Anne Ashley, page 9
‘Don’t talk nonsense, girl!’ Luke retorted, refusing to give way on this issue. ‘How many times do I need to tell you that Aunt Lavinia wouldn’t have wanted you to waste precious months of life mourning her and doing little else. She was far too practical, not to mention too dashed fond of you to wish you to observe strict mourning. The black ribbon encircling your throat shows respect enough. By the beginning of next month I expect to see you in colours other than grey. Otherwise I might be obliged to resort to rather drastic measures and dress you myself!’
Although she laughed, she wasn’t altogether sure he wouldn’t attempt to carry out the threat. For all that he paid great attention to his attire, his pernickety valet Smethers ensuring there wasn’t so much as the slightest flaw in any of his master’s clothes, Luke was without doubt every inch the red-blooded male. He enjoyed regular outdoor exercise and was lean and well muscled as a result of it. Although he had a healthy appetite, he could never be accused of gluttony, and he always drank in moderation. Moreover, he was clean in his habits and she had never once heard him resort to bad language. All in all, she decided, one would need to go a long way to find a more model husband.
* * *
Unbelievable though it was, later that same evening her good opinion of him had sadly begun to erode somewhat. Not only had he singled out Lord Petersham’s niece Melissa, whom he had insisted be placed next to him at table for particular attention, he had behaved quite out of character by drinking far more than usual. Every time she had chanced to glance in his direction it was to discover his glass empty and about to be refilled by the young footman he had brought with him from London. She began to feel increasingly uncomfortable, conscious of the sympathetic glances from several of the guests, including Dr Mansfield. Consequently, she was rather glad when the meal finally came to an end and she was able to invite the ladies to leave the table.
At least as far as the weather was concerned, the evening could not have been better and Briony invited the ladies to take tea on the terrace. The garden looked lovely, the roses at their very best, and Lady Willoughby, a keen rose grower herself, not to mention an accomplished hostess, maintained the conversation on such safe topics as cultivating beautiful blooms, the latest fashions appearing in the Ladies’ Journal, and certain recipes her cook had recently attempted.
‘And I must say, Briony,’ she continued, ‘I thought the dinner you arranged for this evening was faultless. You must persuade your Janet to give my cook the recipe for that creamy sauce served with the chicken. Absolutely delicious!’
Beginning at last to feel more relaxed in the all-female company, Briony assured her she would speak to the housekeeper. She had always liked Lady Willoughby and her husband Sir Henry. They had been particular friends of her godmother and frequent visitors to the house. Their daughter Clara had just turned seventeen, and this was one of her first ventures into adult society. She was a pretty girl and clearly shy. It was perhaps just as well, therefore, that she had been spared Luke’s flirtatious attentions that evening.
Briony frowned slightly as her gaze slid to another female guest who had thankfully been spared Luke’s surprisingly familiar overtures. Which Briony considered most strange, now she came to consider the matter, for without doubt Miss Florence Mansfield was by far the prettiest guest present. Yet, apart from greeting her and her brother most cordially, Luke had not attempted to favour her with any undue displays of gallantry, Briony clearly recalled, her eyes automatically focusing on that one surprising exception.
Having attained the age of three and twenty, Miss Melissa Petersham had enjoyed several Seasons in town and was brimful of confidence as a result. Throughout the evening thus far she had actively encouraged Luke’s advances, laughing outright at his asides and flirting in return by tapping his arm with her fan, when not clinging to it in a possessive fashion.
In recent years the biggest landowner in the district, Lord Petersham, had suffered indifferent health and was virtually housebound as a result. He rarely socialised and had left it to his only son and heir to act as escort during his niece’s visit. It was the first time Briony had ever met Miles Petersham, and she had already decided she didn’t quite like him either. It wasn’t that he was ill-looking—far from it, in fact. Nature had been kind to him in both face and form. Unfortunately, any man who resembled her late father in any way she was inclined to view with distaste.
