, sir. My lawyers in London will pass on any documents that come from yours—and now I must ask you to leave. I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘You will not yield Caroline?’
‘No, I most certainly shall not,’ Margaret said. ‘Had I guessed at the nasty set of your mind I should never have allowed her to accept your proposal in the first place, and I think she is well rid of you. Goodbye, Mr Rushford. I think there is no need for us to meet again as our lawyers may do the business for us. Please leave now, or I shall have my servants throw you in the gutter.’
Rushford opened his mouth and shut it again, it was unlikely that he had ever met with such open defiance from a woman before and he was clearly at a loss. Margaret smiled as he turned on his heel and walked away without another word.
He was fortunate that she was a woman for she would have liked to take a horsewhip to him, she reflected and turned away to pour herself a glass of brandy. Her hand was trembling slightly and she spilled a few drops before managing to take a sip.
‘Hitting the bottle, Magda?’
She almost dropped the glass as she heard the voice close behind her, whirling round in disbelief. ‘Giles—how did you get here?’
‘I rode my horse,’ he replied and gave her a mocking smile. ‘More to the point, perhaps, is why Mr Rushford has just departed in such a foul mood?’
‘He is going to sue me because Caroline has jilted him,’ Margaret said. ‘He says that I connived at it and broke my promise—the promise I made when I signed his marriage contract.’
‘The man is a fool,’ Giles said arching his brows. ‘I take it that Sir Hothead wouldn’t listen and carried off the lovely Miss Hammond against your advice?’
Margaret gave a strangled laugh. ‘My poor brother was determined to have his way. I was furious with them when I realised they had not come here as I asked, but fled to the border. There will be the most terrible scandal, and Mr Rushford intends to ask for ten thousand pounds.’
‘I hope you told him to sue and be damned?’
‘Yes, I did,’ she said. ‘It rather took the wind out of his sails, I’m afraid.’
‘He hasn’t a hope of succeeding,’ Giles said and walked over to take the brandy glass from her hand, setting it down on one of the little tables. ‘I am certain his lawyers will tell him that at once, but he does have rather more of a chance of success against your brother.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Margaret said. ‘I would rather he sued me than poor Roddy or Caroline.’
‘If he managed to make you pay he might still have a case against your brother. Better to limit the damage as much as possible—could you afford to pay him if he won that sum?’
‘Yes, just about,’ Margaret replied with a slight frown. ‘I am a little low on funds after the expense of this trip and the wedding—and Roddy needed to repay that stupid mortgage. I have money tied up that I could release in time. It wouldn’t ruin me—just make things awkward for a while.’
‘I rather think I might be able to handle this better for you, Magda. Would you trust me to do that for you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said and then looked him in the eyes. ‘If you will not think it too much of an imposition?’
‘Do you imagine I would offer if I did?’
‘No...’ She smiled oddly and tipped her head to one side, reverting to the accent, which had been sadly lacking. ‘I think you are a man who must ‘ave his way, my lord—non?’
‘Whenever possible,’ he riposted, a twinkle in his dark eyes. ‘Why did you run away from me?’
‘I wasn’t running from you,’ she said and yet even as she spoke she knew that wasn’t quite true. A part of the reason for her hasty departure was because she did not want to meet Giles by accident. ‘I expected Caroline and Roddy to be here—and I was trying to avoid a scene with Mr Rushford.’
‘Was that all your reason, Magda?’
‘No, not quite,’ she admitted meeting his intent gaze honestly. ‘I think you must guess that I was a little. . . anxious about facing you after my shocking secret had been revealed so abruptly.’
‘Not so very shocking,’ Giles murmured, his voice husky, his eyes moving over her in a way that started little wavelets of desire crashing through her. ‘The situation is unconventional, I shall give you that, but not shocking. After all, I distinctly recall that you told me you did not wish to marry—that your aunt had decided you were too independent of spirit.’
‘Yes...’ Margaret caught her breath. The look in his eyes was making her tingle with desire, rousing a need in her that she knew could be slaked only one way. ‘Are you saying that you are prepared to continue our... relationship?’
‘Come, let us not mince words, my love,’ Giles said and his eyes gleamed with sheer mischief. ‘We are lovers. This is an affaire—a passionate, emotional involvement that I for one believe will last for many years, until we part by mutual agreement. To remain lifelong friends, I hope and believe.’
‘You truly feel that way?’ Margaret looked at him dawning hope in her eyes as she realised he was describing what would be for her a perfect arrangement. ‘You do not think me a wanton, lost to all shame?’
‘You may be slightly wanton, Magda my sweet, but all the great lovers in history must have shared that tendency—do you not think so? Do you not think the Queen of Sheba and Helen of Troy must have been born in your image? Cleopatra caused the Romans to fight amongst themselves and Helen launched a thousand ships. While I hope you do not intend to play havoc with my life, I certainly feel you bring to it a spice that has been sadly lacking.’
Margaret’s laughter rang out joyously. ‘Oh, Giles! When you did not come to the house I thought you had decided to cut the connection. I have been planning to become an intrepid explorer to fill the emptiness in my life.’
‘Now that is very interesting,’ Giles said. ‘For I am bound to say that it might be awkward if you were not prepared to travel. My own life is almost certain to be in the diplomatic service and I shall need to come and go—and since I do not wish to be parted from you for years at a time I thought it might suit us for you to accompany me. In England there are no doubt some who frown upon the idea of a mistress, but abroad it is more openly accepted. We shall need to keep up the idea of a departed husband if you are to have the entrée into certain circles; you must be known as Magda for the moment, but that is a matter of mere discretion.’
‘Oh, Giles,’ Margaret said. ‘I am afraid that Mr Rushford knows the truth. I lost my temper when he questioned why Roddy was allowed to visit when he chose.’
‘Have I not told you that I shall deal with that gentleman?’
‘Yes.’ She laughed as he raised his brows. ‘Very well, I shall say no more. I look forward to a life of adventure at your side, my lord.’
‘You were not planning to chase after your brother and Caroline?’
‘I saw little point in it. Her reputation is gone—besides, they are determined to be married, and who am I to deny them? I can hardly preach morality at them, can I?’
‘No, perhaps not,’ Giles murmured, a husky note in his voice. ‘Besides, it would be a waste of time, do you not think so—when we might be better employed?’
‘Oh, certainly,’ she agreed breathlessly. ‘I do agree, Giles...’
She got no further for she was in his arms, being kissed so thoroughly that words were clearly a wasted effort. She smiled when he released her, holding out her hand to him invitingly.
‘I can see you are determined to ‘ave your way with me, my lord.’
‘Do you have any idea of what that does to me?’
Giles demanded and then shouted with laughter as he saw the mischief in her eyes. ‘But of course you do, my wicked lady. You know very well that it drives me wild with longing.’
‘Then come to bed,’ Margaret invited and led him from the room and up the stairs. ‘It has been too long, Giles.’
‘Far too long,’ he agreed and suddenly swept her up in his arms. She gave a shriek of laughter, which was answered by a low growling in his throat. ‘My sweet seductress. I adore you. I swear I shall never have enough of you.’
Giles proved his words time after time as they loved that night, taking her fiercely and tenderly in turns, the hot desire raging between them as they came to know each other’s bodies so intimately that not one crevice remained unexplored and thoroughly kissed.
‘You are the loveliest woman I have ever known,’ Giles whispered against the creamy pale skin of her throat. ‘And the most exciting. You have enslaved me, my darling. I am yours to command.’
‘Then promise me you will tell me when you are tired of me,’ Margaret said. ‘Promise me we shall never hate each other or bore each other, but that if the fire burns itself out we shall part as friends.’
‘The fire inside me when I look at you is unquenchable,’ Giles murmured and drew her hand down the bed to discover the swelling hardness that her touch had aroused. ‘Perhaps one day, when we are old, you will tire of me—but I shall never have enough of my wicked lady.’
Margaret laughed and began to kiss him, little pecking kisses that followed the arrow of dark hair on his flat abdomen, down to the evidence of his burning desire to be one with her again. She flicked at him delicately with her tongue, making him quiver and cry out at the bittersweet torment. But he would not allow her to unman him in that fashion and rolled her over on to her back, thrusting into her suddenly and with such hunger that she gasped and writhed beneath him, her body arching to meet the onslaught of his with equal urgency. Their coming together that time was an explosion of feeling that made them both scream the other’s name aloud, Margaret’s nails raking his shoulders in her abandon.
‘You are mine, darling Magda,’ he muttered fiercely against the soft curve of her belly, moving up to kiss her lips once more and clasp her to him possessively. ‘Never doubt that you are mine and I shall not relinquish you, no matter what.’
Margaret smiled in the darkness. Had she not dreamed of something like this as a young girl? A knight in black armour who would sweep her up on his charger and ride off with her to his impenetrable fortress, there to make her a prisoner of love.
It was a foolish dream of course, one that most young girls might experience, though most would have chosen the White Knight and marriage. Margaret had always thought the Black Knight more romantic, and after his timely interruption that night in Italy her bold seducer had always worn this man’s face.
It was a girl’s dream come true—but for how long could it last?
Giles was gone before Margaret was awake. She found a note on the pillow beside her and held it to her lips, smiling as she inhaled the scent of him and recalled the passionate night that had just gone. It was as well that they had agreed she should leave as planned this morning, Margaret thought, for the servants would know he had spent the night in her bed and she thought they might be shocked.
However, there was no sign that anything had changed when Margaret took her leave that morning. She gave them all a small gift of money, thanked them for looking after her and went out to the chaise that had been hired to take her to Dover.
She would wait there at the Seagull Inn for Giles to come to her. He had some business in London that would take him a few hours, and then they would travel to her home in France.
‘Wellington has had news,’ Giles told her as they lay side by side in the aftermath of their loving the previous night. ‘Napoleon Bonaparte is on the move and we expect him to land in France—perhaps by the beginning of next month. He will try to raise an army and take France back into his hands, and it is likely that he will succeed.’
‘I met Napoleon once some years ago,’ Margaret said. ‘Or at least I made my curtsy and he glared at me as he passed. His history has been both glorious and sad, do you not think so?’
‘Perhaps—though he has caused havoc in Europe. You cannot think that glorious?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Margaret agreed. ‘But he was an adventurer and he made his own destiny. I admire him for that at least. You have to excuse some bad behaviour in men like that, do you not?’
‘Not to the degree that I would allow him to be set loose again. He will be stopped, Magda. Wellington means to finish it once and for all.’
‘Yes, I dare say it must be,’ Margaret agreed, though she thought that without such men history might have been less interesting, the world a little duller. ‘But I know you are right. I do not wish to see Europe torn apart by war. Besides, I do not wish you to fight, Giles. I expect you will go to your general when the call comes?’
‘I must,’ he confirmed. ‘But you shall be there with me before—and be waiting for me after. You will be there, Magda?’
‘You know that I shall,’ she said and gave him a loving smile. ‘I am not ashamed to admit that I love you, Giles. I did not think I should ever truly mean that—my aunt convinced me that love was a myth— but it is in my heart and I would have you know it.’
‘Then I am content,’ he said. ‘For the moment I could ask no more.’
There was something a little odd in his look at that moment, but it was gone so swiftly that she might have imagined it.
‘What did you mean, for the moment?’
‘Nothing,’ he murmured. ‘But I am a greedy creature, Magda. When I want something I want it all and I never let go, believe me. You are mine and I am yours. Do not think to leave me, for I should not let you go easily.’
She shook her head at him as his hand began to move amongst the moist curls at her mound of Venus, surrendering herself to the pleasure of his touch. She was happy at this moment, happier than she had ever expected to be—why think of the future until it was necessary?
‘Your home is very beautiful,’ Giles murmured as they stood together, looking down at the deep turquoise sea glistening in a pale sun. The hillside was covered in greenery that became a wash of colour in the spring and summer, while behind them the mellowed pink brick walls of the villa had a warm, comforting appeal. ‘I can see why you might want to stay here—why you might be reluctant to leave it.’
‘It is beautiful,’ Margaret agreed, for the villa had the charm of age and nestled into the hills softly like a bird, rather than looking garishly conspicuous like some of the newer houses. ‘But I have often thought I should like to see more of the world. I am looking forward to travelling with you, Giles.’
‘A lady after my own heart,’ Giles said and smiled oddly, as if amused by some secondary meaning. ‘Wellington has left Vienna and is en route to Paris, where he will take command of the British army—such as it is. So many of our best troops have been sent elsewhere that we shall be hard put to it to raise a decent fighting force.’ His words were mild when compared to those his commander was reported to have uttered, calling the men left to him an infamous army made up of the scum and dregs of his troops. Reaching out to touch her cheek, Giles gazed earnestly into her eyes. ‘You are still willing to come with me—you have not changed your mind? You would not prefer to stay here until I am able to come to you again?’
After leaving England they had gone first to Margaret’s home in the vague hope of finding Roddy and Caroline there, but there was no sign of the errant pair nor yet a message.
Margaret had not truly expected it, but their careless behaviour saddened her. Yet she could understand her brother’s rebellion. He had come close to losing the woman he loved and was making certain of her, prepared to take the consequences whatever the outcome. His attitude showed spirit and determination and Margaret found that she admired that in him despite all. Giles had told her that his lawyers would deal with Mr Rushford in his absence and she felt that she must trust in him and allow the future to take its course.
Her relationship with Giles had filled a need in her that she had not been aware of until they became lovers. It was not only the pleasure and completeness that she found in his arms in the dark reaches of the night, it was the discovery of so much more.
They shared a similar sense of the ridiculous and Margaret laughed more when they were together than she had since she was a carefree child at her parents’ home. Their interests were varied, sometimes shared, sometimes opposite, and they argued eagerly over the merits of Byron’s poetry, Shelley, and Sir Walter Scott’s novels, of which Giles had none too high an opinion. Margaret, an avid reader, had delighted in Waverley and they argued fiercely for and against its merits as a literary work. But they were in complete accord on the worth of Shakespeare, Coleridge, Wordsworth—and, surprisingly to Margaret, Miss Austen’s novels.
‘Now there is a modern novelist I do admire,’ Giles told her. ‘And I know that Prinny also enjoys her books.’
Their arguments always led to laughter and then to kisses. Giles appeared to relish her independence and never deliberately put her down or patronised her, seeming to value her opinions as highly as if they came from another man.
His conversation was a delight to her, his keen intelligence instantly understanding her meaning when others might have stared at her with bovine dullness. Even Roddy and Aunt Kate had sometimes been slow to grasp a point she was making, while Caroline could never match her for intellect. Giles was often ahead of her, putting her on her mettle so that she was spurred to meet his laughing challenge—but in bed they were equals, both transported to a paradise beyond anything that she had previously imagined.
It was as perfect as any relationship could be. So perfect that Margaret knew moments of fear when she wondered how long such happiness could last. She loved with all her heart, her soul, her mind and body, and yet feared that something would happen to snatch her happiness away.
Now she turned to him as the sun began to set over the sea turning it flame coloured instead of blue, the provocative smile that had first intrigued him on her lips.
‘But of course I wish to be with you, my lord. I ‘ave not yet begun to weary of this... friendship.’
Giles shouted with laughter, drawing her close, the throb of his urgent need evident in the swelling hardness pressed against her thigh. ‘You are enchanting,’ he murmured huskily into the silken white arch of her throat. ‘Come to bed, my love, or it will be all up with me before I can take my fill of you.’
‘Willingly,’ she said and took his hand.
Chapter Eight
‘The news is not good,’ Giles told Margaret as he came in that evening. He had been out scouting for Wellington, picking up information across the border in France for several days, and she had been on thorns lest he should come to harm. ‘They are sealing the borders and our spies will be hard put to it to discover anything of true worth, but I know that Boney is up to his old tricks again. He thinks that we are isolated and will try to surprise us and cut us off from Blücher if he can.’
As expected by those with experience of Napoleon Bonaparte from the past, the French troops sent to capture the emperor returned from exile had gone over to his side and he had marched triumphantly on Paris the day after the Bourbons had fled to Brussels. It was here that Wellington had gathered his infamous army and was already pledged the support of Blücher ’ s troops.
‘You have been expecting this for a while, have you not?’ Margaret asked as he kissed her, the hunger in his embrace telling her that he had felt as bereft as she during their separation. ‘Is Wellington going to attack first or wait for Napoleon to come to him?’
‘That is the question the French would gladly pay a million livres to have answered, my sweet,’ Giles said and grinned at her. ‘But Old Hookey plays things close to his chest. We must be prepared for Napoleon to strike first, I think, for he must know the longer he waits the more tenuous his position becomes. If Wellington’s allies are given a chance to regroup in force, the French will be outmanoeuvred at every turn. I believe this sealing of the borders is the signal that Bonaparte is preparing to attack.’
‘But it is rumoured that Bonaparte has a great army, and some say the British are vulnerable until the Allied forces join them. Can Wellington hope to prevail against such odds?’
‘Do not be anxious, sweetheart. The Iron Duke is not so named for nothing, believe me.’
Once her questions would have aroused his suspicion, but he knew her too well, knew her spirit and her sweetness, each moment spent together all the more precious since he accepted that there was a danger it might be their last. The battle when it came would be bloody, for Bonaparte knew this was his last chance to regain the power he craved and would either crush the opposition forces or be crushed by them. Giles smiled at her, aware how precious life had become to him these past months.
It was the beginning of June and they had been in Brussels for some weeks now, spending all the time that was available to them together. Margaret had continued her masquerade as the Comtesse de Grenelle, but her liaison with Giles was an accepted thing amongst his friends. Lord Ellwood was one of their constant visitors at the house they had hired in Margaret’s assumed name, dining with them some evenings, joining the lively supper parties they gave for gentlemen and their ladies. And where he went his set followed, for he was a known friend and confidant to the Regent himself, and popular with the younger fellows.
For the most part Margaret was accepted into the same circles she had been during her stay in London, for many of the younger set had gathered in Brussels to await the coming struggle with Napoleon. The atmosphere here was more relaxed than in England, and she knew that if she were to return there, she might not be invited to certain houses where the stricter hostesses held sway. But that did not worry her as long as Giles was content, and it seemed that his closest friends were only too happy to know her.
They had found it impossible to hide their affair, nor had they tried very hard. It was generally accepted that gentlemen had their mistresses, and, in a case where the lady was of the quality, most were prepared to turn a blind eye. Providing they were discreet about their arrangements, nothing was said to indicate that their relationship was known, though on occasion Margaret received a frosty stare from one of the stricter matrons. However, Giles was constantly at her side at any social gathering, and she knew that it was because he was generally respected that she had been accepted so easily. If their affair ended, she might find life more difficult... but if that happened she would want only solitude and could retire to her villa. Or perhaps travel as she had always intended, exploring regions of the world where reputation hardly mattered.
‘You think it will begin soon, don’t you?’ Margaret looked at him anxiously now, sensing things he would not tell her. ‘How soon, Giles?’
‘You will be safe enough in Brussels,’ Giles told her and understood her anxiety. ‘We shall not let the French break through, my darling.’
‘You know I do not worry for myself.’ There was a spark in her eyes that made him smile.
‘I have fought many a battle and survived to tell the tale,’ Giles said. ‘But away with these frowns and pouts, Magda. I have to tell you that you have been invited to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball next week—and this evening we are bidden to Ellwood’ s supper party.’
‘Would you rather not rest quietly here this evening?’ Margaret asked, noticing the lines of weariness about his eyes. ‘You have been riding hard these past days, I dare say?’
‘My work is over for the moment,’ Giles said, raising his brows. ‘You like Ellwood and the others, don’t you? I thought it pleased you to go out in company’?’
‘Yes, of course I like your friends. Lord Ellwood is a particular favourite, as you know,’ she said. Some of the young lord’s friends were on occasion a little forward, but that was only to be expected. Gentlemen considered it good sport to try and steal each other’s mistress, and she was well able to parry their compliments and their hints. Giles was held in enough respect and awe that no attempt to do more than flirt with her had been made as yet. ‘I was merely thinking of you, Giles. You look tired, my love.’
‘It is nothing. We shall have a few days together now, I promise you,’ he said and bent his head to kiss her softly on the lips. ‘Tomorrow I am going to take you shopping. It occurs to me that I have given you nothing of any particular value, Magda, and I want you to have something pretty.’
To remember him by?
Margaret did not fear that Giles meant to leave her, for his loving had become even more tender as their time together became increasingly meaningful. Their lives fit together in perfect harmony, and there was no reason for her to doubt his steadfastness. If he wanted her to have a special gift, it must mean that he too was very aware that their happiness could end all too soon.
Suddenly, she understood why he and his friends filled their spare time with gaiety. War was a bloody reality to those who had campaigned with Wellington on the Spanish peninsula and they had lost too many comrades to dismiss it as the young recruits might as a jolly lark.
‘What shall you buy me?’ she asked teasingly. ‘A diamond pin for my ‘air or a new gown?’
‘We shall see,’ Giles said and smiled at her. ‘Look at me like that, Magda, and I shall take you to bed and forget that I have not washed off the filth of three days on the road.’
‘I shall ‘ave a bath prepared for you, my lord,’ she said with a distinct sparkle in her eye. ‘And then I shall come and scrub your back myself.’
‘Now that sounds promising,’ Giles murmured, an answering gleam in his own eyes. ‘I see that you are intending to have your wicked way with me, my lady, choose how.’
‘But you know that I am a terrible woman,’ Margaret said, rolling her r’s and laughing huskily. When they were alone together she often abandoned her accent completely, but she knew it amused him, and used it to tease him now and then. ‘But we waste time and there are only three hours before Lord Ellwood’ s supper party.’
Ellwood had chosen to give his party at a superior hotel in the best part of Brussels, commandeering the banqueting hall and the services of the manager and his best staff. He was a man of some wealth and consequence, and the heir to a rich earldom. Most young men in his position would not have chosen to rejoin the army and risk all, but, like so many of those young officers who had served with Wellington before, he was devoted to his general.
His party was well attended by young men of like minds, many of whom were accompanied by their mistresses. Yet there was no rowdiness, for it was an unwritten code that respect should be accorded to these ladies. A few had brought their wives, and two of those ladies had been their husband’s mistress before a change in circumstance had brought about their new status.
‘1 was married to a man I detested when I was seventeen,’ Kitty, Lady Russell, told Margaret in confidence. ‘I gave my husband two sons and considered my duty done. When I met Freddie we became lovers almost at once, and my daughter Clara is his child. When my husband died we were able to marry and Freddie has acknowledged his daughter. We hope for a son, of course.’ She patted her stomach complacently, for she was five months with child. ‘But Freddie says it does not matter to him whether I give him a son or not. He has a nephew who may inherit the title after all.’
‘I think it was very brave of you to come out with Lord Russell,’ Margaret told her, for Kitty was one of the ladies amongst their set that she liked best.
‘I would rather be here than waiting at home,’ Kitty said. ‘Lord! Why should I sit at home and miss all the fun just because I’m increasing?’
‘No reason if you do not wish it,’ Margaret said and laughed at her expression. ‘I imagine waiting would drive you wild with impatience, ma’am.’
‘Kitty! You will not stand on ceremony with me, if you please, Magda,’ Kitty said, her eyes sparkling. ‘I believe we are friends, are we not?’
‘I ‘ope so,’ Margaret replied, a delicate flush in her cheeks. She thought that Kitty might have divined her secret, which was so new and so terrifying that she had kept it to herself for the moment. She had after all been sick only once or twice and was not certain that she had fallen for a child. ‘I should like that, Kitty.’
‘Well, we must certainly stick together,’ Kitty said and patted her hand. ‘Things may get a little difficult in the next few weeks, Magda. My sweet Freddie keeps telling me that it is going to be a picnic and will be over before Boney gets near us, but I am not sure it will be as painless as that. I have a friend who followed her lover to the Spanish peninsula, and she experienced war at first hand, which I may tell you is not at all glorious despite how history may make it. Poor Selina saw things that give her nightmares to this day. I dare say we shall not see so very much of it here, but our men will not be so lucky.’
‘No...’ Magda clamped her teeth on her bottom lip as a ripple of fear went through her. ‘Giles says they will beat the French before ever they get near us, but I fear there will be fierce fighting until that is accomplished. Our soldiers will be much at risk...’
‘We shall comfort each other,’ Kitty promised her and took her hand. ‘Now, my dear, I had a letter from England today, and I fear I have sad news for you. I have heard that the Duchess of Belmont has miscarried her child. Her husband is distraught, they say, though more over his wife’s health apparently than the loss of the child—which is rumoured to have been a girl.’
‘Oh, no!’ Margaret cried, feeling distressed by the news. ‘I am so sorry. Felicia was so happy to be carrying her husband’s child, and the Duke was overjoyed at the possibility of an heir.’
‘Yes, it is very sad for them,’ Kitty said. ‘Of course it means that if the Duchess cannot carry full term, then Giles will probably be his uncle’s heir after all—a wretched nuisance for him since he will have to marry and provide a male line himself in time.’
‘Yes... I suppose he will,’ Margaret said, feeling oddly cold at the prospect. Would Giles change his plans for the future when he heard the news? Perhaps not immediately, but in time he might be forced to reconsider his future.
‘Well, it need not affect your relationship,’ Kitty went on blithely. ‘Giles is head over heels in love with you, Magda. No wife is going to interfere with that.’
‘These things are all subject to change,’ Margaret replied, outwardly much calmer than she felt. ‘At the moment we think only of the next hour, the next day.’
‘How wise you are to do so,’ Kitty replied approvingly. ‘I have been in your position, Magda, and I know it can be uncomfortable at times—but I shall always remain your friend. Please remember that should you ever need help.’
Margaret promised that she would and they moved on to greet other friends. Kitty had given her thoughts an uneasy turn, but she tried not to let them spoil her evening. Everyone was in high spirits, perhaps because the sense of danger had heightened their awareness. For some of the young men gathered at Lord Ellwood’s party that evening, time was running short. Margaret could only pray that Giles was not amongst their number.
* * *
The evening passed off well, and it was not until they were leaving that one of the gentlemen asked her if she had seen Caroline Hammond recently.
‘Of course she is Lady Hazelmere now,’ Edward Marshall said and pulled a face. ‘Rushford is as mad as fire, I dare say—but I doubt we shall see him here. He will not venture abroad until things are settled.’
‘You have seen Caroline and Sir Roderick here in Brussels’?’
‘Why, yes, only this morning,’ he replied. ‘He has rejoined his old regiment, I dare say, as many of us have. Got to answer the call to the Iron Duke, don’t you know? Can’t send him out alone with that rabble they are pleased to call the army.’
‘Have you any idea of their lodgings?’ Margaret asked. ‘I should like to see Caroline, to make sure she is well and ‘appy.’
‘Not much doubt of that, ma’am. She looked blooming from what I could see, and Sir Roderick is like a dog with two tails. A pity that Rushford is determined to sue, but it may all brush over—a few thousand guineas and the matter is settled.’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Margaret replied feeling anxious. It seemed that Giles’s lawyers had not been able to settle the matter as he’d hoped. ‘Thank you for telling me. I was not aware they ‘ad arrived.’
‘Thought you’d be pleased with the news,’ he said. ‘May I say you are looking particularly lovely this evening, Comtesse. Benedict is a lucky fellow—always happy to oblige you if you should wish for a change, Magda. Always admired you from a distance, you know.’
‘You are very kind,’ Margaret said and smiled at him, for he was young, eager and inoffensive, his offer made rather wistfully as if he knew he had no chance of winning the prize.
Margaret mentioned her conversation with Edward Marshall when she was alone with Giles later that evening. He frowned when she told him that Mr Rushford was still intent on his pound of flesh.
‘I shall write to my lawyers with further instructions,’ he said. ‘I knew he would not be easily dealt with, for he has a vindictive streak. We may have to pay, though I shall see what can be done to reduce the amount. But for the moment that is not so important. What shall you do about Caroline and your brother?’
‘I intend to call on them. I would mend the breach if it is possible, Giles.’
‘You are very forgiving.’
‘They are my only family. Besides, I believe Caroline will be wretched until she has seen me.’
Giles nodded. ‘Well, we are going shopping tomorrow morning, but you may call on them later if you wish, my love. You know the address of their lodgings?’
‘Mr Marshall was able to help me there. I believe I shall find them easily enough.’
She gave no hint of her uncertainty, for it would not be easy to meet her brother in new circumstances. He would be bound to feel defensive over his own behaviour and might chide her for her own.
Putting such doubts to one side, Margaret went willingly into her lover’s arms. She had decided to say nothing for the moment of her suspicions concerning a child. Giles would of course have to be told as soon as she was certain. She prayed that it would not change things between them, for these past months had been such a happy time, for them both, she believed.
His kisses were as hungry and as sweet as ever, his tender loving bringing her to a satisfying climax that swept her away on a tide of pleasure. And afterwards they slept, limbs entwined, hearts beating almost as one.
Giles seemed intent on making her happy. The next morning he took her to an exclusive jeweller’s shop and bought her a beautiful diamond pendant on a rope of huge, creamy pearls, and matching eardrops. He also insisted on buying her a gold bangle set with pearls in a design of a crescent moon with a diamond star at its centre.
‘That means you are special,’ the jeweller told her with a smile. ‘In the language of jewellery it tells you that you mean both the moon and the stars to the person who buys it for you—and one presumes the whole world as well.’
‘Or simply that it is a beautiful object,’ Giles murmured drily. ‘Fit for a beautiful lady.’
Margaret laughed, for he was actually looking as if the jeweller’s words had embarrassed him. ‘I am interested in the language of jewellery,’ Margaret said and the man beamed at her, explaining that in some of the items the first letters of the stones spelt a message.
‘This is Regard,’ he said. ‘Ruby, emerald, garnet, agate, ruby and diamond.’
‘Ah, yes,’ Margaret cried as she picked up a brooch with different coloured stones. ‘And this, I think, spells Dearest.’
He congratulated her on her quick grasp of the idea and when his assistant presented the neatly wrapped packages bowed them to the door.
‘I shall hope to see you again, madame. My good wishes for the future.’
Margaret thanked him and smiled. Giles gave her a wry look.
‘There is a man with an eye to business if ever I met one.’
‘Yes, certainly. But it was interesting to discover there is a secret message attached to some gifts. I shall take more interest in future when someone displays a new ring, for it may also mean a new lover. It is certainly a fascinating idea.’
Giles arched his brows at her mockingly. ‘I would not have thought you interested in such romantic notions, Magda. Can this be the same woman who consigned marriage to the devil in favour of a sensible relationship?’
There was something odd in the way he looked at her then that caused a prickling of unease at her nape. Margaret could not decide if he was teasing her or asking something important. Her breath quickened and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him to explain when she saw Caroline and Roddy coming towards them.
For a moment they all stared at one another awkwardly, and then Margaret smiled and took a few steps forward, her hands outstretched in welcome.
‘Caroline, my dear...’
‘Oh, Maggie!’ Caroline cried. ‘I have been so nervous of meeting you.’
‘Did you think I would be angry with you?’ Margaret embraced her warmly, kissing her cheeks and then drawing back to look at her. ‘Tell me, dearest—are you well and happy?’
‘Oh, yes, very much so. As long as you do not hate me? I could not bear that after all your kindness. I thought you would be terribly angry with us, Maggie.’
‘I could never hate you, though I was angry for a time.’ Margaret turned to her brother, her manner slightly less warm. ‘And you, Roddy—what have you to say?’ I
‘You blame me for what happened, of course,’ he said, looking rather ashamed and yet unwilling to admit it. ‘And you are right. I persuaded Caro to elope with me. She was not happy about deceiving you.’
‘I had no doubt of it,’ Margaret replied. ‘And I was angry at first. Hurt and upset that you had not considered my feelings, but also anxious. I could not know for certain that you had eloped and I wondered if there had been an accident. You might have sent me a note to tell me you were all right, Roddy.’
‘Well, I could not at first,’ he said. ‘You were right and we did have a small accident after we left London. A wheel came off the chaise I was driving and it almost overturned. In fact, we had more trouble with the whole business than I had imagined and then we thought we would visit you instead of sending a letter, but you were not at home. Your servants would not reveal your whereabouts and we had no idea where you were until we heard you were here in Brussels.’
He was frowning at her and Margaret realised that he did not approve of what she had done in taking Giles as her lover. Well, she had expected that and would not let it distress her.
‘As you see, we are indeed here,’ she replied, her head high. She met her brother’s cool stare unflinchingly. ‘Giles’s place is with Wellington and I came with him. We have an understanding and you will please respect that, Roddy. Indeed, you must do so if we are to remain friends.’
‘Sir Roderick and I will discuss this at another time, more privately,’ Giles spoke for the first time. ‘For now I think we should repair to a decent inn and bespeak our nuncheon. Tell me, sir, which troop have you been assigned to?’
Giles skilfully drew him on, leaving the ladies to follow a few steps behind. Caroline looked at her shyly.
‘We heard... are you Lord Benedict’s friend, Maggie? Or should I still call you Magda?’
‘Magda is better for the moment. And, yes, we are lovers. I suppose some would call me Giles’s mistress, though that would not be a true description. We are friends certainly and lovers, but also equals. There is no master or mistress in our relationship.’
‘Oh...’ Caroline digested that in silence. ‘I love Roddy very much, but I would not call myself his equal. He—he looks after me and is everything I could desire in a husband, but though he always consults my wishes, I know that his is the stronger will. I am not as quick and clever as Roddy—or you. I think you ought to have been born a man, Magda.’
‘Once I would have agreed with you,’ Margaret replied and laughed. ‘But things have changed for me. I no longer wish to be anything other than I am now. However, I see no reason why a woman should not be the equal of a man if she can truthfully lay claim to it. Yet I know many ladies who would not only disagree, but shriek with horror at the very idea. They prefer to be pampered and petted, as Felicia does, and if that is their choice then it is not for me to say they are wrong. However, it would not do for me—which is why I was never interested in making an attachment until I met Giles.’
Caroline nodded her understanding and then looked sad. ‘Have you heard that the Duchess of Belmont has lost her child? They say she was quite ill because of it and may not be able to bear another child. Is that not sad for her?’
‘Yes, very. I am truly sorry. I wrote to wish her well. God willing she may yet recover enough to give her husband his heir.’
‘They say he has renounced all thought of it. Apparently, his wife is of paramount importance in his eyes. He adores her.’
‘Then they may still be happy together.’
‘Yes... but children are important.’ Caroline’s voice held a wistful note. ‘I had hoped by now...’
‘It is early yet,’ Margaret reassured her. ‘Besides, Roddy will be in no hurry to share his wife with a babe. I trust all is well with you both—you have no problems that I may help you with, anything you wish to ask?’
Caroline blushed a delicate pink. ‘Oh, no, no problems. We are well suited in that respect and very happy. I do truly love him, Magda, and I know that he loves me.’
‘Then you must be patient for a little longer, dearest. It will happen in time. For some it happens quickly, with others a year or two may pass and still there is no need to worry.’
‘Roddy says he wants only me—but I should like children.’
‘I am sure you will have them. Now, tell me, are you invited to the Duchess of Richmond’s ball?’
The subject was changed, though it lingered on in Margaret’s mind. She had experienced nausea again that morning. So far she had managed to hide her sickness from Giles, but could not do so forever. Besides, it would be foolish to wait too long. Yet she knew he had much on his mind at the moment and did not wish him to be anxious for her sake.
War was creeping closer. Margaret knew that Giles was expecting something to happen soon. No, she decided, she would not burden him with more worry at this moment. She would know when the right time had come. Until then she would keep her suspicions to herself.
It was about eleven o’clock the next morning when Margaret’ s housekeeper came into the parlour to tell her that Sir Roderick Hazelmere had called to see her. Giles was not at home, having been summoned to a meeting with Wellington, and Margaret’s heart sank as her brother was asked to come in. His expression was grim and she knew at once that he had come to pull caps with her.
‘I suppose you know that you have ruined yourself?’ he said without preamble. ‘No decent man would marry you now.’
Margaret raised her head, giving him a direct look. ‘Since I have no wish to marry that is of little interest to me, Roddy. And I hardly think your own behaviour has been exemplary of late. Please do not presume to lecture me about mine.’
‘How could you do it, Maggie? You preached to me about propriety and scandal—a fine scandal there would be if your true identity were known. Caroline has enough to bear without that, and I should not care for it much. Some of our friends make nothing of what happened, but others... she has recently been cut in the street by one lady she thought her friend.’
‘I am sorry about that, but it will pass in time and you will know your true friends.’
‘If there is another scandal, we shall be ostracised altogether.’ He glared at her as if the whole sorry business was her fault.
‘I am sorry if you think I have let you down,’ Margaret replied, hiding her hurt at his harsh tones. ‘But I shall not reveal my identity to anyone, and there is really no need for you to do so, my dear. You have my permission to cut me in public, if you prefer.’
‘Don’t be such a damned fool! As if I would do that. I am your brother and I care for you.’
‘Then be glad for me that I have found happiness.’
‘That’s all very well, Maggie—but people would think you shameless if they knew you had never been married.’
‘Then do not mention that I am your sister to anyone.’
‘You may depend on it that I shall not own to it,’ he said, clearly still angry with her. ‘But that is not my only concern. I am anxious for you, Maggie. What is to become of you when he loses interest in you?’
‘Are you so sure that he will?’
Roddy had the grace to blush. ‘Well, your arrangement is hardly permanent, is it? These things are by nature merely temporary—otherwise he would marry you.’
‘I was not aware that either of us had discussed that with you.’
‘No, well, that’s beside the point—these things always end in time. That, after all, is why a caring father insists on a decent marriage for his daughter—as I would have done for you if you had consulted me.’
‘You have become as tedious as Mr Rushford, Roddy,’ Margaret said. ‘If this is what marriage has done for you, I do not care for it.’
‘I am your brother and the head of the family!’
‘And I am well past the age when I would allow anyone to dictate to me,’ she reminded him coolly. ‘If that is all you have to say to me, Roddy, I wish you will go away.’
‘Well, do not come running to me when he throws you out!’
‘He is hardly likely to do so since the house is in my own name and I paid the lease myself. Giles is my lover, Roddy, not my protector. We are equals and I am as likely to leave him as he to leave me.’
‘You will not be told,’ Roddy said and glared at her. ‘I’m sorry for you, Maggie, and that’s the truth of it. I never thought you would be such a fool as to let a man use you this way.’
‘Please leave now, before I say something I shall regret. You may bring Caroline to see me when you have reconsidered your rudeness.’
His brow furrowed angrily but he said no more, simply turning on his heel and walking out on her, the door closing behind him with a little bang. Margaret frowned. For some unaccountable reason she was close to tears, but she had no intention of letting her brother reduce her to that state. She had been prepared to forgive him, but it seemed that he was not ready to do the same for her.
Oh, damn him! She was not going to cry and she was not going to let him spoil things for her. She would go and visit Kitty and talk about new dresses and bonnets and forget all the rest.
* * *
Margaret wore the beautiful jewellery Giles had given her for the first time on the evening of the Duchess of Richmond’s ball. She had a new gown of dark green silk with a high waistline tied with a wide sash of a paler shade and trimmed at the hem with delicate embroidery. She had purchased the gown and matching slippers herself, as she did most things she wanted. While she was prepared to accept gifts and allowed Giles to buy their wine, she was not a kept woman. She had made it clear at the start that she would not accept carte blanche, and Giles had not offended her by offering. They played the game by unspoken rules and he seemed to understand her almost better than she knew herself.
There had been times these past few days, especially since her quarrel with Roddy, which had not yet been made up, when she was plagued by irrational doubts and fears. She had been tempted to tell Giles that she suspected she might be with child, but something had made her hold back. She was not sure if it was fear that their relationship would change or whether she was merely concerned not to place the burden of knowledge on his shoulders.
However, as their carriage conveyed them to the ball that evening, Margaret had nothing on her mind but an evening of pleasure. She was looking forward to meeting the Duke of Wellington, of whom she had heard so much, and to dancing with Giles.
They did not arrive until the first couples were already dancing, having been somehow delayed by an urge to make love when they ought to have been dressing. It had been sweet and hungry, almost as urgent as the first time they had ever lain together, but more satisfying.
Giles had laughingly apologised for his impatience.
‘Forgive me, my darling,’ he whispered afterwards as he helped her to fasten the necklace he had given her. ‘I do not know how it is that you look even more lovely lately. It seems that I cannot keep from touching you, wanting to love you.’
‘For that you need never apologise,’ she said and laughed huskily. ‘I think love must be a drug, Giles, for it becomes addictive. No matter how much we have of each other we want more.’
‘Like those poor wretches bound to their opium pipes in China?’ Giles teased. ‘Yes, perhaps you are right, Magda. Whatever the reason, I find I can never have enough of you—and if you look at me like that we shall not go to the ball at all.’
His threats made her laugh, but there was no danger of his denying her the treat. It was important for her to be accepted socially, and Giles was aware that this honour might not have come her way had Wellington not insisted on it himself.
The Duke knew well that Giles would not attend without her and had made his wishes known. It was his particular desire to meet the Comtesse de Grenelle, he told his hostess. At this hour of destiny his word was law; had the Duchess not issued the invitation, she might perhaps have found herself without two of her most important guests.
Margaret had no idea of this, naturally, for Giles could keep a secret as well as she. Had she but known much of what was in his mind, her thoughts might have been very different that night, so perhaps it was as well that he was what Wellington termed a born diplomat and the soul of discretion.
Finding herself welcomed warmly by the Duchess of Richmond and then by the Iron Duke himself, Margaret was prepared to enjoy herself. She understood at once why the thin-faced man with the rather hooked nose and steely eyes inspired such respect amongst his men, and when she caught a glimpse of something akin to amusement in his eyes knew why he was loved by many of his closest aides.
Giles danced with her first, but at the end of the set they were joined by a group of their friends who challenged him to give her up to them. Laughing, Giles allowed Ellwood’s claim and went off to join Wellington, who had received some disturbing news earlier and was waiting for confirmation.
Later he claimed priority, whisking Margaret away from under the nose of a young lieutenant and leading her on to the dance floor for a waltz.
‘Are you enjoying yourself, my darling?’ he asked as he held her close, whirling her around the floor so fast that for a moment she was breathless.
‘You know that I am. Our friends are all here. Kitty was wild with jealousy over my bracelet. She knew what it meant immediately—or at least, what the jewellers claim it to mean.’
‘Kitty is a charming lady,’ Giles said and she felt the pressure of his hand a little firmer in the small of her back. ‘I think she would be a good friend to you—should you need one in the near future.’
Margaret felt a warning chill at her nape, but kept her tone steady as she said, ‘You have news?’
‘It is expected,’ Giles said and glanced across the room as someone he knew as a trusted aide whispered in Wellington’s ear. ‘I believe it may have arrived. If it is as I think, I must leave you shortly.’ He looked down at her, eyes suddenly dark with some deep emotion. ‘Come outside. Magda. I have something I must say.’
She let him draw her from the brilliantly lit ballroom where an atmosphere of pleasure had suddenly become tense with expectation, noticing that that several young officers had slipped away or were talking earnestly to their dear ones. In the garden Giles did not immediately embrace her, gazing into her face in way that made her heart skip a few beats.
‘I do not need to tell you that I care deeply for you, Magda?’
‘As I do for you, Giles. I—’
‘Hush,’ he cautioned and placed a finger to her lips. ‘This ought perhaps to have been said earlier, but I did not wish to spoil things. I have made certain arrangements for you—and for any eventuality of our relationship. No, do not protest, Magda. You have meant more to me than any woman I have known. I know that you have money of your own, but you also have a headstrong brother and I could not have rested easily had I not done what I could to protect you.’
‘There was no need,’ she said, her throat tight, for such talk could only mean that he had prepared for his death. ‘Oh, do not speak of such matters, I beg you! I want only you, Giles. The rest means naught.’
‘It means something to me. In the event of my death, my lawyers will contact you, but do not look so distraught, my love. I assure you that I have no intention of dying just yet. It is merely a precaution out of my regard for you.’
‘Giles, I love you.’ Her lashes were wet with the tears she was fighting to hold hack. Still she did not speak of the child, could not at this final moment of their parting. If he worried so much for her sake, it would simply cause him more anxiety. He must not think of her in the heat of battle, only of himself. Oh, pray God he would come back safe to her!
‘As I you. Now I must leave you, Magda. My duty is to Wellington and the army.’
‘Yes, of course.’ She could not delay him though her heart cried out for one more hour, one more day.
Oh, my love, my love, her heart called to him, but no words passed her lips as he gazed down at her, though she knew he had heard her silent message as she was hearing his.
He bent his head and kissed her, so much pain and passion in that kiss that it tore the heart from her as he broke free, striding off without a backward glance, as if to look back would unman him.
‘Oh, Giles,’ she whispered as a sob rose in her throat. ‘Come back to me, my love. I do not think that I could bear to live without you now.’
Such a fool! Such a fool to have given all of herself.
Margaret ruefully recalled the woman she had been. Oh, Aunt Kate had been right after all! Love was something that denied all sense, overcame all reason. She had believed she could limit her commitment, walk away from their affair when it cooled and still find some kind of a life for herself. Never had she dreamed that her feelings for this man would be so all consuming, so powerful that without him she would be only half-alive.
She knew without a shadow of a doubt that had he asked her to be his wife before he left she would have given him her promise. Where was her fine independence now? Margaret laughed inwardly as she recalled her careless words to Caroline a few days earlier.
No master, indeed! Giles possessed her body and soul. She admitted it now and the humour of her total surrender brought a return of courage.
This wicked, wicked war! How she hated it, hated that it must be. Like every other woman whose man must fight, she resented the need. Why must men fight to settle their differences?
Men must die and women weep. Who had said that? She neither knew nor cared. Her heart was ripped apart, her tears burning with the tears that gathered. Yet there was something in her that would not let her give way to this terrible grief. Her head came up, her face proud.
She must not weep too soon. Prayers might help, but in truth all she could do was wait and hope that Giles would come back to her.
Chapter Nine
The worst part was the waiting, Giles thought. In the quiet of early morning before battle was due to commence, when it was impossible for men to sleep and yet too soon to rise, that was when your personal devils came to haunt you. Her face haunted him when he slept. That teasing smile and the magical laughter that had bewitched him; her accent that she often allowed to slip these days, unless she wished to tease him: all had combined to ensnare his heart. How he longed for her, to tell her what was in his heart, to lie in the quiet hours whispering together. Yet he must not think of her, for he had his duty and in a few hours he would need all his wits about him.