It was common knowledge that Miles Petersham spent most of his time in the capital. When he did visit the ancestral pile it was for days rather than weeks. Like Luke himself—and indeed her late father—Miles had earned the reputation of being something of a gamester and womaniser, and was rumoured to be frequently in debt—much like Sir Henry and Lady Willoughby’s only son Claud, who had been forced to rusticate in recent weeks because of bad debts. He was yet another whom she had taken in great dislike some years before, but had been obliged to include in the guest list at Luke’s insistence. Just what Luke could possibly have in common with such a spindle-shanks as Claud Willoughby was anybody’s guess. There again, she wouldn’t have supposed he had much in common with either Miles Petersham or Dr Mansfield, come to that, and yet he had insisted on inviting them, too. All in all, Briony decided, she wasn’t enjoying this, her first dinner party, in the least!
At Lady Willoughby’s behest Briony accompanied her and the vicar’s wife for a stroll through the garden. Horticulture was one interest all three ladies had in common; it was while they were considering several specimens in the large herbaceous border that they were joined by Dr Mansfield. It wasn’t long before Lady Willoughby and the vicar’s wife had wandered some distance ahead and Briony was left alone with the man whom she had always considered possibly the most handsome of her acquaintance.
As they fell ever further behind the two other strollers, they maintained a conversation that was quite impersonal. Then, quite without warning, Dr Mansfield reached for her hand and startled Briony somewhat by pulling her to a halt and demanding to know if she were happy.
‘Why, of course I’m happy. Why shouldn’t I be?’
He stared down at her, his expression an odd mixture of sympathy and disbelief. ‘You’ll forgive me for saying so, but your husband does not behave like a newly married gentleman.’
All at once Briony felt both hurt and angry, but certainly not with John Mansfield. He had spoken no less than the truth, after all. Through sheer thoughtlessness, or possibly even design, Luke had placed her in the most invidious position. How on earth was she supposed to react, or defend Luke’s over-familiar overtures to a certain female guest? Any wife who cherished feelings for her husband would feel furiously aggrieved if she witnessed him flirting so outrageously. And the peculiar thing was so did she! But she wasn’t supposed to feel that way, she reminded herself. Her marriage, after all, was one of convenience only. She had a role to maintain and must somehow continue to honour the pledge she had made.
‘You mustn’t mind Luke, Dr Mansfield,’ she found herself saying in her husband’s defence, waving her free hand in an airy, dismissive gesture in the hope it might make her appear sublimely unconcerned. ‘He has spent far too much time in the capital in recent years and sometimes forgets that standards of behaviour accepted there are not viewed with the same degree of tolerance here in the country.’
Even as she uttered the words she felt the excuse sounded lame. But what else could she say—that she had been stupid enough to ally herself with an out-and-out profligate? But he wasn’t like that, not deep down, instinct suddenly assured her. He had been the most charming and considerate of companions during these past couple of weeks. So why this sudden change in character? It was almost as if he was putting on an act… But for whose benefit? she couldn’t help wondering.
Bewilderment must have been clearly discernible in her face, for in the next moment both her hands were being held in the most warmly consoling clasp and she was being studied through eyes that continued to betray gentle concern.
‘I know we have been acquainted for no very great length of time, so I can only hope you do not think me too forward when I say that, had I not been out of the county at the time, I would have done my utmost to dissuade you from marrying someone who was, to all intents and purposes, a virtual stranger. I sincerely trust it was not monetary concerns that persuaded you into such a hurried alliance?’ He drew her unresistingly closer. ‘That would be a bitter blow indeed to a gentleman whose sincerest wish has always been to stand your friend since first setting eyes upon you.’
How on earth was she supposed to react to that? The one thing she most needed at the moment was a friend and confidant, perhaps even a broad shoulder upon which to rest her head and gain comfort. To confide in this man, though, would be to betray Luke’s trust and break her word.