The situation on the ground was not good. Napoleon Bonaparte’s swift action had surprised even Wellington, who had believed that the attack was more likely to come from the rear. Cleverly, Bonaparte had made demonstrations of force towards the coast of France, as if planning to cut off the British from their supply route, when all the time he had another bolder plan in mind.
His commanders were Ney, Grouchy, and Soult, men of stature and popular with the ranks. From the first week in June all the frontiers had had been sealed, as Giles had reported, and the French corps, Imperial cavalry and Reserve guard had begun to converge towards the area Bonaparte had designated, concentrated around Beaumont. The French presence there in such large numbers so close to the borders threatened the safety of Brussels itself.
His action had surprised the Allies and Wellington had smartly ordered his army to move west of Brussels towards Mons, believing that the French might go for his right flank. Blücher, suspecting something, had ordered his army towards Fleurus, thus blocking the path of the French right wing. The effect had been to cut the Allies in two, which suited the French.
Wellington had now realized that Bonaparte’s aim was to control the road through Quatre Bras to Sombeffe, cutting the Allies off from each other completely. However, when on the fifteenth of June Ney was in sight of his objective, a small Allied force, who had not immediately obeyed the order to move west, gave the French general pause. He had halted—something Giles was sure was due to the mistaken belief on his part that Wellington’s main army was waiting out of sight to pounce.
It was during the ball that the Iron Duke had realized he’d been duped and ordered his army toward Quatre Bras, but as he had said to Giles in confidence, ‘We shall be damned fortunate if we can muster enough men in time to fend Ney off.’
‘General Picton’s Fifth Division is still at Brussels, sir, and we’ve word from Blücher that he will support us.’
Giles had been out scouting all day on the sixteenth, Wellington declaring that he was of more use as a courier for the moment. The overall picture was thus: there had been two battles about seven miles apart. The Emperor and Grouchy were in action against Blücher’s forces of some eighty-odd thousand men and Ney attacked at somewhere around two o’clock that afternoon. As Wellington was reported to say to one of his lieutenants, ‘It seems our luck is in, for the fool delays when he might have caught us with our boots off.’
Bonaparte had needed reinforcements against the Prussians and Giles had learned that orders had been sent to bring Ney to him, but for some reason there was a misunderstanding and an important corps did not take part in either battle.
As Giles reported to his general that evening, ‘There was a time when I thought it was all up with Blücher, sir. Had Ney sent reinforcements, they might have crushed the right flank.’
Since the muddle Bonaparte’s generals had made of the day’s work had enabled Blücher to hold out and Wellington to gain the upper hand as more of his own troops arrived, the situation had changed in favour of the Allies.
‘Tomorrow will see the beginning of the end,’ Wellington told Giles. ‘What happens then will decide our fate, I think.’
‘Yes, sir. I believe that you are right.’
With his commander’s words ringing in his ears it was hardly likely that Giles would find it easy to sleep that night, though he had snatched a few hours wrapped in his cloak, but he was awake now and knew that he would not sleep again.
He began to walk about the camp, exchanging words with men who could not rest either, aware that their minds must be divided between thoughts of their loved ones and the coming battle. Already there had been men wounded and killed, and some of them had been transported back to Brussels, away from the front line—but only the seriously injured were relieved of duty; all others would fight on.
Giles stopped to talk to men he knew, men he had fought with in the past, speaking of trivialities and saying nothing of what was truly in their minds. He came upon Lord Ellwood staring at a wood not too far distant and asked if something had disturbed him.
‘You look as if you expect trouble from that quarter?’
‘No...’ Ellwood shook his head and smiled ruefully. ‘It was merely that I was thinking... It is at times like this that you wonder who will remember you, Giles. I have not considered marriage seriously for it seemed that there was plenty of time, but now I think of the son I might have had.’
‘And will have,’ Giles said and squeezed his shoulder. ‘You have fought the French before and survived, my friend. I have no doubt that you will do so again.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Ellwood grinned at him. ‘It’s this damned waiting. Once we begin I think of nothing but winning my way through whatever is in front of me— but I can’t stand the dark hours, Giles.’
‘I believe we are all much the same,’ Giles said, for his words had echoed those that had been running through his mind all night.
Damned fool that he was! Why the hell had he not spoken the truth to Magda a week ago, told her what was in his mind and heart? She might have consented to be married quietly before the war began—it was what he wanted, what he had wanted for months. Yet he had held back from speaking. At first it had amused him that she was determined to carry her masquerade through, but then the desire to have her as his wife had become stronger and stronger.
He knew now without a shadow of a doubt that he loved her. At the start he had confused love with lust; mistaking her for something that she was not had led him astray. He smiled ruefully as he realised that he had done everything wrong from the beginning.
Magda had told him she did not wish to marry, but he should have courted her, made her see that marriage did not necessarily mean the end of freedom. Oh, of course with some men it would mean exactly that, and Giles had often frowned over the behaviour of men he knew and liked, wondering at the way they changed after marriage. A wife belonged to her husband, as did her property, but there were ways to make it a good arrangement, as there were things that might be done to ensure that a woman did not have to ask for every penny she spent.
It was damned uncivilised the way some men expected their wives to be at their beck and call, and he would never dream of treating Magda like that. Not that she would let him! Giles smiled to himself as he thought of her fiery independence. It was her spirit that made her such an exciting lover, and these past months had been both thrilling and satisfying—satisfying to a point, that was. He thought that he might be willing to sacrifice some of the excitement to have her as his own.
This freedom thing was a two-edged sword, damn it! While he was free to thank Magda and walk away from the relationship, so was she—and there were several others only too willing to oblige her. She might take her pick of a dozen gentlemen if she chose.
Over his dead body!
Giles had the uneasy feeling that she had been hiding something from him recently. He was not certain what it was, but he had seen a certain expression in her eyes...
She could not be tiring of him!
‘Ah, Benedict,’ a voice hailed him and he turned to see Sir Roderick approaching him. ‘I hoped I might see you.’
‘Hazelmere—what may I do for you?’
‘It’s awkward. Not really the thing to bring it up at this time—but it might be my only chance, if you see what I mean?’
‘Speak out, sir. No other time will be better for what you have to say.’
‘No, don’t suppose it will. Two things really—would you mind telling me what you intend towards my sister in the future?’
‘Normally I would tell you to go to hell,’ Giles said. ‘But I shall give you the truth as neither of us may live beyond the day—if she will have me, I shall marry her.’
‘Damn me if Caro wasn’t right,’ Roddy ejaculated, looking stunned. ‘She told me she was sure you would marry Maggie, but that she was the one holding off. I may tell you that I reprimanded my sister for being so careless of her virtue, but if your intention is to marry her—’
‘Exactly.’ Giles clenched his fists. If it had not been a few hours before an important battle, he would have done his best to knock Hazelmere’s head from his shoulders, but that would be a waste of effort and could result in them both being shot as troublemakers. ‘If you breathe one word of this to your sister, I shall see that you regret it, sir!’
‘No, no,’ Roddy said at once. ‘Leave it to you, Benedict. Know your own business best. Maggie would only bite my head off again. Caroline said it served me right.’ He paused, then said hesitantly, ‘I wanted to ask—if anything should happen to me...’
‘I shall see that your wife is not left stranded in Brussels,’ Giles said at once. ‘Not that she would be alone, for I know that Magda is very fond of her.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Roddy had the grace to look a little ashamed. ‘Made a bit of a cake of meself, haven’t I?’
‘Shall we forget and start again?’ Giles asked and extended his hand. ‘No point in quarrelling at a time like this.’
‘No!’ Roddy said with feeling. ‘It’s this damned waiting—that’s what made me seek you out. Don’t mind when we get started, don’t you know. Can’t stand this time in the morning.’
Giles smiled. ‘Everyone feels the same,’ he said. ‘Think how it must be for our ladies. They can do nothing but wait...’
It was just before the dawn that she found herself lying awake, her thoughts reaching out to Giles as if to draw him to her. Where was he and what was he doing? Had he seen action—had he been wounded? But, no, she felt that he would know if his life were in danger.
Sometimes as she lay halfway between sleeping and waking she almost believed she could hear his voice talking to her, telling her he loved her, asking her to wait for him.
‘Of course I shall wait for you, my love,’ Margaret whispered. ‘I could never love anyone as I love you.’
She wished that there was something she might do to ease the anxiety of simply waiting. If only she could be of some use in some way!
* * *
‘Do you really think you ought to in your condition, Kitty?’ Magda asked her as she told her what she was going to do. ‘Freddie would be furious with you.’
‘I can’t stand the waiting,’ Kitty said and pulled a face at her. ‘The not knowing what is going on out there...’
‘Yes, I know what you mean—but sometimes I feel that it is almost better when there is no news.’
‘But at least if you know...’ Kitty shivered and closed her arms over herself for a moment. ‘When I saw that wagonload of wounded come in and realised they had nowhere left to put them, I knew we had to do something, Magda. I’ve commandeered a public hall and asked everyone I know what they are willing to contribute to help our men.’
‘You know I shall give money for medical supplies and food,’ Margaret said. ‘But like you I find it difficult to wait at such a time. If you can provide me with something useful to do, I am only too willing to help.’
‘The hospitals are already stretched,’ Kitty told her. ‘I’ve been told that there has been heavy fighting for two days, and, God help us, some are saying that the French will break through our lines today—someone came in this morning to say that yesterday Wellington was forced to retreat to somewhere called Mont-Saint-Jean...’
Margaret’s face paled as she heard the news. She took a deep breath. Her fear was not for herself, but for Giles and the other young men who had ridden out so bravely to confront the enemy.
‘Tell me what you want me to do.’
‘Some of the ladies are willing to roll bandages and keep records, that sort of thing—but I need nurses. I thought you might feel able to do that, though I know some would disapprove of you for doing it. Particularly as the men are of all ranks, not just officers.’
‘They were all wounded fighting for their country and for us,’ Margaret said. ‘Of course I shall come, and at once.’ She stood up and rang the bell for her housekeeper, explaining that she wanted money from her strongbox and her shawl as she was going out and did not know when she would be returning.
‘They say that the French army will break through by evening, madame,’ the woman said, looking frightened. ‘Are you leaving Brussels?’
‘No, I am not,’ Margaret replied. ‘I do not fear such a thing and those fools who are fleeing Brussels will find more danger on the road than here in the city. I am going to help with nursing the wounded—and you may tell any of my servants that they are at liberty to come and help. They will not be accused of deserting their posts if they have been nursing the sick.’
The woman looked relieved. ‘I thought you were leaving us.’
‘No, not at all,’ Margaret said. ‘Come and help me nurse our men, Madame Hellier, and I shall reward you for your trouble.’
‘I shall certainly come with you, Madame la Comtesse, for the streets are full of the rough element, they say, those who will take the chance to steal and loot while the city is in uproar.’
Margaret knew that for the past several days many of the shops had boarded up their windows and doors to keep out the French army and looters alike. From her window she had seen the panic on the streets as many tried to flee the city, but she had given no thought to the idea.
Each day she had been on a tour of the hospitals, checking the list of wounded and feeling terrified until she saw that the names she dreaded to find had not been added to the tally. So far she had seen only one fatality listed that she knew personally, though Edward Marshall had been slightly wounded in the first battle.
She had visited him for a few minutes and found him fretful. He was in pain from the slash to his arm by the sword of a French hussar, but otherwise seemed in reasonable shape.
‘It seems I am lucky,’ he had told her. ‘I have no fever and wish that I could be back with my comrades.’
‘You would not be much help to them at the moment,’ she had comforted him. ‘You have done your share, sir.’
Later, when she had done what she could at the hospital Kitty had set up, she would visit him again, Margaret thought. But for now she was at last going to be able to do something useful.
If she worked until she was too tired to think, perhaps it would make this time of waiting easier to bear.
Wellington’s ploy of retreating to Mont-Saint-Jean had fooled the French as much as those left behind in Brussels. In fact, it was not a retreat but a regrouping, enabling the general to spread his troops more thinly and wait for Blücher to come up to him again. His position was strong, and his force was posted in three places of strategic importance: La Haie Sainte in the centre, Hougoumont Chateau to the right, Papelotte on the left.
There were sixty-eight thousand British and Allied troops under his command and he had a large contingent of heavy guns. As he had mentioned to Giles earlier, his only hope was to hang on to his position for all he was worth until Blücher could come up to him.
It had rained all the previous night, a circumstance that might explain why Bonaparte had delayed overlong. Indeed, the morning wore away and still there was no attack from the French.
‘What do you think he gains from this?’ Wellington asked when Giles came up to him with a message. ‘The fool should have come at me earlier. By this delay he gives us an advantage.’
‘I have heard whispers that he is not well,’ Giles said. ‘Our scouts took some prisoners last night and I understand that one of them was persuaded to talk. He complained that the emperor was not the man he had been; there were too many muddled orders, too much countermanding of orders—and this may be what is causing the delay.’
‘Whatever, it is damned convenient for us!’
Giles smiled inwardly. He had not added that the captured French had said Bonaparte openly scorned his enemy as ‘a damned Sepoy general’!
‘You may go and see where Blücher is, if you will,’ Wellington said carelessly, as if he were asking Giles to play a hand of cards and not to ride through enemy lines. ‘Report back when you can—and take a couple of trusted men with you.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Giles said. ‘I’ll bring you news of Blücher as soon as I can find him.’
‘You’d better pray the French don’t find him first!’
Giles grinned and walked away from his general. He summoned two stalwarts from the ranks and then turned to find Ellwood at his side.
‘May I be of assistance to you, Giles?’
‘We’re looking for the Prussians,’ Giles said. ‘They should be somewhere in the vicinity of the Blois de Paris. Come if you care to, Ellwood, and take one of these men with you. We’ll take two different routes and hope that one of us finds Blücher. If you spot him, your duty is to get back with the news. Remember that, all of you! The Duke is relying on Blücher. If one of you falls wounded, you leave him where he lies and ride all the harder. Victory may depend on your success.’
‘Good luck to you, Giles,’ Ellwood said and took his hand briefly before turning away. He mounted his horse and rode off, one of the soldiers following him. Giles motioned to his own escort, mounted and rode off in a slightly different direction. They knew which way the Prussians ought to be approaching from earlier messages, but it was a case of determining when Blücher could get to them.
Rumours were flying about the city. Some said Wellington was retreating towards Brussels, the French in hot pursuit, others that the rout was so complete the Allied forces were in disarray, still others that it was no such thing and the French were being held. It was impossible to be sure of anything—except that the fighting was fierce and might go either way.
Not until late in the evening did quite different stories begin to trickle into the city. Now they were told it was the French who had suffered setback after setback, but still the outcome was not certain. One thing that was indisputable was the numbers of dead and wounded on both sides.
Margaret had never before understood the reality of war, had never understood how it might smell or taste or look. It was something she would never forget and yet she knew that she had been right to respond to Kitty’s plea. There could be no doubt that she and other ladies who had answered the call were needed, even if they could do no more than hold a soldier’s hand as he died or stroke a fevered brow.
The situation was desperate. More and more wounded men were coming in, though theirs was only one of many emergency stations set up to cope with the injured. Margaret was too busy to think of anything other than the constant need for fresh bandages, water and bedding. Her fears for Giles and her brother were constantly at the back of her mind, but the cries of those in terrible pain prevented her from dwelling on her own fears too much.
She and others took turns to rest throughout the long night, but none of them went home. Their own comfort was the farthest from their thoughts, the reality of unbearable pain stripping away all pretence of normality. It was an odd existence: fine ladies who would never have thought of dirtying their hands in their own houses were willingly carrying water or rolling bandages, helping where they could and working side by side with their humbler sisters.
Every time a new batch of wounded came in, Margaret’s heart caught with fear. She prayed desperately that Giles would not be amongst the wounded or dead.
She was there when Lord Ellwood was brought in on a stretcher, a bloody bandage round his head. One of the doctors called to her to assist him.
‘This man is badly wounded, nurse. I need to operate at once or he will die.’
‘I am not a nurse, sir, but I shall willingly do what I can to help.’
He frowned at her. ‘You seemed so efficient I thought you must be one of our few trained helpers. Well, you are all I’ve got, so you will have to do. Don’t faint at the sight of blood, do you?’
‘I hope not, sir. I am here to help, not hinder you.’
He gave her an approving nod and proceeded to outline what he meant to do. It seemed that the head wound was the least of Lord Ellwood’s problems. He had a badly torn leg, which had to come off for it would not mend.
‘Is there no way of saving it?’ Margaret asked, a wrench of pity clawing at her heart for the man she knew as Giles’s closest friend.
‘None or I should not waste my time in taking it off.’ He outlined what he was going to do and her part in it. Margaret felt the sickness swirl in her stomach, but did as she was bid. The awful sound of a saw cutting through a man’s leg just below his knee was one that she thought might haunt her the rest of her life. However, she neither fainted nor vomited, standing her ground as she was passed the bloody remains and told to dispose of it while he patched the man up.
‘Come back as soon as you’ve done,’ the surgeon told her. ‘If you aren’t a nurse yet, you should consider it. You’re a damned fine woman.’
Night had become day and day night, a constant blur of pain and misery as she made her rounds of the beds where injured soldiers lay weeping, begging for help she could not give them. There was hardly any medication and what there was they saved for amputation cases; the lesser injuries were left to heal themselves. Once a man was bandaged there was little Margaret could do for him other than offer a cup of water and a soothing hand on his brow.
‘Oh, God,’ she prayed constantly as the tears caught at her throat. ‘Do not let this happen to Giles. Please do not let him suffer this...’
She would rather he had a clean death, she thought. Her eyes were gritty with tiredness and red rimmed, but she could not think of leaving while she was needed here.
Somewhere—in some lonely field hospital—Giles might be calling for her as these men called for their loved ones. She prayed that a gentle woman would do what she could to help him in his agony.
But no! She would not let herself think like that. Giles was strong and clever. He would live and he would return to her. She must believe it or her heart would break.
For two more days Margaret stayed at the makeshift hospital, snatching an hour’s rest when she could, but on the third day Doctor Morgan sent her home.
‘You will take a few hours for yourself, ma’am. Come back to me when you feel rested. You’ll be no good to me if you fall asleep at your post.’
‘It is a bath I need more than anything,’ Margaret said. ‘But I shall not desert you for long, sir.’
‘I am glad to hear it.’
Returning to her house, Margaret was welcomed by her housekeeper, who clucked over her like a brooding hen and ordered the bath she needed so desperately and a change of clothing.
‘Just a plain dark gown, if you please. This one is ruined, I am afraid.’
‘You are never going back there again, madame? You have surely done your share? Let someone else take your place.’
‘Certainly I shall return. I have given my word. Besides, there is still much to do and we do not have so many volunteers as at the start.’
It was not surprising. Men were limping home all the time, some of them the lesser wounded who had walked all the way back to Brussels, to loved ones and the comfort of their homes and lodgings. Many of the women who had helped out at the start had their own men to care for now that it seemed the war was over.
Margaret was not sure where she had heard it, for the past few days had passed in a blur, but bells had rung from the churches in triumph and the word was on everyone’s lips that Wellington had routed the French. She had few details of battles, defeats or victories, for her time had been devoted to nursing the sick and dying and she had scarcely been able to take in the news, but it seemed certain that it was all over bar the mopping up.
At the back of her mind her fear for Giles hovered like a bird of prey waiting to strike. She had held it back while she washed and dressed sorely injured men, but now it came to torment her with images of Giles lying somewhere in a makeshift bed, crying out for her as others cried for their loved ones.
‘Are there any letters for me, Madame Hellier?’ she asked the housekeeper after seeing that the salver in the hall was empty.
‘Yes, three. I left them in your room, madame.’
‘Thank you. I shall find them.’
Margaret went wearily upstairs. She could hear the maids preparing her bath in the dressing room as she picked up her letters. She was almost too tired to read them, but she saw the first was from Kitty, thanking her for her help. She laid it aside and briefly scanned one from Caroline asking if she might call, then looked at the third. Her heart missed a beat as she realised that it was Giles’s hand. Not quite as clear and strong as usual, but still his. Her hands trembled and her eyes stung as she tore it open, unable to see at first for the tears blinding her.
Beloved, Giles had written. I write this on the morning of the 19th to tell you that I am well. I received a slight wound to my shoulder in the fighting at Hougoumont yesterday, but was fortunate to escape with no worse. I have been treated at a field hospital and feel sore, but otherwise in spirits. I wish that I might come to you personally but this business must be finished and there is still much work to be done. The French are retreating, but we must follow. Bonaparte must not be allowed to escape for there has already been enough bloodshed. I cannot tell when I shall see you again, my love, and would advise you to seek a way of returning to your home in the near future. it may be some weeks, perhaps a month or two, before I can come to you, but be sure I shall do so as soon as possible.
Margaret sank down on to the edge of the bed, tears of relief coursing down her cheeks. Giles had survived. He was wounded, but not sufficiently to be released from his duties. Praise be to God! Her prayers had been answered.
‘Madame...’ Her housekeeper faltered as she paused in the doorway. ‘Have you had bad news?’
‘No.’ Her smile was brilliant. ‘It was foolish of me to weep. The news is the best, the very best. Lord Benedict is alive.’
‘That is good news indeed, madame. I understand why you weep, it has been a terrible time for you. I came to tell you that your bath is ready.’
‘Thank you. I shall enjoy it all the more now.’
Giles was alive! He was alive. After the strain of the past days it was almost too much to take in and she felt the relief overwhelm her. Only her strength of will prevented her from giving vent to the storm of tears that had built inside her.
Madame Hellier hesitated on the threshold, seeming unwilling to intrude at this time. ‘Lady Hazelmere called again. I told her you would see her in an hour. Was that sufficient time, madame?’
‘Caroline called again?’ Margaret’s brow furrowed. Caroline’s letter had not seemed urgent, but she would not have come unless she had good reason. ‘Yes, thank you, madame. I should be ready to see her by then.’
She had hoped to sleep for a while before returning to the hospital, but she would feel better after her bath.
‘Oh, Maggie,’ Caroline cried when she saw her. ‘They told me every time I called that you were at the hospital and I did not like to disturb you there. I am so worried. I have heard nothing of Roddy. His name is not on any of the lists of the—’ She choked and could not continue.
‘He has sent no word to you at all?’
‘No,’ Caroline said, her face white with strain. ‘He would do so if he could, I am sure of it.’
Margaret was sure of it too. ‘You have been to all the hospitals?’
‘Yes, all that I know of. I thought you might know of others I did not.’ She bit her lips, tears trembling on her thick lashes.
‘I have been told that some of the injured are being treated in field hospitals, dearest. Others may have found shelter for themselves. The lists are not always conclusive. You must be brave and try not to worry too much just yet. As long as Roddy is not listed as dead there is still hope.’
‘Yes, I know, but it is so hard. I do not know what I shall do if—’ She broke off on a sob, clearly beside herself with worry. ‘But I am selfish. You must be tired and anxious yourself.’
‘I am tired,’ Margaret admitted. ‘But I have heard from Giles. He is injured, but safe. Merely a flesh wound that does not keep him from his duty.’
‘He did not mention Roddy’?’
‘Had he done so I should have told you at once.’
‘Of course. It was foolish of me to ask. I should not have bothered you when you have so much to do.’
‘Now you are foolish. You know that I shall help you as much as I can, dearest. I am returning to the hospital station later and will make what inquiries I can. Have you spoken to Kitty?’
‘She has heard nothing of him.’ Caroline could not prevent a sob escaping. ‘They say there are rows of dead soldiers lying on the road to Brussels, the French and our men side by side... If Roddy is one of them I shall not be able to bear it.’
‘Now this will not do!’ Margaret said sharply. She had heard the stories herself, but it did not serve to dwell on them. ‘Stay and have something to eat with me, and then we shall go to the hospital together. We may ask there if anyone has heard anything.’
‘I do not think I could eat a morsel.’
‘It will not help Roddy if you make yourself ill, dearest. Have a croissant and honey with me, and a bowl of coffee. I dare say you have been neglecting yourself.’
Caroline gave her a wan smile and admitted that she had. ‘Perhaps I shall try to eat a little to please you.’
‘It would please me very much.’ Margaret smiled at her. ‘I have a feeling that my brother will turn up, Caroline. Do not despair just yet.’
Margaret made her usual round of the dimly lit room. Groans and the sound of muffled weeping came from the men lying in their hard cots, for these were the most seriously ill of all her patients and there was little she could do for them but offer water and kindness. Most were not expected to survive. She paused to glance down at a man who had lain unconscious since the desperate operation to remove his leg and saw to her surprise that his eyes were open and focusing on her.
‘Lord Ellwood?’
‘Water...’ he croaked and gulped eagerly as she held a cup to his lips.
‘Not too much at first. You have been in a fever some days, my lord.’
‘Magda?’ He blinked at her, clearly bewildered but recognising her. ‘Where am I?’
‘At one of the receiving stations we set up during the emergency. You have been here more than a week, sir.’
Many of the others who had come in at the same time had been transferred, to private accommodation if their relatives claimed them, or to the hospitals, but he had been considered too ill to move—and no one had come to claim him.
‘Have you been nursing me?’
‘Yes. Some of the time.’
‘You have cool hands.’ He offered a faint smile. ‘I think I must thank you for my life.’
‘Doctor Morgan saved your life, sir.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I am sorry, but he could not save your leg.’
He closed his eyes, his face working as he fought to accept the dreadful news, but then he opened them and looked at her again. ‘I’m damned lucky to be here. We rode straight into an ambush and I was caught in the full blast of the guns. Giles instructed us all that we must go on, but the trooper with me must have disobeyed orders and brought me in. Have you heard from Giles?’
‘He is safe.’ She laid a hand on his brow. ‘Hush now. You will tire yourself. Rest and sleep if you can. I shall come to you again when I am able.’
‘Giles is a lucky fellow. Told him at the start you couldn’t be the spy he was looking for. Too beautiful to be an assassin...’ His eyes rolled upwards as he spoke and he made an odd gasping sound that Margaret had learned to know only too well.
‘No!’ she cried, his last words forgotten as she bent over him. ‘Oh, please, no. Don’t die now... don’t die.’
Suddenly the tears were trickling down her cheeks. She reached out and closed his staring eyes, then bent down to kiss him softly on the mouth.
‘God protect and keep you, dear friend.’
She walked away blindly, overset by a storm of emotion that had stayed inside too long and was stopped by a pair of strong arms and a concerned exclamation from Dr Morgan.
‘Who was it?’ he asked, recognising the signs of exhaustion turning to grief.
‘Lord Ellwood. He had recovered consciousness. I thought he had turned the corner. There was no fever... I should have called you.’
‘I am not God. Like you, I do what I can.’
‘You have been wonderful,’ Margaret told him, wiping her face with the back of her hand. ‘I count it a privilege to have helped in whatever way I have.’
He smiled at her. ‘The men call you “the angel”, you know,’ he said. ‘And you have been a good brave girl, but now you must go home, take up your life again and try to forget the nightmare you have endured here— if that is possible.’
‘But there is still so much to do. I cannot desert you.’
‘This station is being closed down,’ Doctor Morgan told her. ‘It was a temporary measure, and as you know we have patched most of our patients up and sent them on. They will collect the others later and take them to the hospitals and I shall go back to my regular work.’
‘You work in private practice as a rule, I believe?’
‘That is so,’ he told her. ‘But when I was young I trained as a surgeon and I knew that I would be needed during the crisis. Now I shall go back to treating wealthy ladies with a nervous complaint or gentlemen who have the gout.’
‘You have been a hero, sir.’
‘I have done what I could, as we all have. In times like these we must do what is right—and my duty is to send you back to your loved ones, Magda.’
‘You know my name?’
‘I know everything about you,’ he said and the smile came from deep inside him. ‘And may I say it has been a privilege to know you, Madame de Grenelle.’
‘I am not a Comtesse,’ Margaret replied, for she felt compelled to speak the truth to this man with whom she had shared so many terrible hours. ‘My name is Margaret Hazelmere and I am unmarried.’
‘You are a brave lady and one I shall never forget,’ he said and then bent his head to kiss her briefly on the mouth. ‘God be with you, ma’am.’
‘And with you, sir.’
Chapter Ten
Margaret had just risen the next morning when one of the maids came up to tell her that Lady Hazelmere had arrived.
‘She says it is urgent, madame.’
‘Please ask Caroline to come up,’ Margaret said. ‘We can talk as I finish dressing.’
It was apparent as soon as Caroline entered the room that she was in great distress. She looked pale and shaken, clearly unable to cope with whatever was causing her distress.
‘You have heard something?’
‘One of Roddy’s friends came to tell me half an hour ago. He was missing for several days, but he has been found and brought to Brussels for treatment.’
‘That is surely good news?’
‘Yes, but...’ Caroline caught back a sob. ‘There was an explosion where he was standing and his head was wounded as he fell and... he cannot see.’
‘He has been blinded?’ Margaret felt the nausea rise in her throat, but fought against it. For a moment all she could see was her brother as a young boy, and then wearing his uniform when he was first commissioned, any unpleasantness that had been between them quite forgotten. ‘Were his eyes badly damaged? What do the doctors say?’
‘I am going to the hospital now,’ Caroline said and dabbed a kerchief to her eyes. ‘But I do not wish to go there alone. I know he was awful to you over Lord Benedict, but—’
‘Of course I shall come with you,’ Margaret confirmed at once, ‘I would not dream of letting you go alone. Besides, Roddy did not mean all those unpleasant things, I dare say, and it is forgotten. He is my brother, Caroline, and I must do whatever I can to help him and you through this thing.’
‘Oh, Maggie,’ Caroline cried on a jerky sob, ‘I do not think I could bear this if you were not here to support me.’
‘Well, I am here and we shall face this together, Caroline. Perhaps it may not be as bad as it seems, and blindness is not the end of the world. At least he is alive. So many of our friends have died—Lord Ellwood only yesterday as I was talking to him...’
He had said something strange just before he died. Margaret had not taken it in properly at the time because of the shock of his death, but it had come back to her later, making her wonder what he could have meant. Something about Giles having been wrong to think her a spy and her being too beautiful to be an assassin—now what could that mean? No, she must have mistaken his words or more likely he was wandering in his mind. In either case she had no time to think about it now.
‘How very sad,’ Caroline said and wiped her face on the kerchief Margaret handed her. I believe he had no family to speak of—or at least only a distant cousin who will now inherit the title, I suppose.’
‘Yes, it was sad. But I am ready now and we must delay no longer.’ She looked at Caroline’s white face. ‘Courage, dearest. You love your husband and must be prepared to accept whatever comes with courage.’
‘Yes, I shall, I am determined on it—but you will help me? You will not leave me?’
‘You know that I shall do all I can for you, and I shall stay with you until you have come to terms with whatever you must face.’
Margaret had been considering leaving Brussels for her home in France in a few days, but she could not think of it now. She must obviously stay with Caroline while she needed her.
‘The wound to Sir Roderick’s head is superficial,’ the doctor told them a little later that morning. ‘He should be able to leave hospital within a few days, but his eyes are another matter. To tell you the truth, madame, I do not know what has caused the loss of sight.’
‘His eyes were not burned by the flash or entered by splinters?’
‘No.’ He looked at Margaret thoughtfully. ‘You have had experience of such injuries?’
‘I helped a very little at one of the temporary receiving stations. I saw cases of burns and shrapnel wounds—and men blinded by them. They were in terrible pain. My brother...’
‘Ah...’ He nodded. ‘Well, you may rest easy, madame. Sir Roderick was merely knocked off his feet by the blast and cracked his head against the wheel of a wagon as he fell. He was one of the lucky ones. There is no disfigurement or visible damage, and only slight headaches now and then.’ He spread his hands. ‘As I told you, I do not know why he cannot see.’
‘Thank you for explaining so carefully.’ Margaret glanced at Caroline, who was weeping softly into her kerchief. ‘May we visit him, please?’
‘Yes, of course. He is with others who no longer need nursing care in our conservatory. They gather there to talk and take exercise. You may make arrangements to take him home at the end of the week.’
Margaret thanked him and Caroline added a few tearful phrases.
‘Try to stop crying now, dearest,’ Margaret said as they left the doctor. ‘You must not let Roddy know how this has overset you. You must try to be cheerful for his sake.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Caroline said and lifted her head, a determined jut to her chin. ‘I shall think of his needs rather than my own.’
They saw Roddy sitting in a wing chair by an open window, through which the powerful scent of flowers was wafting. He was staring rigidly ahead of him, his expression so dejected that Margaret’s heart caught with pity. Such a cruel blow to a man just married to a beautiful wife. Pray God the blindness would not be permanent.
‘Roddy! Oh, Roddy, my darling,’ Caroline cried and ran towards him. ‘My dearest love. How glad I am to see you.’
Margaret hung back, watching as the girl dropped to her knees and put her arms about her husband in a loving embrace. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then hugged her to him in a desperate, crushing embrace that told of his torment. It was clearly a very emotional meeting for them and Margaret gave them several minutes to themselves before she joined them. When she did she saw that Caroline had lost that air of nervousness and seemed remarkably calm.
‘Roddy wants us to take him home, Maggie.’
‘Is that Maggie?’ Roddy raised his head as if trying to see her. Apart from a small dressing at his temple he scented to be in perfect health—other than the lack of vision ‘Get me home, will you?’
‘The doctor says you may leave in two days.’
‘I don’t mean just out of here. I want to go home to England. Will you help us, Maggiie? I’m too much trouble for Caro to manage alone.’
‘You want to go to your estate’? You wouldn’t rather come to the villa for a while?’
His answer was unequivocal. ‘I want to go home to Hazelmere.’
‘Very well,’ Margaret said. ‘If you can wait for two more days, I shall make the necessary arrangements. I dare say you will feel better there.’
‘I’ll be safe at home and so will Caro. There are people I can trust to look after her.’
‘You’ll look after me,’ Caroline said. ‘You always do.’
‘In future you will have to look after me,’ Roddy said, a note of bitterness in his voice. ‘I am a helpless cripple now – no damned use to anyone.’
‘That’s not true! I love you,’ Caroline looked at Margaret, her eyes filled with tears. ‘Tell him it isn’t true, Maggie.’
‘You do not know that it is a permanent condition,’ Margaret said. ‘Your eves were not burned or pierced.’
‘Than why can I can not see.’
‘I do not know—but I shall consult with a doctor who might, It is possible that he can shed some light on this mystery.’
‘I doubt it,’ Roddy said. ‘I’ve seen it happen to others in battle. I doubt there’s a miracle cure.’
Margaret thought he might be right, but was determined to discover what she could.
‘I have heard of such things,’ Dr Morgan said when she called on him the next morning. ‘You are certain that your brother’s eyes are not physically damaged?’
‘They show no sign of it. I am as sure as I can be for the moment.’
‘Then it may be the blow to the head or simply the shock of witnessing so many of his colleagues killed violently. I am not an expert in this field, ma’am, but I can recommend someone in London your brother might care to visit. Of course the blindness may be temporary and go as suddenly as it came.’
Margaret accepted the address he had given her, tucking it inside her reticule. ‘Thank you for your help, sir. I can at least give my brother some hope.’
‘I wish I could offer more. You leave for England soon?’
‘I have arranged passage for us all in three days’ time.’
‘Then I wish you a safe journey and hope the news will be better soon.’
Margaret thanked him and left. He had refused a fee for the consultation, telling her that he was glad to be of what help he could.
After leaving his consulting room, Margaret decided to visit Kitty and tell her she was returning to England.
‘We are to follow Wellington to Paris,’ Kitty said, smiling contentedly, for Freddie had come back to her unscathed. For there will be much to do setting this wretched business to rights.’
‘It all seems such a terrible waste. So many killed and injured, but there were acts of immense bravery too. I heard that the Old Guard covered the flight of the rest of the French army and were saluted by our men for their courage.’
‘They fought bravely and soldiers respect that,’ Kitty replied. ‘As for the future—Bonaparte has no choice but to abdicate, though he will try to rally support if he can. Indeed, I believe he may be on the verge of doing so, though I understand there is still some fighting outside Paris. However, it cannot last and will be settled soon enough.’
‘It is to be expected that the Emperor will receive harsher terms this time,’ Margaret said. ‘In the past I admired him, but I cannot find it in my heart to pity him now—this was all so unnecessary and has caused so many deaths. You have heard about Lord Ellwood?’
‘His commanding officer told me at dinner last evening. I was sad to hear that he has no close family to grieve for him.’
‘I shall grieve, and so will Giles when he hears,’ Margaret said. She took a sealed packet from her reticule. ‘Would you give this letter to Giles for me when you see him? He will be with Wellington. It is merely to tell him that I am to accompany Sir Roderick and Lady Hazelmere to their home in England.’
‘Your poor brother,’ Kitty said for they had grown close during the war, and after Roddy’s injury, Margaret had confided the sad news to her, breaking her silence and telling her the truth of her situation. Kitty, herself a victim of gossip, appreciated the confidence, assuring her that it would remain a secret. ‘I had guessed there was some secret, my dear friend, and I had noticed that your accent was stronger at times than others, but I am glad to be in your confidence. Be assured that my feelings towards you have not changed. As for your poor brother, I wish him well, my dear—and I shall make sure that Giles receives your letter at the earliest opportunity.’
‘Thank you.’ Margaret hesitated, then, ‘Lord Ellwood said something odd to me just before he died—something about me being a spy... that Giles may have thought so at one time.’
‘The poor man must have been wandering in his mind,’ Kitty said and shook her head over it. ‘I do know that Giles sometimes does secret work for Wellington and that he may have been searching for a suspected assassin last year, but as for thinking... no, that is too foolish for words. You cannot believe it, Magda?’
‘No, not truly,’ Margaret said and laughed at herself for having raised such a nonsensical quibble. ‘I dare say you are right. Lord Ellwood was in some considerable pain and clearly did not know what he was saying.’
‘Giles adores you. You can have no doubt of that?’
‘No, I do not doubt that he cares for me,’ Margaret replied. ‘It was mere nonsense as you say. I shall put it out of my head at once. I wish Giles were here so that I could tell him of his friend’s death. He seemed quite peaceful and the end came suddenly.’
‘If one must die...’ Kitty shrugged expressively. ‘We shall be in Paris for the next few weeks, I dare say, but then Freddie insists I must return home. He wants his son born in England at his ancestral seat, so I suppose I must oblige.’
‘Certainly you must,’ Margaret said with a smile. ‘He wants to take care of you—and why not?’
‘Oh, I do not care for too much fuss,’ Kitty replied. ‘But I know he is right.’ She hesitated for a moment, then, ‘Have you told Giles—about the baby?’
Margaret blushed a delicate pink. ‘I thought you might have guessed. No, I have not told him yet. I did not want to worry him before he went away. I shall talk to him as soon as I see him again.’
‘Yes, do so,’ Kitty said. ‘It is always better to speak of these things than to write—or I would advise you to write now, Magda.’
‘Oh—why do you say that?’
‘You have not heard the news from England then?’
‘I have heard nothing much for days. I was at the hospital night and day for a week and since then I have been concerned for Caroline and my brother.’
‘Giles’s uncle has died quite suddenly. In his sleep, they say.’
‘The Duke of Belmont?’ Margaret stared at her in dismay. ‘But that is terrible. No one could have expected it, surely?’ She felt a pang of sadness as she thought of his wife, that lovely, lively girl who had lost first her child and now her husband. ‘Poor Felicia. She must be distraught, of course. I cannot think how she must be suffering.’
‘Yes, one can only guess at her feelings—to lose everything that way. It happened during the fighting, so Giles would not have been able to go home to pay his respects, of course. I dare say he will do so as soon as Wellington sees fit to release him from duty. I am sure the lawyers will be anxious to see him.’
‘Yes. I suppose he will have duties to his estate now.’
‘Oh, certainly,’ Kitty said. ‘An estate of that size bears heavy responsibility. Giles has always left his own to the care of agents when he was away, but Belmont is a different matter. I dare say Giles will have to resign his commission and devote himself to the estate.’
‘It was what he feared,’ Margaret said. ‘He had hoped that Felicia would give her husband a male child—and he will he devastated by this news, for he was fond of the Duke.’
‘Yes, I have heard him say it. Others would be overjoyed to inherit such wealth, but Giles is not like other men. This will be awkward for him.’
‘I think he will do his duty, no matter what it costs him.’
‘Yes.’ Kitty said. ‘The future may not be as you had hoped, Magda. But always remember what I have told you: I am your friend no matter what.’
Margaret thanked her and took her leave soon after. She knew that Kitty was trying to be kind in breaking the news gently to her, but it was clear that she did not think Giles would marry her. It was his duty to care for the estate now—and to marry and produce heirs, of course.
Kitty clearly thought that she would not be considered a suitable wife for a man of Giles’s new consequence. And of course she was perfectly right. The Duke of Belmont could not marry his mistress, it was unthinkable!
Driving back to the house in her carriage, Margaret felt cold all over. They had planned such a wonderful future together. She had feared that things might change once Giles knew she was increasing—but what would happen when he discovered that he was now the Duke of Belmont?
She wanted to believe that it would make no difference and their lives could continue much as before, but the niggling doubts had begun to creep in.
The journey to England was an anxious one for both Margaret and Caroline, though in actual fact it went quite smoothly. To their surprise they had discovered that Edward Marshall was to travel home on the same ship and he insisted on doing all in his power to help them.
‘I am completely recovered as you see,’ he told Margaret when she expressed concern for his own health. ‘All that ails me is a sense of guilt that I was wounded so early in the war and unable to be of more service to my country and my comrades. It would make me feel very much better if I could be of some use to you.’
Margaret could not refuse such an offer and she was glad of his company, for she found him both intelligent and kind. He helped with overseeing the transfer of her luggage on board ship and with settling Sir Roderick in his cabin.
Afterwards, he and Margaret spent some time on deck together. They were not the only English nationals to be returning home and Margaret was subjected to a frosty stare from a lady she thought she might have met before. As she could not recall the lady’s name, and it was clear that she did not approve of Margaret, she neither spoke to her nor mentioned her to Edward Marshall.
When they left the ship at Dover he secured a comfortable chaise for them and made arrangements for their trunks to follow in a baggage coach, before taking his leave of Margaret.
‘My parents will be anxious to see me or I would escort you to your home, Magda. If you need me, I shall send them word and do so, of course.’
‘You have already been more than kind. We are quite able to manage now, thank you. I am grateful for your company and all that you have done.’
‘It was a pleasure to me,’ he told her truthfully. ‘Perhaps I may call in a few weeks to see how you are all settling in?’
Margaret would have refused him, but she felt obliged to smile and say that he would be welcome. After he had taken his leave she wished that she had been firmer. There was no point in offering him the slightest encouragement, for he could never take Giles’s place in her life. No man would ever do that!
If Giles should wish to end their relationship... but, no, it would not happen. It was wrong of her to doubt his love. Indeed, she did not truly, but she knew that he might consider it his duty to marry and provide an heir. He would almost certainly feel that way, and then... she would have to end their affair.
Margaret could never consider continuing their relationship if he were to marry. It would seem too sordid, and be too cruel and unfair to his wife, whoever that lady might be.
She had thought of Giles as her lover, seeing their break with convention as brave and freethinking, an adventure. He had linked her with Helen of Troy and other great lovers of history, and that was how she had seen them, as passionate lovers, glorious and untouched by sordid reality—but now she realised that unless she wished to spoil her memories she would have to let him go.
The thought was so heartbreaking that she felt dizzy and ill from the crushing pain in her chest as she fought the rush of denial. She could not bear it! She could not stand aside and see him wed another. Yet she must! Giles might not want to give her up—but she would not be his mistress once he married.
‘Are you all right. Maggie? Roddy is wondering why you do not come.’
‘Oh...’ Margaret blinked at her sister-in-law. ‘I had not realised you were ready. Forgive me.’
‘Are you quite well’? You look a little pale.’
‘It is nothing,’ Margaret said. ‘I am ready to leave now.
Once settled in the carriage, she tried to make light conversation with Caroline. She knew that her sister-in-law was anxious because Roddy was so quiet, but there was little she could say that would ease Caroline. Roddy had become very moody and unpredictable. One moment he seemed cheerful, telling them that he was looking forward to returning home and beginning again, the next he was reserved, sunk into himself—sullen. Margaret was almost as worried as Caroline, but she was careful not to show it.
‘I have not been to Hazelmere for many years,’ she said. ‘It will be interesting to see the changes.’
‘At least you can see them,’ Roddy muttered. ‘God damn it! I should have been better off if that blast had blown my head apart.’
‘Oh, Roddy!’ Caroline cried, ‘Please do not say such things.’
‘Feeling sorry for yourself will not help matters,’ Margaret said. ‘We may seek help from the doctor I told you of —and we can pray.’
‘Prayers are useless. They did not help the men who died in battle, nor those who lay weeping on the field, their bodies torn apart by the French artillery. God does not listen to you sing his praises or your pleas for help.’
‘No,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Sometimes it seems that He is not listening to our prayers, and there was undoubtedly too much loss of life—thousands on both sides, they say—but you were spared to us. You should thank God for that, Roddy, and make the best of what you still have.’
‘Damn you!’ he muttered. ‘I’ll not be preached at by either of you.’
‘Oh, Maggie...’ Caroline looked at her tearfully, but she shook her head, putting a finger to her lips.
‘I think I shall try to sleep for a while. If I were you, I should do the same, Caroline. We shall be some hours on the road before we are home.’
Closing her eyes, Margaret tried not to let Roddy’s angry outburst hurt her. It was not directed at her, but at the cruel hand Fate had dealt him. Pity made her heart wrench with pain for him and for Caroline, who must suffer for him. She was not sure how much of this her sister-in-law could bear. Only time would tell.
Giles stifled a yawn. Would the diplomatic wrangling never cease? The war was over, but it seemed that the peace had yet to be won.
Wellington had been appointed generalissimo of the Allied armies of occupation after Bonaparte’s exile. The defeated emperor had departed for his island prison and would find St Helena harder to bear than his former home in exile on Elba. In his heart Giles could find some sympathy for the man who had lost so much, though he would never forgive the deaths of so many friends. Word had reached him of Lord Ellwood’s death and he’d cursed himself for accepting his friend’s offer of help that fateful morning. If he had not done so, Ellwood might still be alive.
The meeting was coming to an end at last. Wellington made a discreet signal to Giles to stay behind, turning to him with a snarl of frustration once the door was firmly closed.
‘I swear there are times when I would sooner be in the field with Bonaparte again!’
‘My feelings exactly, sir.’
‘Greedy dogs fighting over the bones of Europe—but that is not why I asked you to stay, Giles. I need you to take a confidential message to the Regent. Besides, you asked for leave to visit your uncle’s widow.’
‘She will not know how to go on. I ought to settle things. My lawyers have the business in hand, but I should like to see her—and Magda.’
‘Ah, yes. May I ask what your intentions are in that direction?’ His brows arched. ‘You have my permission to send me to the devil if you choose.’
‘As it happens you are not the first to ask, and my intentions have not changed.’
‘Discretion as always. Let me ask you another question then—are you still intent on a life in the diplomatic service?’
‘That depends on several things,’ Giles replied. ‘I have a duty to the estate, though I may find a way round that. I must discuss the future with someone else before I can answer you, sir. I shall report back shortly and then you may have my answer.’
‘Well, you must do as you think best, but I am likely to be in Paris for some time to come and I would have you in my service, Giles. I need men about me that I can trust. In my opinion, it will be a waste if you give it all up too soon, but you must do your duty as you see fit.’
‘Exactly, sir.’
‘You will leave in the morning. You have one week’s leave after you have delivered my message and then you will return. You have not been given your discharge yet!’
Giles saluted smartly and went out, the important letter tucked inside his coat. Kitty had given him Magda’s brief note some days earlier. So he knew that she was not in France, but staying with her brother and his wife.
Giles frowned over that for he had heard that Sir Roderick had been blinded in a blast of the French cannon and believed that he would not be an easy patient. He doubted that Lady Hazelmere would know how to manage her husband and she would be bound to cling to her sister-in-law. If he was plagued by the need to do his duty, Magda would be no less conscious of her own towards her brother.
Sir Roderick had apologised that morning in the waiting hours before battle, but he was in Giles’s opinion rather a selfish young man, and might consider it his sister’s duty to devote her life to him and his wife.
‘Oh, Maggie,’ Caroline wept, holding a lace kerchief to her eyes. ‘How long must this go on for? We have been at home some weeks now and there is no improvement in his mood. I thought that once we were here he would be content.’
‘It is very difficult for him,’ Margaret said, though in her heart she sometimes lost patience with her brother. He was always snapping at her or Caroline, seemingly so caught up in his own misery that he had no feelings for others. ‘If we might persuade him to visit the doctor in London, there might be a chance of discovering something. I wrote to Sir Denis, as I told you, and his letter was quite encouraging. He says that it may be no more than shock and that in time, when Roddy begins to forget the horrors he saw, his sight could come back to him.’
‘He does not believe that,’ Caroline said and sniffed. ‘Sometimes, when I can persuade him to walk with me he seems happy enough, but at other times he sinks into a black despair and I do not know what to do to comfort him.’
‘I know how painful it must be for you, dearest,’ Margaret said. ‘I can only say that you must try to be patient and not to let his attitude hurt you. Remember, he is angry with what has happened to him, not with you.’
‘Oh, I do know that,’ Caroline replied. ‘And I know that underneath it all he is still the man I love. Sometimes he clings to me and he is so frightened, Maggie. I try to comfort him, but I am frightened too.’
‘In time he will grow more accustomed.’
‘If he does not...’ Caroline caught her breath. ‘He spoke of throwing himself into the river...’
‘Such foolish talk! And unkind to upset you. Would you like me to talk to him?’
‘No, for he will only be angry with me for telling you.’ Caroline lifted her head, her face blotched with tears. ‘You will not leave me, Maggie? You will not go away?’
‘I had hoped to return to France once you were settled.’ Margaret placed her hands on the gentle swell of her belly. She had told her brother and Caroline that she was increasing before their return to England, but everyone else would be aware of it before long. ‘It will soon be apparent to all that I am increasing. Are you sure you wish for me to stay. Caroline? There is bound to be scandal, you know. Too many people here know me as Margaret Hazelmere. In London I was able to play out my little masquerade, but I fear the truth may soon become known. I was foolish enough to confess it to Mr Rushford—and I have had a letter from my lawyers. I think he means to make trouble for us.’
‘Oh, Maggie! Caroline’s eyes widened with anxiety. ‘As if we did not have enough to worry us. That dreadful man is not still trying to sue us, is he?’
‘My lawyers tell me that he has demanded another meeting with me. He knows I am staying here and I dare say he means to force you to speak to him, perhaps demand an apology.
‘I shall never apologise,’ Caroline said and lifted her head proudly. ‘If he wants my ten thousand he may have it. I do not regret that I married Roddy—only that I ever quarrelled with him. It is because of that that he distrusts me now. He thinks that I shall grow tired of looking after him and look for a way out of our marriage.’
‘It is his fear talking.’ Margaret replied sadly. ‘You must try not to be hurt by the things he says. I am sure he does not mean them.’
‘I know he does not mean to hurt me; sometimes when he makes me cry he apologises and then we kiss and forgive each other—but it does hurt, Maggie. It hurts very much.’
‘I know how you feel,’ Margaret said, and her lovely face clouded with sadness. ‘I had thought that Giles might write in reply to my letter, but he has not and...’ She could not finish for her thoughts were not to be shared.
Giles must have much to consider and she was perhaps just a woman he had loved for a while and decided to forget now that he had his duty to think of.
Oh, but to speculate was foolish. She could not know his thoughts and was tortured by her own. Giles was not the kind of man to desert her without a word. If he once made up his mind he would come to her and tell her, and until then she could only wait.
Besides, even if he had come to her she would not have been able to leave her brother and sister-in-law in the lurch at this time. Roddy’s moods did not seem to improve and Caroline was constantly on the verge of tears.
Oh, what a coil it all was! Margaret sighed. She had known happiness for such a brief time, and now it seemed that it might have to last her for the rest of her life.
Giles embraced Felicia briefly, then looked at her pale face. Widow’s weeds did not become her, and her grief had left its mark on her. She had grown up too fast these past months and his heart wrenched with pity for her.
‘I am so glad you have come,’ she said on a sob. ‘I was afraid you might be killed and then I should be all alone. You will not desert me, Giles? If you return to France I must stay here in this mausoleum for a year—unless you wish me to retire to the dower house?’
‘No, I do not require that,’ Giles said and looked at her carefully. ‘As I have told you before, I had no desire to inherit the title, Felicia. I had hoped it would be otherwise, but it is useless to say more and I do not wish to make your grief worse.’
‘My child was a girl. You would still have been the heir.’
‘For the moment. Had my uncle lived you might have had another child—a son next time.’
‘They told me it was unlikely,’ Felicia said. ‘And now I shall never know, shall I?’
‘You are young. Belmont left you well provided for. I dare say you will marry again.’
‘Perhaps.’ Felicia smiled oddly. ‘I think that the worst thing is that everyone keeps announcing me as the Dowager Duchess. . . and I do not feel like a dowager, Giles!’
He was glad to see a spark of rebellion in her eyes. ‘You do not look like a dowager, Felicia.’
‘Black makes me look like a positive hag!’
‘You need only wear it for six months. After that you may go into pale greys and lilac, which will suit you very much better.’
‘May I tell everyone that those were your instructions?’ she asked, a faint smile in her eyes.
‘You have my permission to do so as the head of the family. Indeed, it is your duty to obey me, Felicia.’
His smile made her gurgle with laughter. ‘I think I should have married you, Giles.’
‘I should not have spoiled you shamefully as he did.’
‘No—and he did love me,’ she replied. ‘Everyone believes I married him for the money and the title, but I cared for him very much. I am not sure that I would wish to marry again.’
‘It is natural that you should feel that way for the moment. I am sure that you will begin to feel better when you can go into company again.’
‘It is so boring, all this mourning. My dear one would not have wished to see me like this. Dressed like a crow, and so many things I may not do.’ She pouted at him, ‘You must stay with me a few days, Giles dearest. Please say you will. I have been so miserable.’
‘I have some instructions for my uncle’s agents, and people to visit,’ Giles replied. ‘I can stay two days, but I have to return to France at the end of the week and there is someone else I must see first.’
‘Do you mean the Comtesse de Grenelle?’ Felicia frowned. ‘I thought you had parted from her, Giles. I knew that you were... friends, of course, but I had a letter from Annis Crosby. Do you remember her at all?’
‘Yes. I never liked that particular lady. She set her cap at me all one summer, hut I am afraid I was rather rude to her.’
‘Well, perhaps that was why she took such delight in letting me know that Magda has a new protector.’
‘What do you mean?’ Giles grabbed her by the shoulders, his fingers biting deeply into her shoulders. ‘I never heard such wicked lies. How dare you repeat such a tale to me?’
‘You are hurting me, Giles! I am only telling you what Annis wrote to me. She returned to England on the same ship as Magda and Edward Marshall and she saw them laughing together. She assumed that they were having an affair. If you say it is not so, I believe you.’
‘It is a scurrilous lie!’
‘Yes, of course. If you say so, Giles.’
Felicia looked at him accusingly as she rubbed at her shoulders.
‘Forgive me if I hurt you. I was angry. You should not repeat gossip.’
‘I did not know it was a lie. Why was she on the ship with him?’
‘Magda came to be with her former ward and Sir Roderick. He was blinded in the fighting near Waterloo and Lady Hazelmere cannot cope with it alone. If Edward Marshall was there it was a coincidence, no more.’
‘Forgive me, Giles,’ Felicia said. ‘I would not have hurt you or made you angry for the world.’
‘You are forgiven, but you will please not repeat such scurrilous gossip in future.’
‘No, I would not dream of it. I like Magda.’
‘I hope you do—I intend to marry her,’ Giles said. ‘She will be living here if I take up residence and you will need to make friends with her if you wish to continue my friend.’
And with that he turned on his heel and walked swiftly from the room. He did not believe that Magda had taken another lover without at least telling him that their affair was over, but Felicia’ s careless words had distressed him more than he could say. It was clearly time that he asked Magda to be his wife!
Margaret and Caroline were sitting together in the green salon when the butler entered to announce that they had a visitor.
‘Were you expecting someone?’ Magda asked and Caroline shook her head. ‘You said it was a gentleman, Burrows?’
‘A Mr Rushford, ma’am.’
‘Oh, Maggie!’ Caroline exclaimed and jumped to her feet. ‘I cannot see him. I really cannot.’
‘I am with you,’ Margaret said and smiled calmly. ‘There is nothing he can do to harm you, dearest. And I believe you do owe him some sort of an apology— even if it is only for the inconvenience you caused him.’
‘Yes, I know you are right.’ Caroline breathed deeply. She clearly did not wish for the interview, but Margaret had left her little choice. ‘Very well, Burrows, you may show the gentleman in.’ She looked at Margaret nervously as the butler went away. ‘You must not leave me alone with him!’
‘Nothing could persuade me to do so,’ Margaret said. ‘I am not afraid of Mr Rushford and neither must you be. You are Lady Hazelmere now and nothing can change that.’
‘No...’ Caroline smiled, but her smile wavered as the butler announced their visitor, her face turning pale as he came in.
‘Madame la Comtesse. Lady Hazelmere... He bowed stiffly to them, seeming to be suffering a mixture of feelings at seeing Caroline again. ‘Thank you for seeing me at such a time.’
‘You allowed us little choice, sir,’ Margaret said. ‘I gave my lawyer instructions that I had no wish to talk to you in person.’
‘It was really to Lady Hazelmere that I wished to speak,’ he replied, his face like a board. I believe I was unwise to threaten you with action when we last met, ma’am. My lawyers have made it plain to me that I have no claim on you.’
‘I did not imagine you had,’ Margaret replied. ‘However, I was more than willing to meet you in court had you persisted.’
‘Well, I have decided not to do so... however, I do have a claim on Lord Hazelmere for enticement. I have suffered a loss and he was at fault. He must be made to pay for his actions...’ He hesitated and looked at Caroline, an appeal for understanding in his eyes. ‘You must understand that I am not by nature a vindictive man. It was the shock of learning that you had run off with Sir Roderick without a word to me that made me decide on this course of action.’
Had he really come here to explain his actions expecting understanding? The nerve of the man! Margaret was in two minds whether to throw him out or give him the rough edge of her tongue, but decided to do neither. His answer would be better if it came from Caroline.
‘That was wrong of me,’ Caroline said, her lips white. ‘I should have been brave enough to see you and tell you face to face, but I could not. I meant to write to you from France, but then...’
‘You were persuaded to run off with your lover?’
‘Roddy was not my lover,’ Caroline replied, a spark of pride in her eyes now as she looked at him. ‘You insult both my husband and me, sir. Sir Roderick is a gentleman. He did not attempt to lay a finger on me until we were married.’
Bravo, Caroline! Margaret silently applauded.
There was something like regret mixed with jealousy in Rushford’s eyes. ‘If that is so I am glad to hear it, though it makes little difference. Your reputation was lost once you left Bath alone with him.’
‘I had two maids with me, both of them dragons, who slept in my room and guarded me as fiercely as any duenna!’ Caroline was very angry now. She got to her feet, glaring at him. ‘You are the rogue, sir. To insult me and threaten my husband when you know that he has been wounded in the service of his country. He is brave and honourable and kind and I love him more than my own life. I am glad that I married him. I know now that I should have been miserable if I had married you. If I have only the first few months of my marriage to treasure, I am glad that I took my chance of happiness when I did. One hour with Roddy is worth a lifetime with you or any other man! Take my inheritance if you must. I would rather live in a hovel with Roddy than in a palace with you!’
‘Caroline....’ Everyone turned to look towards the doorway as Roddy spoke and it was plain to see that he had heard every word of Caroline’s tempestuous speech. ‘My brave darling...’ He opened his arms and she went running to him as he gathered her in a hungry embrace. ‘I don’t deserve that you should love me so much. I have been such a growly bear these past weeks.’
‘I do not care how much you growl. I love you.’
Mr Rushford was staring at them, a mixture of stunned dismay and deep disappointment on his face. Watching him taking in every word the husband and wife said to each other, Margaret realised that he must have come in the hope that he would see her regretful and wishing that she had married him. She was not sure whether he had come to gloat or in the hope that she might run off with him, but whatever had been his reason he was disappointed with the result.
‘I think you have your answer, sir,’ she told him as he stood there clearly undecided. ‘It might be better if you left. Any further business may be conducted through your lawyers.’
‘Madam,’ he said and his eyes swept over her with contempt. ‘You may be certain that your brother and his wife will be hearing from me soon.’
Detestable man! Margaret thought that she would like to strike him, but refrained.
She did not give him the satisfaction of an answer. She remained silent until he had gone, watching from a distance as Roddy and Caroline whispered together. Then, after a few moments, they came towards her, hand in hand. She felt a shadow lift from her as she saw that they had settled things between them.
Caroline gave her a tentative smile. ‘Roddy has something to say to you, Maggie.’
‘I am listening. But first of all, I would like to second what my brother told you—you were very brave, Caroline. I applaud you for standing up to Rushford and I quite agree. You would have been miserable married to him.’
‘I thought she must be miserable married to me the way I am—but it is not so, apparently,’ Roddy said and smiled for the first time in weeks. ‘It seems that Caro still loves me and wants only to be with me—whether I can see or not.’
‘Of course she does,’ Margaret said. ‘Have we not tried to tell you that all along?’
‘I was not listening,’ he said. ‘I want to apologise to you, Maggie—and to say that I am ready to visit the doctor you told me of whenever you can arrange it.’
‘That is wonderful news,’ Margaret said and went to kiss first him and then Caroline. She had not hoped to see this day so soon, fearing that her brother would slip into a decline. ‘I suggest that we leave for London first thing in the morning. Sir Denis may not be able to offer you a cure, Roddy, but at least we shall know his opinion.’
‘If I am permanently blind, I must accept it,’ Roddy said. ‘I am beginning to come to terms with it and to find it is possible to do certain things for myself—but it was thinking that Caro would tire of me that made me so desperate. Now that I know...’ He gave a laugh that might have been a sob. ‘I have been such a damned fool!’
‘Yes, perhaps,’ Margaret said and smiled as she saw Caroline’s adoring look at her husband. ‘But we shall forgive you, dearest. And we shall all pray that the news will be good when we speak to Sir Denis.’
Chapter Eleven
‘I have come to see the Comtesse de Grenelle,’ Giles said and then, as the servant began to deny him, ‘Perhaps she is using her maiden name here—Miss Margaret Hazelmere.’
‘Oh, Miss Margaret,’ the girl said, nodding her head as the penny dropped. ‘Yes, sir—I mean, no, sir. You can’t see her. She is not at home.’
‘What do you mean, not at home?’ Giles demanded, nostrils flaring. His temper, which had been on a short rein for the past several days, was close to erupting. ‘Explain yourself, girl!’
‘Very well, Fanny, that will do,’ a voice said and a rather dignified man dressed in severe black came into the hall. ‘Please come in, sir. Forgive us for allowing the girl to answer the door. It is not her place, but I was busy in the pantry and she happened to be here, I dare say. How may I help you, sir?’ Burrows knew Quality when he saw it, and he could tell when a gentleman was near to losing his temper.
Giles stepped inside the large hallway, which was airy and light, furnished with a clutter of well-polished furniture and smelling faintly of lavender and rose, but with a welcoming atmosphere. It was a country home for a gentleman of the Quality, not grand or imposing but pleasantly appointed.
‘I am Belmont,’ Giles replied. He had been schooling himself to use the title for a while now and knew that it would have the butler jumping to attention. ‘I came to see Miss Hazelmere—or Lady Hazelmere, if Magda is not at home.’
‘Your Grace. It is an honour to welcome you to Hazelmere. The family is away, sir. They left the day before yesterday for town, all of them together. Sir Roderick is to visit an eminent doctor while they are there, I understand.’
‘Ah, yes, how is your master? I had heard the sad news of his injury.’
Burrows looked grave. ‘He was very poorly, sir, very poorly—in his spirit, you know. However, I am glad to say that his condition took a turn for the better three days ago and he seems much more like himself now.’
‘I am glad to hear it,’ Giles said and frowned. It would take him a day of hard riding to reach London and that meant that he would have little of his leave to spend with Magda. ‘Thank you for your information, sir. If you could furnish me with Miss Hazelmere’s address?’
‘I believe she left it here, sir.’ The butler reached for a small pile of cards. ‘Ah, yes, this is where they will be staying for the moment. These have come in useful. Mr Marshall was here only yesterday. He was returning to London after a visit to his parents and called to see Miss Margaret. He asked for the address too.’
‘Mr Edward Marshall, was that?’ Giles’s mouth drew into a thin line as the man agreed. ‘I see—thank you for your help. Good day.’
‘Good day to you, your Grace.’
Giles winced at the obsequious tone and left, his mood blacker than a thundercloud. It seemed that Felicia might have been right after all. And yet he could not believe that the woman he loved could behave in such a callous fashion.
He had written to her twice since hearing she was with her brother and sister-in-law in England. No replies had come from her, but he knew that it was possible his letters might have gone astray.
As he began his journey to town, his thoughts were gloomy. He had waited to speak to Magda, firstly because he felt she was not ready for marriage, and then because of the war, but now he realised that perhaps he had waited too long.
Margaret rose from her seat in Sir Denis’s reception room as her brother and Caroline came out of his surgery. She had chosen to remain here while they went in, believing that it was time they came to rely on her less heavily, and she could see from their faces that the news was not conclusive.
‘What did he say?’ she asked.
‘There has been no physical damage to the eyes or the nerves as far as Sir Denis can tell,’ Caroline said. ‘He thought he detected a flicker of reaction when he held a match close to Roddy’s eyes and he says he believes the vision is not impaired and that it may return at any time—just as you have said all along, Maggie.’
‘But nothing more conclusive?’
‘He does not know why Roddy cannot see, but believes it may be something to do with what happened out there—the shock of seeing such awful things.’
‘The man is a fool,’ Roddy muttered and Margaret’s heart sank as she saw that his black mood had returned. ‘I’ve seen men killed before, I’m not a coward to fail at the sight of a little blood.’
‘I am sure he did not mean to imply that you were,’ Margaret said. ‘However, we must just be patient and wait for a while. You have so much to be thankful for, Roddy.’
‘Yes...’ His frown cleared. ‘I suppose that I have. Besides, it is my duty to look after Caro and the estate. I can still talk and listen so I suppose that all is not lost.’
Margaret drew a breath of relief. He was naturally disappointed that the doctor had not been more positive, but it seemed he had made up his mind to accept things for the moment. She had been afraid that her brother was about to sink back into his mood of despondency, but it seemed that he had turned a corner in his mind.
‘Well, I believe I shall leave you to return home together,’ she told them. ‘I have certain purchases I want to make and will find my own way home later.’
‘You do whatever you want,’ Caroline said. ‘We are able to manage now, thank you, Maggie. You have been good to us these past weeks, but we must not expect you to give all your time to us.’
Margaret noticed the new confidence in her sister-in-law and smiled. Clearly, she would soon be able to leave them and return to France, and that would be a good thing. As yet her condition was not obvious, but it could not be much longer before it became so.
One of the reasons she had decided to go shopping alone was that she wanted to make arrangements to see another doctor, for herself this time.
* * *
She spent the first two hours shopping and then visited the consulting rooms of a doctor known for specialising in advising on maternity problems, and delivering the babies of the aristocracy. After a brief consultation and an even briefer examination, he told her that she was indeed with child.
‘I should imagine you are nearer four months than three, madam,’ he said. ‘You seem in good health and I would think you should have no particular problem in giving birth to a healthy child.’
‘Thank you for your reassurance, sir. I hope to be in France when the child is born. Is there by chance a doctor you could recommend for the confinement?’
‘Yes, certainly,’ he said and took up his pen. ‘One of my patients was confined while in France a short time ago and she recommended this gentleman highly. I think you could place your confidence in him, madam. He lives in Paris and you would need to be prepared to take up residence there for a period prior to the birth, I imagine.’
‘Thank you, that is kind of you.’ Margaret placed the paper in her reticule, asked for his account to be sent to her lawyers and took her leave.
‘Don’t hesitate to call on me nearer the time if you are in London, ma’am.’
‘I do not expect to be,’ Margaret replied. ‘But should that be the case, I would ask if you could be present at my confinement.’
They parted on excellent terms and she emerged into a pleasantly warm day, almost bumping into a passing gentleman as she stepped down into the street. He put out a hand to steady her and then exclaimed as he recognised her.
‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ she apologised and then laughed as he did the same. ‘Mr Marshall! How odd that it should be you.’
‘Magda,’ he said, his face lighting with pleasure. ‘I called at Sir Roderick’s country house some days ago, but was told you were in London. I had intended to visit this afternoon—but now that we have met perhaps I may escort you home?’
‘That is thoughtful of you, sir.’
‘I have my curricle close by and would be delighted to take you for a drive in the park first should you care for it.’
‘How kind of you,’ Margaret said. ‘It is such a pleasant day—why not? I was thinking of finding a cab to take me home, but there is no hurry, I think. I believe I should enjoy a little drive in the park, non?’
He doffed his hat to her and offered his arm. Margaret took it, thinking it was pleasant to have cheerful company again after weeks of being confined to her brother’s house with only gloomy faces.
‘You were coming from the doctor’s house, I think,’ Edward Marshall said. ‘Forgive me if it was a private matter, but I do hope that you are not unwell?’
‘No, I am in perfect health,’ she said and smiled as he handed her into his carriage, telling his groom to stand away as he took the reins himself.
‘I shall see you at home, Griggs.’
‘Yessir!’
Margaret wondered what the young man would think if he knew that she had been consulting the doctor about the birth of her child, but hoped that he would never need to know. She had made up her mind to return to France as soon as she could make the arrangements. Caroline and Roddy no longer needed her, at least not as much as they had at the beginning, and she believed that it would not be good for them to rely on her too much.
She had no intention of remaining at Hazelmere to become a prop to her sister-in-law, though she was not truly certain what she wished to do with the rest of her life. She had looked for a letter for Giles every day for weeks, but so far nothing had come. He must be very busy, with his work in Paris and the cares of a large estate. Yet she would have hoped that he would come to say goodbye to her, to tell her that he had decided their affair must end—as she was sure it must. The Duke of Belmont needed a wife, and the woman who had been his mistress was not suitable to fill that important position.
Oh, how it hurt to know that she had thrown away all chance of marriage to the man she loved! Had she not been so willing to be his mistress... but it was foolish to allow herself such thoughts. A childish dream, no more.
Sometimes she dreamed of him, of the last time they had made love, when he had seemed almost desperate in his loving—and of that emotional farewell. Surely he could not have deserted her without a word? Letters from abroad were often known to go astray. She could not even be sure that Kitty had passed on her own.
‘You were great friends with Kitty Russell in France, were you not?’
Margaret brought her attention back to what Edward Marshall was saying. ‘Oui, that is so. Indeed, we were very close. I have written to her since I returned to England and received one reply from her.’
‘I hear that she was brought to bed of a son a few days ago,’ Edward told her. ‘I imagine Lord Russell must be overjoyed at the news.’
‘Oui, I am certain of it,’ Margaret said. ‘It is wonderful news and I must buy a gift for her before we return home. She gave me her address in Yorkshire, which is her husband’s ancestral seat.’
‘Talking of which...’ Edward said and glanced at her. ‘I heard that Belmont is home at last. I do not know how long he means to stay for Wellington will have need of him yet. However, that estate can hardly be left to manage itself for long. It is a heavy responsibility for any man. I have always been glad that my own is smaller and that I do not expect a title. Not that I am unable to support a wife, of course.’
‘I am sure you are perfectly able to give the lady of your choice a pleasant home and a comfortable life,’ Margaret said. ‘I believe you told me you have an elder brother, Edward?’
‘Yes—but I have my own small estate in Oxfordshire.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I had no thought of marriage, but war sharpens the mind. I was fortunate to be so slightly wounded, even though my arm is still not free of pain—but it has not impaired me. I have begun to think more of marriage of late, Magda.’
‘I am sure you would make a kind husband, sir, for the young lady of your choice.’
‘I do not care for very young ladies,’ he replied, an assumed air of innocence about him. ‘They are often very silly. I prefer a woman with a little experience of life—a woman of compassion, who can make sensible conversation and be relied upon in an emergency.’
His expression was so studied that Margaret smiled inwardly.
‘Ah, yes. I suppose there are advantages to such a marriage—but would you not grow tired of the lady in time? An older woman might perhaps want to rule the roost too much, Edward. With a young bride you would be master in your own home. And just think—she would lose her looks all too soon and you would be put to the trouble of finding a pretty mistress, non?’
He risked a glance at her. She had put on a very French accent, tipping her head to one side, her eyes very bright. ‘I think you are teasing me, Magda!’ he said a little indignantly.
She gave a gurgle of soft laughter. ‘Oui, just a trifle, mon ami. I thank you for those pretty compliments, but it really would not do, you know.’ She did not pretend to misunderstand his meaning for it had been plain enough and she wanted to be honest with him. ‘I like you very much as a friend, Edward, but I do not love you as I believe a woman ought to love the man she marries.’
‘I suppose you still care for Belmont?’
‘I am very much a one-man woman, Edward. I do not wish to find a new protector or to marry anyone else.’
‘I was asking you to marry me.’
‘Yes, I know you were, and I am not unmindful of the compliment you have paid me, but it would not serve. Your parents could not approve of me, Edward.’
‘I am sure they would come to love you.’
‘Not once they realised—and this is in confidence, Edward—not once they knew that I had given birth to another man’s child.’
He drew the curricle to a halt and looked at her, startled by the admission. Instead of shocking him, he found that he admired her all the more for her honesty. She was an exceptional woman and he wished that she had fallen in love with him, even though in his heart he thought her far above him. ‘I thought when I saw where you had been just now. . . but I imagined it might be for your sister-in-law.’
‘No, for myself. Caroline and Sir Roderick are aware of the situation, and Kitty Russell has guessed, but I have told no one else. I intend to return to France before it becomes apparent—and I would ask for your word that you will not speak of this to anyone.’
‘You have my word as a gentleman,’ he replied earnestly. ‘But are you sure you will not change your mind and take me, Magda? It would be so much more comfortable for you in the circumstances. I should not reproach you with it, I promise you, and the child would be treated no differently from my own—should we have them.’
‘It is very good of you to ask again, knowing the truth,’ she said. ‘You are indeed a generous and honourable man, Edward—but I must decline. I thank you, but my answer remains as it was.’
‘Forgive me if I intrude, but do you have hopes of Belmont?’
‘I think not,’ she said and for a moment her voice was husky with emotion. It was painful to put her thoughts into words and yet comforting to speak to someone who would not condemn her. ‘He is Belmont now and must get himself an heir, I dare say. A marriage between us would not be suitable, and I could not consent to an affair once he is married.’
‘It was thought he might marry Felicia once,’ Edward said. ‘Some say she married his uncle out of pique because he did not ask her—but I do not know if that is true.’
‘I believe she truly loved her husband.’
‘Well, she is a widow now, and available, though she lost her first child—and Belmont must be certain of getting an heir. If you were to tell him that—’
‘No,’ Margaret said firmly. ‘I shall not do so and I should be seriously displeased if you were to speak of it to him, sir.’
‘I have given you my word,’ he said and gave her a smile of rare sweetness, reaching across to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I do truly care for you, Magda, and would wed you in a tick if you would have me.’
She laughed and shook her head at him, and neither of them saw the man staring at them from the window of a passing cab.
‘Are there any letters for me?’ Margaret asked of their housekeeper when Edward Marshall had left her at the front door an hour or so later.
‘None that I’ve seen, ma’am,’ the housekeeper said, helping her off with her shawl. ‘There were a few cards left earlier, but Lady Hazelmere took those with her when she went up to change.’
‘We had callers when we were out?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I did not answer the door every time, but there were two ladies and a gentleman, I believe, but I do not know their names.’
‘Very well, I shall ask Caroline,’ she said and went up the stairs to the first floor parlour where she found her sister-in-law embroidering a pretty cushion cover. ‘Were there any messages for me?’
‘No, none at all,’ Caroline said, holding out the tapestry for her to see. ‘Do you not think this is delightful, Margaret?’ It was a design of black swans on a silver lake and very fine.
‘Yes, very pretty,’ she replied. ‘We had some callers while we were out, I believe?’
‘Oh, two or three,’ Caroline said carelessly. ‘The cards are over there on the table. No one of any consequence. There is one invitation to dine, but it is for next week and we shall be home by then, I expect.’
‘Well, I dare say London is thin of company just now,’ Margaret said, struggling to hide her disappointment. She had hoped that there might be a message from Giles since he was in England, but perhaps there would be a letter waiting for her when they returned to Hazelmere. Surely he would at least write to say goodbye! She had not thought him cruel enough to leave her without a word.
Caroline was a little quiet, but Margaret took it for disappointment that there had not been more invitations, and, after promising to come down for tea in a few minutes, she left her to her sewing and went upstairs to look over her purchases. She had bought several bolts of cloth suitable for a child’s first raiment and some more to make new gowns for herself. She would need to buy much more for the baby, of course, but she could do that when she visited Paris to make arrangements for the birth.
She realised that she had begun to look forward to returning to her own home. She had given Caroline support when she most needed it, but unless she was prepared to stay with Roddy and his wife for ever, she must make the break soon. Otherwise she would find herself in the position of a maiden aunt, expected to be at the beck and call of her family.
Looking through her purchases again, she took up a book with illustrations of flowers into which the perfumes of some of them had somehow been impregnated. It was a little gift to her brother, which she thought might please him. She had a new tapestry and silks for Caroline, and she intended them to be her farewell gifts.
She would say nothing until they were settled at Hazelmere again. Perhaps in a few weeks she would leave them. Unless she heard from Giles in the meantime, of course, but it did not seem that he intended to get in touch with her. Margaret smothered a sigh and blocked out the wave of unhappiness that threatened to overwhelm her. He could surely have left her some kind of message by this time if he was in England?
Giles felt the ugly prick of jealousy. The smile on Edward Marshall’s face and the way she had looked at him! It had made him grind his teeth and taken all his strength of will to stop himself going after them in the street and causing a scene.
He had never thought himself a jealous man. In Paris he had watched in amusement as his friends fell over themselves to flirt with Magda. She had shown no interest in succumbing to their blandishments then— though she had seemed a little reserved in the last week or so before the war.
Had she tired of him? He was some years older and it might be that she was amused by the attentions of a younger man. Giles had known that Marshall was besotted with her in France, but he had thought Magda merely tolerated him out of kindness.
It was his own damned fault if he had lost her! Giles cursed himself a thousand times for not having made sure of her months ago. At the start he had been uncertain of his feelings, but once they became lovers he had realised that no other woman fulfilled him in the same way—no other could again.
He loved her so much that life without her seemed a barren wasteland, stretching on and on into eternity. Yet he could hardly snatch her up and make off with her if she had decided to end their affair.
Felicia had seemed to think Edward Marshall was her new lover. Even after his angry denial he had known that she was still doubtful—or should that be hopeful? Giles knew well that his uncle’s wife had enjoyed being the Duchess and would not care for having another woman in her shoes too soon.
He did not think she was malicious—but she might have been tempted to make more of the incident as reported to her than need be. She might have hopes of him, perhaps, though it was the furthest thing from his mind. Felicia was amusing, but she could not hold a candle to Magda in his estimation and he would not consider such a match.
Giles supposed that he would have to try and get himself an heir one day, though he was not sure that that was possible. As far as he knew none of the ladies he’d had intimate relationships with had given birth to his child, and it might be that he would not be able to father a child.
He knew that some of the ladies he’d had affairs were knowledgeable in these things and might have taken precautions of their own to ensure that it did not happen—but he thought Magda had not.
Her manner in that last week had been odd, but there had been no restraint or change in her when it came to their loving. Was it possible that she...? He frowned as he began to see that there might be a reason why she had not replied to his letters. If she was carrying a child it might be that she felt awkward about her situation, for she would not wish to take what she saw as an advantage.
He had called earlier in the day at Hazelmere’s house and left his card, but he would return and ask to see her, and if she was not at home he would leave another letter for her before he left for Paris.
‘Did I hear the door knocker?’ Margaret asked as she came down to dinner that evening. ‘I thought I heard something just as I was dressing.’
She was wearing a pale grey gown that had the understated elegance that only the best French seamstresses knew how to achieve, and her long hair was wound in a sleek chignon at her nape. She looked beautiful, though there were shadows in her eyes.
‘I believe someone Roddy knows called,’ Caroline said. ‘I asked him to come back tomorrow and he said he would.’
‘Oh, I see.’ She smiled at her sister-in-law. ‘You are looking very pretty this evening, dearest, but then you always do. Roddy is very fortunate to have you as his wife. I have every confidence that you will give him all the care he needs and I shall not feel terrible when I leave you.’
‘I wish you would not talk of leaving,’ Caroline said. She was wearing a gown of straw silk trimmed with chocolate brown ribbons, her hair dressed in ringlets. ‘We cannot spare you yet, Maggie. Roddy is better than he was, but we need you with us for a little longer.’
‘Perhaps a few weeks,’ Margaret promised. ‘But then I really must go home. I want my child to be born at my home, Caroline, and I am going to make the arrangements for my confinement with a doctor I have been told of in Paris.’
‘But you could live with us,’ Caroline said, a sulky downturn to her pretty mouth. ‘I should love to have both you and the child, Maggie. You know I want children and I—I may not be able to have them myself. If you were with us, I should have the pleasure of your child.’
‘That is nonsense, dearest,’ Margaret said. ‘You are young and healthy and there is no reason why you should not conceive in time. You are too impatient.’
‘You are increasing and you were not with Lord Benedict for long.’
‘It is not the same for everyone.’
‘Please change your mind,’ Caroline pleaded. ‘Stay with us, Maggie. I wish you would not think of leaving.’
‘I shall stay for a little longer,’ Margaret said, but she knew that she ought not to give into Caroline’s pleading. In the hall the longcase clock was chiming the hour, and Margaret felt as if it was warning her. Caroline was becoming too dependent. It was clearly time they went their separate ways.
Sitting at her dressing chest later that evening, Margaret stared at her reflection without seeing herself. For a moment when she’d heard voices in the hail earlier she had thought it was Giles, come at last to see her and she had been filled with an irrational hope that had all too soon been dashed by Caroline’s explanation.
It had not been Giles she’d heard at all, just her imagination playing tricks on her. She knew a sharp pang of loss, a creeping despair as she realised that she must let her dreams go. If Giles had not taken his opportunity to see her, it must mean that he wished their affair to end.
‘Oh, Giles. . . my love, my love,’ she whispered brokenly, every fibre of her body reaching out to him, longing for him, for him to come and take her in his arms and carry her to their bed. ‘I miss you so...’
The days and weeks ahead seemed empty, as did the years when she must learn to live with only her memories. But she must manage, for she had no choice but to go on.
Remembering her child, she placed a hand tenderly on her swollen belly and smiled. At least she had her child and that must be enough.
It was mid September now and the nights were becoming colder. Margaret shivered as she returned from walking in the grounds of Hazelmere. It was pleasant enough to live here and the trees were beautiful as the leaves caught fire with the colours of autumn, but this was not her home.
Caroline was happy enough in her own way, very much the mistress here in her home. She had begun to take Margaret for granted and she had noticed that she was expected to take on the duties that the mistress of the house would normally assign to a dependent relative. It irked Margaret a little—she stayed at Hazelmere only out of concern for her brother and his wife, and was growing bored with being a guest in their house.
She had been patient long enough, she decided, as she walked upstairs. She would tell Roddy and Caroline this evening that she would leave at the end of the week. It would not please Caroline, but she believed that Roddy might actually be relieved. He was a little embarrassed by her condition, which was becoming more noticeable and would soon be impossible to keep a secret.
Yes, she would tell them this evening. It was pointless to delay further when the parting must come sooner or later.
‘I have had news,’ Roddy announced as Margaret went down for dinner that evening. ‘My agent read a letter to me today from the lawyers. After long discussions, Mr Rushford has decided to settle for four thousand pounds. I think I shall pay him and put an end to it, Maggie.’
‘It is despicable that that man should be able to take our money from us like this!’ Caroline cried. ‘I cannot believe that I ever considered marrying him.’
‘How will you find the money, Roddy?’ Margaret asked, looking at him anxiously.
‘I can take a mortgage on some of the land, I suppose.’
‘No, do not do that,’ Margaret said. ‘I have made some arrangements to release funds, Roddy, and I shall let your bank have a draft on mine.’
‘Can’t take it, Maggie. You’ve done too much for us already. Besides, you may need it for yourself... with the child...’ He looked slightly awkward, as if embarrassed at the need to mention her condition.
‘I have enough for my needs and my child,’ Margaret said. ‘It may leave me a little short for a while, but I can manage. It will be my parting gift to you. I have decided to go home at the end of the week.’
‘This is your home!’ Caroline cried looking distressed. ‘You can’t leave us. Roddy, tell her she can’t go. This is her home. You have no need to leave, Maggie.’
“I am sorry, but I have made up my mind.’
‘No! Please, Maggie. Do not leave us—not if you care for us.’
‘Roddy is getting better all the time,’ Margaret said. ‘And you are very capable of looking after both him and yourself, Caroline. You think you need me, but you really do not, dearest. It is time I left you to stand alone, for I do not care to live here with you both for the rest of my life. There, it is said, though I do not mean it harshly and I hope we shall see each other every now and then.’
‘Oh, how cruel you are,’ Caroline said and tears started to her eyes. ‘If you cared for me, you would not leave me, Maggie. You know how I was looking forward to seeing the baby...’ She gave way to her emotion and dissolving into tears, ran from the room.
‘I am so sorry,’ Margaret said as she saw the concern on her brother’s face. ‘I did not want to upset her—but it is best that I go. This is your home and Caroline’s. It is not mine.’
‘I agree with you,’ he said and she was not truly surprised. ‘At the start I wanted you to help her, but she is quite capable of running things herself. Besides, it might be awkward for you in a few months’ time.’
‘And for you too, Roddy?’
He had the grace to look ashamed. ‘Yes, well, you know I don’t like the idea of scandal. There’s been enough of it already and we shall have to live it down. We’ve good friends in the country and I want to make a life here.’
‘Yes, of course. Besides, I want to go home.’
‘You haven’t heard from him?’
‘No...’
‘Bit rotten of him,’ Roddy said. ‘Thought more of him than that, Maggie. He told me. . . still, less said the better in the circumstances. I expect he needs to make a good marriage. Owes it to the family name, I dare say.’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated, then, ‘You will be all right— you yourself, I mean? I know things can’t be easy for you.
‘I’m not sure...’ Roddy hesitated in his turn. ‘Caroline doesn’t know yet, but I’ve started to get flashes of light sometimes, Maggie. I don’t want to tell her in case it doesn’t happen, but I think my sight might be coming back. Your face is just a blur at the moment, but in the strong sunlight this morning... I could see just for a few seconds and then it was gone.’
‘Oh, my dearest brother,’ Margaret said on a rush of emotion. ‘I shall be so happy for you if it happens.’
‘Well, I haven’t set my heart on it,’ he said. ‘It’s the damnedest thing, Maggie. If the eyes were damaged I would know what was wrong and accept that I was blind—and maybe I’m imagining it, but I think it may be starting to happen.’
‘I pray that it will,’ she said and kissed his cheek.
‘You will say nothing to Caroline?’
‘Of course not,’ she promised. ‘That must be for you—but it makes me feel easier about leaving you.’
‘I thought it might,’ he said and grinned at her in his old way. ‘I haven’t been the best of brothers, Maggie— but I know you need your own life. It wouldn’t be fair to keep you here against your will. Go back to France and find what happiness you can. And I wish you luck for the future. Who knows, you might find someone who wants to marry you one day.’
Margaret smiled. She did not tell him that she had recently turned down a proposal of marriage from Edward Marshall, for he would think her foolish to have refused him—and perhaps she was. Yet to marry without love would be to betray all that she felt in her heart.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Caroline is upset about my leaving just at the moment, but she will soon realise that she does not truly need me here. Indeed, I think she will enjoy being the complete mistress of her own home.’
‘I think it’s because of the baby,’ he said. ‘If she could fall herself, she would not care two hoots.’
And that was the truth of the matter, Margaret knew. Her brother’s honesty could be devastating at times, but she preferred it to half-truths and pretence.
Caroline avoided her as much as possible for the next two days, giving her reproachful looks every time they met. Margaret was a little hurt by her manner, but smiled and talked as if nothing was wrong. She could not stay for ever and believed it was best to make the break now before it was too late.
It was on the morning of her departure, after she had given Roddy and Caroline the small gifts she’d bought for them in London, that Caroline brought her a neatly wrapped package, pressing it into her hands.
‘Thank you, dearest,’ she said and began to open it.
‘No, not now,’ Caroline said hastily and looked oddly guilty. ‘Open it when you get home, Maggie. Promise you won’t do so before that?’
‘Very well, if that is your wish.’
Margaret put the little package into her smallest trunk, and then went to take her sister-in-law by the hands.
‘You will visit me sometimes, I hope?’
‘Yes, of course. If you want me to.’
‘Of course I shall,’ Margaret said and kissed her. ‘Take care of yourself, Caroline, and be happy.’
‘Yes. I am happy. I would like a child, but Roddy says it will happen one day and I must believe him.’
Margaret nodded but said no more. The footman had come to take her trunk downstairs and she was ready to leave.
Margaret put a hand to her back, feeling the strain of the journey. She had never minded travelling before, but she was now four and a half months pregnant as near as she could tell, and it was tiring for her. She had planned to visit Paris in the near future and make an appointment with the doctor for her confinement, but she would spend a week or two at home first resting.
She glanced at her trunks, which had been brought up, and which a maid was busily unpacking. ‘Leave the contents of that small trunk for the moment, Lisette,’ she said. ‘I shall unpack that myself when I am ready.’
‘Oui, madame,’ the girl said and curtsied to her. ‘We are so pleased that you have come home. We thought that you might stay in England... after the troubles.’
‘You mean the war, of course?’ Lisette nodded and then sighed. ‘It was sad that it had to happen, but it did not much affect you here on the coast—besides, I like it at the villa. It is so peaceful.’
‘And madame needs to rest,’ Lisette said.
‘Yes, I need to rest,’ Margaret said and looked longingly at the bed. ‘Indeed, I think I shall do so just for an hour or two.
When the maid had gone she lay down and closed her eyes, drifting into a troubled sleep in which Giles appeared to look at her with accusing eyes.
* * *
‘But it was you who deserted me...’
The words were on her lips as she woke and realised it was early morning. She had slept for hours and her servants had allowed her to rest. They had seen her tiredness, and her swelling belly must have given them the reason for her unusual fatigue.
Margaret got up, feeling restless. She had expected that her unhappiness would melt away once she was at home, but after so many months of absence it did not feel quite the same, and she realised that it would take her a while to settle. After all, she had expected Giles to be with her when she stayed here in future. But she must put all such dreams aside and think of herself and the child now.
She poured herself a glass of wine and ate one of the little almond comfits that had been placed beside her bed in a small porcelain box. Then she walked over to her dressing table and bent down to open her small trunk, taking out some of the treasures that were always carried in it for safety’s sake.
Her pearls and the diamond pendant that Giles had bought for her in Brussels—and the bracelet that had seemed to tell her of his love, with its design of a crescent moon and star.
‘Oh, Giles, my darling,’ she whispered, glancing at herself in the mirror, the candleglow making her look pale. ‘Giles—why did you stop loving me?’
Laying the jewel box on the dressing chest, she reached for something else and found the small package Caroline had given her. It was so odd that her sister-in law should have requested that she open it only after she was home in France.
Untying the strings, she stared in surprise as she saw it contained three letters and a calling card—Giles’s card, and, she knew immediately, the letters were all from him. Flow had they come to be in Caroline’s possession?
‘Oh, no!’ she exclaimed as she realised what the girl had done. ‘Caroline, how could you?’ Her sister-in-law had been afraid that Giles meant to take her from them and had concealed the letters all this time, giving them to her only when she knew that Margaret was finally leaving.
Opening the letters, she saw that one had been written almost three months ago, just before Napoleon Bonaparte left for St Helena.
I write in haste, dearest, Giles had scrawled. The Emperor has gone, but we have endless meetings and it seems that they will never be finished. I can make you no promises for the future, for I am not certain how long I shall he tied up here, but I want you to know that you are always in my thoughts.
Though brief, it ended with his love and was just as she had imagined it might be were she to receive a letter from him, telling of his frustration with delays and problems that he could not solve.
The second was longer.
My
darling Magda. I have received word that Belmont has died and I have inherited
the estate and the responsibilities that go with it. As you may imagine, it is
a burden I did not want and I am not sure how you may feel about this. The
future cannot now be entirely as we had planned it, for at some time I must do
my duty, even though I may find ways to put it off for a while. Eventually I
must succumb to convention, my love, annoying as it may be for us both.
However, this will not make any difference to the way I feel for you and I hope
you will find it in yourself to forgive me for what must, be. You know you have
my heart as always. Your own Giles, Duke of Belmont. Oh, how I hate that title!
The third had been written just a few weeks earlier in London.
Someone
has told me your news. I wish you all happiness, my dear, but I am sad that you
did not see fit to tell me about Edward Marshall yourself I shall not bother
you again. I remain your friend if you should need me, Giles.
The stark message of his words stunned her after the loving letters that had preceded it. Even the scrawled note on the back of his card said that he longed to see her before his return to France.
What could have changed him?
Margaret sat down on the edge of the bed, reading the letters through again and again until she knew them by heart.
What did his second letter mean exactly? He talked of his duty and the changes it must mean eventually—yet at this time he had thought to continue their relationship. That part at least was plain to her.
So what had made him write those harsh words?
He had been in London during their own visit to Sir Denis. Suddenly, Margaret recalled the chance meeting with Edward Marshall. They had gone for a drive in the park—and he had kissed her briefly on the cheek after she had refused his offer of marriage. Could Giles have seen them? Surely not!
She glanced at the letter again. Someone had told Giles her news? What did that mean? Had someone seen her with Edward and told him that she had transferred her affections to the younger man?
Surely Giles would not believe such a thing? Margaret puzzled over it, but unless he had happened to see her that afternoon himself he could not have thought any such thing. Even Caroline would not have told him such a terrible lie—would she?
Margaret felt heartsore at the thought, but then she dismissed it. Whatever Caroline had done in the past, she had returned the letters to her now—which meant that Margaret must make her own decision.
She could write to Giles at the embassy in Paris. Alternatively, she could call to see him when she went there herself—or she could wait and do nothing.
If Giles could believe such a thing of her, he could not love her as she loved him. Surely he must know she was not the kind of woman who would discard one lover and fall straight into the arms of another? And if he did not, was it worth trying to repair their relationship?
Perhaps he had accepted the lie because it was easier? Margaret looked at his second letter once more. He had written that the future could not be entirely as they had planned it—perhaps his plans no longer included a mistress who would travel with him as he moved about the world. Perhaps he wanted a respectable lady for his wife, a lady who would consider it her duty to stay at home and provide him with a string of heirs for the dukedom.
She had no objection to providing the string of heirs if that is what he truly wanted, of course, or to living in that beautiful house—but she was a fallen woman. She had been his mistress and could not expect him to offer her marriage.
Kitty, Lady Russell, had married her lover, but that did not happen often. Kitty had tried to warn her when they were in Brussels, but Margaret had not wanted to listen. She had believed that Giles would want to continue their affair—as he had at the beginning of the war. His first letters had seemed to promise so much.
So why had he changed his mind? Perhaps he had met someone else? They had been apart for some months. It might be that he had forgotten her.
The thought was so painful that she wanted to dismiss it, but it lingered in her mind. Giles must know that their relationship could not continue once he married, and perhaps that was why he had written her such a harsh letter. It might have seemed easier to make the break that way.
A part of her longed to leave for Paris immediately and seek him out, but in her heart she knew that she could not do that. If Giles wanted their affair to continue, he must come to her.
She would do as she had planned on her return, rest here for a week or so until her strength was back to normal and then travel to Paris to make an appointment with the doctor and buy the things she would need for the birth of her child.
Chapter Twelve
‘So it is settled then,’ Wellington said. ‘You leave for Vienna in the morning, Giles. This message is urgent and I must have a reply—you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir, of course.’
Giles was thoughtful as he left the room. He had regretted the harsh words he had written to Magda in that last letter. Jealousy was an ugly emotion and it had been strong in him when he returned to his lodgings after seeing her with Edward Marshall. However, had she not refused to see him it might have stayed in his pocket and been torn up. It was Lady Hazelmere’s direct speaking that had decided him. However, since then he had had time to think and regret.
Would Magda really have left orders that she did not wish to speak to him? It did not sound like the woman he remembered, the woman who had surrendered so sweetly to his loving, who even now possessed him in his dreams, haunting him every waking hour. It sounded like a rather petulant, spoiled young lady—which perhaps fitted Caroline Hazelmere rather better than her sister-in-law.
If that were the case. . . it was entirely possible that Magda had received none of the letters that he had sent her.
Surely Caroline could not be that vindictive? She must have known how hurtful it would be for Magda if she believed he had abandoned her. Giles frowned over the thought. He had been hurt and angry because of rumours and that little scene he’d witnessed by chance between Magda and Edward Marshall—but if Magda believed he had deserted her without a word... she might perhaps have turned to another man in her despair.
The anger boiled over in him and it took all his strength not to post off to England immediately and consign his duty to hell. Only the knowledge that Wellington would then be within his rights to court- martial him kept him from rushing to find Magda and demand that she speak to him in person. Yet he could not allow others to dictate to them, on that much he was determined. He must do his duty, but after that he would see Magda, even if it meant resigning his commission.
In the meantime, he would write to her at her home in France. There was just a chance that she might have returned there and that this time she would receive it. But, no, he would not again put his faith in letters. He would visit her on his return, no matter what!
‘I shall be delighted to attend you at your accouchement, madame,’ the eminent doctor told Magda. ‘It will be a pleasure to advise a sensible lady like yourself, n’est-ce pas?’
‘Thank you,’ Magda said and smiled. ‘I feel very much better for having talked to you, monsieur.’
Margaret was smiling as she left his consulting rooms. The sun was shining and she felt very much more relaxed than she had when she arrived back in France three weeks earlier.
She had made arrangements to stay at a small, discreet hotel that she and Aunt Kate had used once or twice on their visits to Paris in the past. The most important appointment had been with Monsieur Delvalle, and now that that was over she had nothing to do but enjoy herself.
It was pleasant to stroll along the wide boulevards in the gentle autumn sunshine and to sit and drink coffee at an open-air café. Even at this time of year the scent of flowers was everywhere, filling the air, mingling with the smell of hot pastries and fragrant coffee. She was aware of feeling a slight pang of envy as she watched a pair of lovers strolling hand in hand by the river, but she fought down any tendency to self-pity. She had so much to be thankful for and now that she had had time to consider, she had promised herself that she would not regret anything.
Nor did she regret her affair for one moment, only that it had ended too soon. She had known happiness far beyond her expectations and she was to have her lover’s child; that was more than she had thought she would ever have at one time, and she had decided that she would not allow the bitterness to creep in and spoil her memories. Not many women had experienced a love affair as exciting and satisfying as hers, and that must sustain her for the rest of her life. She had promised herself that she would look forward, not back in regret.
To that end, she had written to Caroline and told her that she had forgiven her for her deceit.
I
know that you were upset and frightened at the time, she had written. I am hurt
that you did not care for my feelings over this, but I have decided that it
will not come between us. We shall forget it and go on as if it had never happened.
And if she was prepared to forgive Caroline, then she must be prepared to give Giles the answers he deserved, Margaret had decided. She had made up her mind to call at the embassy that very morning and leave a message for Giles, telling him where she might be found, and if he were not there then she would send a letter to his estate in England.
She would tell him that she understood his position had changed, and that while she could not consider being his mistress after he married, she would be happy to welcome him as a friend—but she would not tell him she was carrying his child. If he chose to visit her, her condition would be only too apparent.
Her inquiries at the embassy were met with politeness, but little more. The Duke of Belmont was not in Paris at the moment, and, no, they were not able to contact him—but if she cared to leave a letter he would receive it on his return.
Margaret was disappointed, but she had known that his work entailed a deal of travelling, and had been prepared for this eventuality. She thanked the junior official who had taken the time to see her, left her letter with him and went back out into the sunshine. She would spend the few days in Paris that she had planned, enjoy the shopping, the atmosphere, and perhaps even a visit to the theatre, and then she would go home to the solitude of her villa.
Yes, there were days when she was lonely, nights when her dreams of Giles were so vivid that she woke up with his name on her lips, but she was strong. She would take things quietly until after the birth of her child and then...
‘Magda!’ She turned as she heard the voice calling to her and stared in surprise as she saw the lady leaning out of the door of a smart equipage that had pulled up in the sunlit square. ‘I was told that you had returned to France. How fortunate that we should meet this way.’
‘Felicia...’ Margaret stared at her in astonishment, for the late duke’s widow was the last person she had ever expected to see here at this time. Surely her period of mourning was not yet finished? As she crossed the road to speak to her, Felicia got down and she could see that she was wearing a very fetching gown of pale lilac silk, a pretty bonnet with curling grey feathers perched at a jaunty angle on her head. ‘It is lovely to see you.’
‘You are surprised,’ Felicia said and bobbed her fair curls, which cascaded from beneath the bonnet. ‘But I really could not stay cooped up at Belmont another moment. Some friends of mine were coming to Paris and I persuaded them to let me accompany them—and here I am. Please do not scold me for breaking all the rules. I know it is very naughty of me, but Belmont always said rules were made to be broken. He would not care a fig, believe me.’
‘I do not reproach you,’ Margaret assured her. ‘As you say, your husband was not a narrow-minded man.’
‘Oh, no, not at all, or I should not have married him,’ Felicia said and laughed. ‘I considered Giles once, you know—but he can be a little stuffy sometimes. He was so angry with me when I told him I thought you had found a new lover. La! You should have seen his face, Magda. It was vastly amusing. Of course, I know I was wrong to repeat gossip—and Annis Crosby is very spiteful sometimes. I am sorry if it made trouble between you for a while, though Giles said he intended to call and see you as soon as his business was finished. Is he here in Paris at the moment?’
‘He is away,’ Margaret replied, feeling chilly all of a sudden. ‘What did you tell Giles, Felicia?’
‘I had a letter from Annis. She had seen you with Edward Marshall on a ship returning from France. She assumed you were lovers and I asked Giles if it was over between you—that was when I was very firmly put in my place, I can tell you.’
‘It was not true. Mr Marshall was merely being kind to Sir Roderick, his wife and myself. There has never been anything but friendship between us.’
‘Giles would have it so, but then he is in love with you,’ Felicia said and laughed gaily, her eyes sparkling with confidence. ‘Men are such fools when they are in love. It is so easy to twist them around one’s little finger, is it not?’
‘Perhaps.’ Margaret knew that Felicia was not malicious and did not resent the inference. ‘Are you staying in Paris long?’
‘Oh, for a week or two, I dare say,’ Felicia gurgled at her. ‘You have no idea why I said that about men being foolish, have you’?’
‘No, I must have missed your meaning.’
‘Well, I thought Giles must have told you—what he thought at the start. You recall the attempt on the Regent’s life? They kept it from me at the time, but I wormed it out of Bel later—and that is what is so funny, Magda. At the start Giles thought you might be a French spy working for Bonaparte. He knew that there might be an assassination attempt against the Prince Regent, Belmont or Wellington, and of course there was. Only you saved the prince and Wellington saved himself, and my poor darling Bel was perfectly safe all the time.’
‘Giles thought I might be an assassin?’
‘You really did not know?’ Felicia pealed with laughter, her ringlets bobbing. ‘That is what I thought so amusing. He set out to seduce you to learn your secrets, of course, and ended up falling in love with you.’
Margaret felt sick. Her head was whirling and for one moment she thought she might faint, but Felicia clutched at her arm, steadying her.
‘Oh, are you feeling faint? I am so sorry. It happened to me several times when I was carrying. I hope I didn’t upset you? I did not mean to hurt you, Magda. Please do not think that. Giles realised he was wrong long ago, of course, and I know he adores you because he told me so. He thought I might have hopes of him when my mourning was over, but of course it was no such thing. I prefer to be spoiled and Giles is far too stern to suit me.’
Margaret had recovered her balance. It took a little longer to recover her composure, but within a few seconds she had managed it.
‘How foolish of me to turn faint,’ she said. ‘It is my condition as you said, n’est-ce pas? You are very right, men can be fools—but I fear we are often just as bad for we love them too well.’
‘Oh, pooh, as to that...’ Felicia shrugged her shoulders expressively. ‘I was fond of Bel, but not in love. I do not think I wish to be in love; it is too painful from what I have seen of it. I much prefer to have a man fuss over me, that is why I am determined to marry a man of Bel’s age next time—so much easier, don’t you think? A few smiles and dimples and pretty looks and they ask for little more. Young men are so demanding. I prefer an older man every time.’
‘Your choice entirely,’ Margaret said. She wondered how much more of Felicia’s chattering she must endure, for her head was still swimming, and was glad when the young woman started waving at a couple across the street.
‘My friends have finished their shopping,’ Felicia said. ‘It was lovely to see you again. You must ask Giles to bring you to visit me one day when you are in England. I am still at Belmont, though I think I shall take a house in Bath, for that will suit me very much better.’ She darted a kiss at Margaret’s cheek and went back to her carriage just as her friends came up to her.’
Margaret inclined her head to the couple, who were not known to her, crossed the road to a small café and sat down at the nearest table. She needed a glass of wine and a moment to clear her head.
An artist asked if she would have her likeness taken, but she shook her head, unable to smile for him as was her usual wont. Felicia’s revelations had been a severe shock to her and she was struggling to come to terms with the knowledge of Giles’s betrayal.
If she had met Felicia before she visited the embassy, she would not have left that letter for Giles. She had wondered for a moment when Lord Ellwood mentioned something of the kind, but believed it was just the muddled ramblings of a dying man—but now she knew the truth. Felicia had made everything more than plain.
Had she not known the young woman was an empty- headed charmer who never thought before she spoke and was not capable of being malicious, she would have thought it had been said to poison her relationship with Giles. However, she did not suspect Felicia of making mischief deliberately, merely of blurting out what she thought was amusing.
Magda did not find it so amusing. Giles had deliberately set out to seduce her, that much she had not needed telling. At the beginning of their acquaintance she had thought it merely an attempt at seduction, but then she had fallen deeply in love and she believed he had also—but now...
How could she believe anything any more? That he should think her a spy—even worse, an assassin! It was hurtful beyond anything that had happened to her so far.
Sipping the good Burgundy wine from the glass in front of her, Magda felt its warmth spread through her veins, giving her back the life that she had felt draining out of her as she listened to Felicia gaily shatter all her illusions: Giles had never loved her. He had merely used her.
She wished that she had never met him, never given her foolish heart to a man who did not deserve it. Her pleasure in being in Paris was destroyed, but she decided to stay despite that. She would need things for her child... For a moment she wished that she could tear it from her body, but then the thought was crushed. Her child was an innocent. She could not blame the father’s perfidy on her unborn baby.
But she could and did blame Giles. She wished with all her heart that she had not left that letter for him, but if he came to see her—and he probably would not— she would simply refuse to see him.
Giles returned to Paris a few days after Magda had left. He had made all speed and for once had not been kept kicking his heels for longer than a day. He reported immediately to Wellington and requested leave for a week, which was grudgingly given with the admonition not to expect it again too soon if he wished to remain in the service.
At this moment, Giles was not at all certain that he did. For years he had believed the life would suit him, that he would prefer it to the life of ease that would be his if he took up the reins of his estate and settled down.
He had installed three good agents he knew to be loyal to him to run things at Belmont for the moment, and it had been in his mind to give the service a couple of years more, and then perhaps go home—but it depended on Magda.
Of paramount importance was the need to talk to her and settle things between them. His thoughts had made uneasy bedfellows these past few days and he blamed himself for giving up too easily in London. When Caroline Hazelmere told him that Magda did not want to see him, he should have stood his ground and demanded an interview—and he ‘ould have, had it not been for that little scene he had witnessed.
But that could have been innocent, as he well knew. Marshall was besotted with her and would have taken any opportunity to kiss her—and thinking about it calmly, it had been more a kiss of friendship than of passion. Such things happened for all kinds of reasons, and normally he would have waited for her to tell him of the incident, which she would have done had they still been together.
He would go to England, discover where Magda was living and then find her. Somehow he would make her listen to him, sort this thing out between them once and for all. Until he knew for certain how things lay between them, he would know no peace.
It was as he was about to leave the building that the young clerk ran after him.
‘Your Grace,’ he panted, holding out a sealed package. ‘I almost missed you. This came for you when you were away, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ Giles took it, intending to put it in his pocket and read it later; then something in the clerk’s expression made him pause. He caught a hint of perfume and held it to his nose, his senses immediately assaulted by overwhelming memories. It was her perfume! He could not be mistaken, for it carried the essence of her and no other. ‘Was this delivered by a lady?’
‘Yes, your Grace—a very beautiful lady.’
Giles nodded and thanked him. ‘Your name is?’
‘Samuels, sir.’
‘Then I shall remember you, Samuels. If you look for a better position, come to me when I return to Paris in a week’s time. I need enterprising men in my employ.’
‘I should like to work for you, sir.’
‘Then I shall not forget.’
Samuels glowed, but Giles hardly noticed. He was tearing open the letter as he strode away, his heart racing as he perused it, swiftly, greedily at first like a man dying of thirst, and then more slowly.
Now what on earth did she mean by that? She would not consider being his mistress after he married—surely she could not imagine that he would marry anyone else?
He had told her in every way he could that she was important to him, showing his love not only when he took her in his arms, but in other countless ways, down to telling her to put on a cloak when it was cold and the wind was biting. Surely his letter had been plain enough? He could not quite recall what he had written, but it had been meant to be an apology that their amusing game had come to an end and they must settle for the convention of marriage.
Was it possible that Magda had not realised that he was asking her to be his wife? He swore beneath his breath, but loudly enough to startle a passer-by. Why had he not spoken that night at the ball, asked her to wait for him?
How often he had regretted his hesitation. But there would be no more of it. Magda had explained that his letters had been delayed, but she had received them in the end and that meant she would have read the last. Yet she had still left this for him, which must surely mean that she had decided to give him one last chance.
If he wanted her, which he assuredly did, he must make the most of it.
Margaret wandered over to the furthest edge of the garden and stood looking down at the sea. It was a deep midnight blue that evening, for the sky had been overcast all day and it seemed that they might have a storm before morning.
A sigh escaped her—the air was heavy and she was feeling oppressed, perhaps because of her condition, which was beginning to become irksome at times. She had not been ill since the sickness had stopped, but she did tire more easily and sometimes her back ached, as it did today.
Her housekeeper had told her that she ought to rest more, but she hated to be shut in the house and preferred to walk when the weather was fine.
Even though it was December it was much milder here than it would be in England now, she thought, and despite Caroline’s abject letter of apology, which had reached her that morning, she was glad she had come home. It would not have suited her to reside in her brother’s house too long. She needed her independence and the freedom to think and act, as she felt right. Perhaps her aunt had been right all along, and what had happened was for the best. At least she had her memories. But no, she did not really believe that. She longed for Giles with all her heart despite the anger that still lodged like a stone in her breast, refusing to leave her in peace.
She was not sure how long she stood looking down at the restless sea, feeling in tune with its endless movement. Why were her nerves on edge? Was she waiting for Giles to react to her letter? Surely she had decided that she could never forgive him? But perhaps there would be no need... he might just ignore it.
‘Magda...’ Had she conjured his voice up out of thin air? She turned to look at him, hardly believing her eyes as she saw him striding towards her. He was just as he had always been, tall, powerful, assured and a little stern, but, oh, so attractive! Her heart raced and she felt the usual rush of love for him, but fought it down. She remained perfectly still where she stood right at the edge of the cliff, not trusting herself to speak as he came up to her. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and relief as if some strong emotion worked within him. ‘At last! I looked for you at Hazelmere and in London—and it seems I missed you in Paris...’ His eyes went over her, taking in the stage of her pregnancy, calculating the months, though he had no need, for he knew that she was carrying his child. ‘Why did you not tell me? You must have known before I left you.’
‘I was not certain... either that I was with child or that you would wish to know,’ she said and she was in control, her voice flat, cold, and expressionless. ‘After all, it is not always the most welcome news to a gentleman. Many would prefer not to know.’
‘Damn you, Magda! I have not deserved that from you.’ He grabbed hold of her arms, his fingers digging into the tender flesh and making her wince. He released her instantly. ‘Forgive me, I do not mean to hurt you. You know—you must know that I adore you!’
‘I know that you desired me,’ she replied and turned away her face to gaze over the sea once more, her heart beating so fast that she felt breathless. It would be so easy to melt into his arms, to give herself up to this raging desire inside her—but did she dare to trust him? ‘I imagine a man may desire many women in his life, but he will not want to be responsible for their children.’
‘That is unpardonable! You will take that back, Magda. You know that I would never have deserted you. My duty took me from you: I wrote to you as soon as I was able. I do not know what happened to delay my letters, but...’ Giles was furious, his lips white with temper, nostrils flaring as his hands clenched at his sides. For the moment he did not trust himself to touch her.
‘Caroline kept them from me,’ she said, turning to look at him once more. He wondered at the reproach in her eyes. What had he done to make her look at him like that? ‘I imagine she was afraid of being alone with Roddy at the start. He was so moody—so desperate— that she thought he might try to take his own life. It was unfortunate, but she gave them to me when I left Hazelmere, though I did not read them until I reached France. She begged me not to. I think she was ashamed of what she had done.’
‘I am sorry for your brother’s trouble,’ Giles said. ‘It cannot be pleasant for either of them and I dare say she was distressed. But that does not excuse what she did.’
‘No, it does not,’ Margaret agreed. ‘I was glad to have your letters, Giles. It hurt me that you had not written. I had thought you would tell me that you must end our relationship in person—and perhaps that was your intention when you tried to see me?’
His expression hardened, becoming angry once more. ‘No, it was not. I have no intention of ending it—even less now that I know a child is expected.’
Her head went up, her expression proud, unreadable. ‘I do not want you to continue our affair just because of the child, Giles. I have money enough for our needs. You have no need to feel responsible—for me or my child.’
‘Be damned to the money!’ He glared at her, frustrated by his inability to break down this barrier between them. ‘If you were not in that condition I would shake you, damn it! How can you say that to me after all that was between us? I would not have believed you could so misunderstand me. I thought my letter plain enough.’
‘I was not certain of your meaning. You seemed to say that you wished to continue our relationship, but that your duty was to marry. I could not be a party to such a relationship, Giles. It would be grossly unfair to your wife.’
‘Not if you were my wife.’
‘That is impossible.’
A sigh of exasperation escaped him. ‘For pity’s sake! I know you had this foolish notion that you did not wish to marry, that you wished to be free—but damn it all, Magda, I’m not going to lock you into a chastity belt every time I go away. Nor shall I belittle you at every opportunity or ride roughshod over your opinions.’
‘You would find a chastity belt difficult to administer at the moment,’ she allowed, a tiny smile on her lips as she saw his frustration. ‘But that was not my meaning ever and...’ She had been about to confess her change of heart, but then she remembered why she was so very angry with him. ‘Oh, how can I believe anything you say? It was all a lie from the very beginning.’
‘What are you talking about? I have not lied about my feelings for you. I love you and I want to marry you, not for the child, not for duty, but because it is what I have wanted in my heart since the first time we made love.’
‘But you lied to me at the start,’ she accused him. ‘Perhaps not in words, for you never pretended to mean more than an affair—but in your mind. You thought me a spy and an assassin...’
She saw by the look in his eyes that it was true. He looked shocked, devastated by her words, and unable to deny that she spoke truly.
‘I was a fool,’ he managed at last. ‘I admit that I was working on information I had received and you did seem to be a prime suspect, but that all changed once I kissed you. I knew then that you were not the sophisticated, ruthless woman I had believed you might be. Besides, if you had not pretended to be other than you were, I should never have suspected you in the first place.’
‘So it was my fault?’ She stared at him angrily. Felicia’s words had stung! ‘Because of my harmless little masquerade I had to be a spy and a murderess?’
‘No, no, of course not. But you will admit that you were masquerading under a false name, and that I had cause for suspicion?’
‘I admit that it was foolish of me.’
‘Why did you really do it?’
‘I do not know,’ she said honestly. ‘I was bored, restless; I wanted an adventure, I suppose. Aunt Kate had filled my head with her stories. I thought all the fine ladies and gentlemen in London were decadent, selfish creatures and deserved to be taught a lesson. It was just a little jest, nothing more, a way of repaying my aunt for all she had given me—and she had promised Caroline a Season. Also, I wanted to be in control of my affairs, not hampered by convention...’ She smiled ruefully. ‘When I met people who welcomed me warmly to their homes, good, honest people who were kind to me, I felt ashamed of what I had done and wished I had not deceived them. I have often wished that I had been honest with you from the start, Giles.’
‘I would never have tried to seduce you if I’d known the truth, Magda. You must know that?’
‘I dare say you would hardly have noticed me,’ she said and her smile was softer now. ‘I would just have been another spinster past her last prayers.’
‘Now that is the most foolish thing I have ever heard you say,’ Giles murmured and reached out to take hold of her arm as she tried to move away. ‘You know that I was caught from the first, Magda.’
‘By who you thought I was,’ she said and her eyes flashed fire at him. ‘It was the accent, the mystery that intrigued you, Giles. Miss Hazelmere and her duenna and ward would not have taken your interest—and perhaps that might have been for the best.’
‘Never!’ He pulled her towards him, holding her in his arms as he bent his head and kissed her softly on the lips, and then with a little groan, passionately. ‘Will you never learn, my stubborn love? I want you more than any woman I have known.’
She gazed up at him, her lustrous eyes wide and questing. ‘Wanting is not loving, Giles.’
‘Have I not told you in every way possible that I adore you? Even that foolish jeweller knew why I had bought that bracelet for you—because you were the moon and stars to me, and all the world. How can I make you see what you mean to me if you will not listen?’
‘Oh, Giles...’ She felt the tears prick behind her eyes. ‘I am afraid to believe you.’
‘I swear that I shall never intentionally hurt you, Magda. This parting was not of my making, as you well know. I want you to marry me—but if you will not I shall never marry. If you insist that we carry on as before, I shall renounce my title in favour of some distant cousin, and we shall go on with our plans.’
‘Giles, you cannot. I cannot allow you to make such a sacrifice. Besides...’ She was about to tell him that she wanted to be his wife when he took a sudden step backwards without noticing where he put his foot and the next moment she felt him slipping. ‘Giles! The edge is not safe!’
He let go of her as he lost his balance and she saw that a small chunk of the cliff had given way beneath his feet. She screamed as he slid over the edge, clawing desperately as he tried to get a hold to save himself. For a moment as he disappeared from sight, she was terrified, convinced that he had slid all the way down, but then she heard his voice call to her and knelt to look down at him. Her heart seemed to stop as she saw how precarious his situation was and knew that only the merest chance had prevented him from plunging into the sea. His coat had caught on a tuft of coarse grass protruding from the cliff face, his feet balancing on a precarious ledge, a sheer drop beneath him to the jutting rocks below, while he sought for a firmer grip.
‘Get help,’ he said. ‘I can hold for a while—don’t try to pull me back yourself. You couldn’t manage it in your condition...’
‘Don’t you dare tell me what I can manage, Giles Benedict!’ she cried. She was frightened almost out of her wits, but she knew that there were only seconds to spare. His hold was tenuous and before she could fetch help he might slide all the way down to the bottom and be shattered by the rocks. ‘For once in your life you will do as I tell you.’
Margaret had been wearing a separate skirt and bodice over her petticoat and she whipped off her skirt, tying it into a knot with her shawl to make a makeshift rope. Behind her there was a stubby bush that looked secure enough to take his weight, and fastening one end of her rope to the bush with three knots, she threw the other down to him.
‘Tie that around your wrist,’ she instructed as he caught it instantly. ‘It is secured to a bush. You can use it to climb back up. I shall help to steady you and pull as much as I can. You have to do it, Giles. That grass won’t hold much longer; it is already giving way. Trust me, the bush will take your weight!’
‘God help me if it doesn’t,’ he muttered, but he wound the material about his wrist, before freeing his coat, and then pulled sharply on the rope she had made, testing it before putting his full weight on it.
As soon as Margaret saw he was trying to haul himself up, she went to the other end and put her weight before the bush, giving him what assistance she could, though it was of scarce help to him. However, he had powerful shoulders and strong arms, and gradually he was hauling himself over the edge. She saw first his head and then his shoulders appear above the edge. Letting go of the rope, she ran to tug at his coat as he lay half-suspended over the edge, and then in that moment a shout came from behind them and all at once her gardener was there, adding his strength to hers. In seconds Giles was lying on his face, safely away from the edge.
Margaret fell to her knees, exhausted by the effort she had made, unable to move or speak for several seconds. It took Giles a moment longer to catch his breath before he looked up at her, his expression unreadable.
‘I shall expect better obedience from my wife in future, Magda. If you ever risk your life so unnecessarily again, I shall break your neck myself.’
‘That is a ridiculous contradiction, Giles,’ she said and, rising to her feet, turned to thank the gardener effusively in French. He grinned at her, pulled at his forelock and then ambled off, chuckling to himself. Margaret turned to Giles once more. ‘If you are not going to lie there all night, you had better come up to the house.’
‘As long as you don’t intend to throw me out as soon as you’ve assured yourself that I am fit to travel.’ He stood up and looked at her, one eyebrow quirked. ‘Madame, you are hardly decent to be congratulating your gardener in that state. It is no wonder that he was laughing as he walked away.’
Margaret glared at him. ‘Sir, I do not give a damn what I look like! Had I not acted as I did, you would even now be lying on those rocks down there. I have no wish to have your death on my conscience—even if you are a stubborn, bad-tempered, impossible man!’
His eyes gleamed. ‘You are a stubborn, wilful woman, and you deserve I should put you across my knee and administer a spanking.’
‘Sir, I am turning cold. Will you not give me your coat? If you intend to stand here all night in useless conversation, I may well catch my death.’
‘Oh, Magda,’ he said and glanced back towards the cliff edge as if only then realising how close he had come to death. ‘What am I going to do with you?’
‘Do you think you could give me your coat—and then kiss me?’ she said, her voice husky with emotion. A shiver went through her as she realised what might have happened. ‘Or perhaps...’
His arms went round her and she felt the shudder run through him seconds before he bent his head to kiss her on the lips, softly at first and then with increasing demand.
‘Damn it,’ he muttered as he looked down at her. ‘I am not sure how to treat you, my love. I have been starved of the sight of you and now I am half-afraid to touch you.’
‘Well, you need not be. I shall not break if you touch me,’ she said and smiled at him, the glitter of tears in her eyes. She had come so close to losing him for ever that she dare not even think about it. ‘Do you truly love me so much? I have been afraid that I would never see you again. And I was not sure of your heart once I learned the truth of your behaviour at the start of our affair.’
‘Who told you that I was once foolish enough to think you an assassin and a spy?’ He asked, raising his brows.
‘Lord Ellwood said something to me just before he died, but I took it for the rambling of a dying man. It was Felicia who told me the whole story. I saw her in Paris when I visited a few days ago. Belmont told her the whole before he became ill, I suppose.’
‘Damn her for her interference! If she was meddling...’
‘No, no, my dearest,’ Margaret said and placed a finger to his lips. ‘She hasn’t a malicious bone in her body. She just doesn’t think before she speaks.’
‘She has the brain of a peahen.’ Giles said crossly. ‘She enjoyed being the duchess, but if she imagines I am interested...’
‘You flatter yourself,’ Margaret teased. ‘Felicia thinks you too stern and cross. She prefers an older man to fuss over her—someone she can twist around her little finger.’
‘Am I too stern?’ He looked genuinely surprised and Margaret laughed.
‘Sometimes, just a little. I thought so at the start.’
‘I suppose I have always taken life seriously. But when I was with you I think we laughed a great deal?’ He raised his brows at her. ‘You are going to marry me, aren’t you, my darling?’
‘We shall go up to the ‘ouse and discuss it,’ she told him, tipping her head to one side, her accent for his benefit alone. ‘I think that I shall ‘ave to consider very carefully, my lord. I ‘ope you are intending to make up for lost time? I ‘ave not been kissed for too long...’ She laughed huskily as he reached out for her. ‘I have been so very alone without you, Giles—and I thought I should never know how it felt to be kissed again.’
Giles reminded her immediately, and,
putting his coat and his arm about her, they turned as one and began to walk
back towards the house.
Chapter Thirteen
‘I cannot believe we are really here together like this,’ Giles said and reached out, drawing her closer to him in the bed. Somehow she managed to nestle into his body despite the awkwardness of hers. ‘Are you going to marry me, my darling?’
‘Of course I want to be your wife,’ she said and touched his face, stroking the slight roughness of the shadow of beard on his cheek and feeling the deep shudder that went through him. She could never have guessed that it meant so much to him to have her for his wife. ‘I have known that for months, Giles. I was such a fool to believe that it would be impossible to find happiness with a man.
‘Aunt Kate was unlucky in her husband, as was Caroline’s mother in her family, but I have learned that it does not always have to be like that. I love you and I know that I should be miserable without you.’ She smiled and kissed him. ‘I discovered that when I saw men dying of their wounds and knew that you might have been one of them.’
‘I heard how brave and good you were to our men. It must have been a terrible experience for you, my darling.’
‘It was hard to see their suffering,’ she admitted. ‘But how could I do otherwise, knowing that you might be in like case? I used to pray that if you were injured a gentle woman would tend your hurts. And I was terrified that you might die and I not be with you.’
‘Did I not promise to return?’
‘But promises may be broken. Until I had your letter I was on thorns, my love.’
‘Oh, Magda, how I have missed this, lying close to you, just talking, being alone with you. You are so lovely. It is no wonder that without you life no longer holds the zest it once did,’ Giles admitted, his hand smoothing the little hollow at the small of her back. He kissed her softly on her lips and then on the tip of her nose. ‘Since I thought you lost to me I have not known what I want to do with my life, Magda. Nothing seemed to appeal without you, my love.’
‘For me the years ahead seemed empty, though I would have had some compensation in your child,’ she said and stroked the soft hair on his chest and sighed, recalling her unhappiness these past months. ‘But the future must be for you to decide, Giles. I shall be happy anywhere as long as I am your wife and we are together.’
‘The estate is in good hands for the moment, though at some time I dare say we shall make it our home— but Wellington says he needs me here for the foreseeable future. I dare say it may take two or even three years to settle everything to his satisfaction. We should be based in Paris until then, though we could take a small house out of town—and we could stay here when we have a few days to ourselves. I should have to travel to Vienna or perhaps Rome sometimes, and once the child is born I should like you to come with me—if that is your wish?’
‘You know that it is,’ she said and lifted her face for his kiss. ‘For the moment it would suit me to live here in France, and, indeed, in Paris itself, for it is a city I love. One day we shall go back to England so that our children know that it is their home, but I am happy to travel where you will, Giles. I have often had a fancy to see more exotic lands.’
‘We shall see,’ he promised. ‘The climate of certain countries can be harsh for some, but particularly ladies and small children, and I would not want you to suffer ill health because of it.’
‘You are thinking of the girl you loved and lost when you were young?’ She raised herself on one elbow to look at him, her hair falling forward like a scented curtain across her face. He brushed it back, his hand lingering on her cheek as she gazed down at him. ‘That was so sad and hard for you to bear, Giles, but you must not worry. I am very strong and seldom ill.’
‘Pamela was too young and fragile to be exposed to the rigours of such a climate and the fever that ended her life was virulent. I think she took it from a native girl she had befriended, but I was devastated by her death.’
‘I understand, my love. She was your first love and you will never quite forget her.’
‘Only because it was such a waste of life,’ Giles said and put out his hand to tangle his fingers in Margaret’s hair. The scent of her was tantalising, making him aware of the burning need inside him. ‘But she was not right for me, Magda. We should have grown apart as the years passed—I need a woman like you, a woman who can share my thoughts and feelings in a way that would have been beyond Pamela.’ Margaret laughed softly and he stared at her. ‘What is funny about that?’
‘Nothing you meant to say,’ she told him and explained about Edward Marshall’s proposal. ‘He was so sweet and generous, Giles. And I believe he would have married me had I accepted him.’
His eyes were dark, intent on her face. ‘If you believed I had deserted you, why did you not accept his offer?’
‘I would rather live alone than be married to another man. Surely you know that? No one could ever take your place in my heart and I will not compromise, Giles. I meant it when I told you I had no particular desire to marry. If I had not met you, I dare say I should have remained single all my life.’
‘But you have promised to wed me and I shall not let you escape now,’ he murmured huskily against her throat. ‘Do you know the agony I suffered when I thought I had left it too late?’
‘Foolish one,’ she said and stroked his dark head as it nestled against her breast. ‘Can you not feel the pounding of my heart? I do not want to escape you ever. Marriage to you will be the fulfilment of all my foolish dreams. Do you know that I used to dream of a knight on a black horse who came to ride off with me into the sunset?’
He lifted his head to look at her in amazement. ‘That sounds unlike you, my love—far too romantic.’ He gave her a mock scowl. ‘What did this knight look like? Have I a rival after all?’
‘He looked very like you and should—since the dreams did not begin until after the night you rescued me from my uncle.’
Giles chuckled deep in his throat, clearly delighted with this revelation. ‘I see that I have not yet truly begun to know you, my wicked lady,’ he murmured huskily.
‘Ah, yes, we had not finished that particular discussion,’ Margaret said and frowned at him. ‘How could you imagine that I might be an assassin, Giles? A spy—now, perhaps I might just have been that. . . but an assassin?’
‘It was very foolish of me,’ he said and smiled down at her, knowing that she was merely teasing him, that their love was strong enough to surmount any such hurts. ‘Yet a woman and her accomplice did make an attempt to kill Wellington, though that is a secret and must not be repeated.’
‘And there was an attempt on the Regent’s life,’ Margaret said. ‘Though I believe I am right in thinking that that was nothing to do with Bonaparte, but an act of revenge on the part of a dangerous political activist?’
‘Yes, that is correct,’ he agreed. ‘It was not the first attempt and I dare say will not be the last—though these things are hushed up as much as possible. But you were very brave that day, my love. Prinny is your devoted admirer. He is firmly convinced you saved his life and told me recently, when I saw him, that he expects an invitation to our wedding.’
‘Are we going to have a large wedding?’ Margaret smiled at him and placed his hand on her swollen belly. ‘Do you not think that inappropriate in the circumstances? It is bad enough that the Duke of Belmont is to wed his mistress, but to flaunt my condition before the eyes of polite society as a whole when we might marry here quietly.
‘Be damned to them all,’ Giles said fiercely. ‘It is my intention to marry you with as much pomp and ceremony as is due to my duchess, Magda. Those who wish to remain my friends will attend, and those who do not may please themselves. We shall be married in London as soon as I can arrange leave and return to France almost at once. Wellington will not be best pleased that I shall ask for more leave, but I hope to persuade him by promising to remain in his service while he needs me.’
‘You must ask him to be godfather to our child,’ Margaret said. ‘That should soften his heart a little, do you not think so?’
‘I think it might if you were to ask him yourself, my darling.’ Giles leaned over and kissed her lips. ‘Much as I want and love our child, my beloved, I cannot help thinking he is a little in the way just at the moment. I want so much to make love to you, but I am afraid of hurting you and him.’
‘You are so sure it will be a boy?’
‘I do not mind whether we have a son or a daughter, but you have referred to him several times, Magda.’
‘Yes. I have always thought of him as a son,’ she replied, a little smile curving her mouth. ‘But if you are careful you need not treat me like Sèvres porcelain, Giles. I am still the woman who loves you. At least we can kiss and touch each other, if no more.’
Giles stroked her hair. ‘I shall be content with that,’ he murmured. ‘It is enough to have you near.’
Margaret laughed huskily and reached up to draw him close, whispering of her own feelings as they lay together in a gentle embrace.
Margaret looked at herself in the mirror and pulled a face at Caroline, who was her chief maid of honour. Kitty and Felicia had insisted that they also wanted to stand up with her on her wedding day, and they were elsewhere in the room busying themselves with her bouquet and various accoutrements.
‘I am afraid that there is no disguising the fact that Giles’s son is almost ready to be born,’ she said ruefully. Her gown of ivory lace and satin had been cut flatteringly full in the front, but her condition must be plain to all. ‘Wellington kept us dallying too long in Paris and I think we should be there now if Giles had not told him the wedding could not wait another week.’
‘Surely it does not matter?’ Caroline said. ‘Everyone knew of your affair, after all. If they did not condemn you then, they cannot now that you are to be married— and I dare say you do not care for the opinion of those few who have decided to cut you?’
‘Giles says they are the losers, not us, and to be honest, Caroline, I do not mind. We have so many friends in Paris that I should be happy to stay there for ever if Giles did not have to return eventually. He will of course assume his duties toward the estate one day, but for the moment we prefer the life we lead in Paris.’
‘I hope you will visit us sometimes,’ Caroline said and blushed a delicate pink. ‘I have not told you my news, but I am certain now that I am to have a child— and I told Roddy last night.’
‘Oh, Caroline,’ Margaret said and hugged her. It was awkward and they laughed together. ‘That is wonderful news. I am so pleased for both of you.’
‘You know that Roddy can see a little now, don’t you?’
‘He did tell me that he saw flashes of light sometimes.’
‘It is more than that now,’ Caroline said and her face lit up with happiness. ‘In a good light he can see my face. We visited Sir Denis again and he says that he thinks Roddy will regain his sight completely in time.’
‘Then I shall have nothing more to wish for,’ Margaret said and kissed her cheek. ‘And now I think we had better leave for the church or my impatient one may decide to dispense with the ceremony—and I do not mean Giles!’
‘Oh, Maggie,’ Caroline said and giggled. ‘Wouldn’t it be awful if you started to give birth walking down the aisle?’
‘Unthinkable!’ Margaret said. ‘Do not put it into my head, dearest. I am concentrating on getting through today without mishap.’
‘Of course you will,’ Kitty said, hearing the last few words. ‘Just make up your mind to it, Magda, and you’ll manage perfectly.’
‘I wish I had your confidence,’ Margaret said. ‘Keep your fingers crossed all of you!’
It was a cold winter day but the sun put in a reluctant appearance as the bride walked into church to join her groom—or waddled, as she described it mischievously later when they were alone. However, she managed to survive the church service and the glittering reception that followed without mishap.
If there were some ladies who tittered behind their fans and whispered that the bride was a disgrace, most were happy to see her glowing smiles. She was a favourite with the Regent, who claimed the privilege of kissing the bride with every evidence of pleasure.
Edward Marshall congratulated Giles at the reception. ‘You are a lucky man, sir. Magda is truly lovely, not just in looks but in all the ways that a man might desire.’
‘I know that I am fortunate,’ Giles said. ‘She tells me that you have been kind to her and for that I thank you, sir.’
The two men shook hands and Margaret smiled to see them, for she knew that Giles had conquered his jealousy and would not need to feel it again.
Her son was born in the early hours of the following morning, in the comfort of Kitty’s best guest chamber in London. Lord Russell had offered his home for their brief honeymoon, and it had been arranged that Margaret would stay for a week or two until she was recovered from the birth, when Kitty and her husband would accompany her to Paris.
‘I was afraid I might have to return to Paris before he was born,’ Giles said as he proudly nursed the child later that day and smiled down at Margaret as she lay resting against piles of soft pillows. ‘But you have given me the greatest gift a man could ask and I shall never be able to tell you how much I love you both.’
‘I am only thankful that it did not happen in church. I was terrified that my waters would break during the ceremony and shame us all,’ Margaret said and laughed. Only with this one man could she dare to speak of such things openly. With any other gentleman the details of childbirth would be inexpressible. Oh, how lucky she was that they had met! ‘So I may take it that you are pleased with your son, my lord?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said softly and returned the child to its nurse. He sat on the edge of the bed as the door closed behind the girl and they were alone. Giles reached for her hand, then bent to kiss her. ‘He is beautiful, my darling, and very like his mother.’
‘I think he has your eyes, Giles,’ she said and smiled at him as he reached out to stroke her hair back from her face. ‘And I am glad that you are pleased with him.’
‘I am pleased with you,’ he said and took out a pretty little velvet box, handing it to her with an odd smile. ‘It is merely a little gift to mark the occasion.’
Opening it, she saw that it was an exquisitely painted miniature of Giles on ivory set in silver and mounted with various coloured stones, the first letters of which spelled ‘dearest’.
‘Oh, Giles,’ she said and smiled up at him, understanding so much more than she had when he had given her the gold bangle set with pearls in the shape of the crescent moon and a star. ‘It is beautiful. I shall always treasure it.’ Tears stung her eyes because she knew how much thought had gone into the gift, which had been commissioned just for her.
His hand caressed her cheek and he bent to kiss her once more. ‘I am glad it pleases you,’ he murmured softly. ‘I wish that I did not have to leave you here, my darling, but Wellington was reluctant to have me leave Paris even for these few days.’
‘You must do your duty,’ she said. ‘I shall join you in a few weeks, Giles.’
‘Yes, I know,’ he said. ‘But I shall miss you.’
‘I am always with you in my ‘eart,’ she whispered, her voice soft and husky. ‘I ‘ave no lovers but you, my lord, and I ‘ope you know that in your ‘eart. I am always yours, n ‘est-ce pas?’
‘My own wicked lady,’ Giles said and laughed as he saw the mischief in her eyes. ‘To others you may become Margaret Duchess of Belmont, to your family you have always been Maggie, but for me you will always be Magda—the beautiful seductress who stole my heart.’
‘You ‘ave no cause to accuse me of seduction,’ Margaret said. ‘For it was you who would not be denied, my lord—you who set out to seduce me. Is that not so?’ But her mouth was provocative and smiling, begging for his kisses, which he instantly supplied.
‘I hate us to be apart even for this short time, but I must leave you, my darling. I cannot wait for the time to pass, but I shall trust you to be good, though if I hear that you have been driving in the park with Edward Marshall I shall come to fetch you back myself!’
‘And you ‘ave my permission to spank me,’ she said, giving him a look that promised much. ‘But for the moment I must rest and sleep—and if you do not mind so very much, my love, in a little while I shall have to feed your son.’