Just when she thought she might weaken and succumb to the gentle attentions of a gentleman to whom she had been attracted from the first, she detected the sound of a firm tread on gravel.
‘I trust I do not intrude,’ Luke remarked in that infuriatingly drawled voice he’d affected for most of the evening. He turned to the doctor, his expression, if anything, hardening. ‘Your sister requested me to find you, sir. She is wishful for you to partner her in a game of whist.
‘No, I shall ensure my wife’s safe return to the house,’ he added, cutting across the doctor’s polite invitation to escort Briony back and inducing her to intervene before any antipathy between the two men could begin to develop.
‘Yes, do return, sir,’ she urged him, with a reassuring smile. ‘I shall join you presently.’
The instant he was out of earshot her expression changed and she rounded on Luke, only to be thwarted in her determination to ease her sense of ill usage in a blistering tirade by his demand to know what she meant by permitting Dr Mansfield to hold her in his arms.
Stunned by the accusation, she almost gaped up at him. ‘I was not in his arms!’ she refuted hotly, rapidly regaining her poise. ‘He was merely holding my hands for…for comfort, that was all.’
He held out his own. ‘Give them to me.’
A hard lump of raw emotion suddenly lodged itself in her throat and she instinctively took a step away, all at once feeling confused and vulnerable. Dr Mansfield didn’t make her feel that way, didn’t make her pulse rate soar and the palms of her hands suddenly feel hot and sticky. He was kind, dependable, whereas the man she had married could change in an instant into a virtual stranger, a conceited Lothario with no thought for anyone save himself. It would be madness even to think of becoming close to such a one, she told herself roundly, thrusting her hands behind her back in order to resist temptation. Such men only took advantage of a woman’s vulnerability. And that was precisely what Luke had done when he had proposed a union between them, she all at once realised, though for what reason he had done so continued to elude her.
‘Oh, very well, if you prefer the meaningless attentions of a pretentious and ambitious country practitioner,’ he returned, lowering his hands. He had sounded annoyed and she realised he assuredly was, as his next words proved. ‘But be very careful, madam wife, that you do not allow your partiality for that particular gentleman’s company to induce you to commit any indiscretion. Remember your pledge… It will cost you dear should you ever forget it during the period I remain at the Manor.’
The threat was clear enough. Far from making her appreciate her precarious position in the farcical union she’d transacted, the reminder only served to stoke her anger.
‘How dare you stand there, brass-faced, and attempt to criticise my conduct!’ Just how she resisted the temptation to box his ears soundly she was ever afterwards to wonder. ‘I’ve done everything humanly possible at least to appear the devoted wife, whereas you, sir, have acted in a manner so typical of many of your sex—selfish, pleasure-seeking and debauched!’
Likening him to her own father had clearly touched a very raw spot indeed. His eyes narrowed and he grasped her wrist with the speed of a snake striking and held it in a unbreakable clasp.
‘My behaviour is not the issue here, madam. But yours is,’ he reminded her through clenched teeth, his face a matter of an inch or two only away from her own. ‘How I conduct myself is my own affair. Never forget that.’
He released her then, almost thrusting her away, as though he couldn’t bear to touch her a moment longer. He remained very angry, yet behind the intractable expression there was a flicker of regret.
‘It has never been my intention to cause you the least embarrassment or distress, believe that.’ He paused for a moment to rub impatient fingers through his hair. ‘But just remember, we’ll rub along much better if you just accept me as I am and maintain your promise.’
* * *
Easily said, she thought later, as she finally clambered into her bed, relieved that the ordeal was finally over. How she had ever managed to maintain the appearance of a contented young wife for the remainder of the evening she would never know! Yet, had it truly been such an irksome task? Honesty obliged her silently to acknowledge a moment later that it had not.
When they had returned to the drawing room together and had set up tables for those wishing to play cards, Briony had detected a subtle change in Luke’s demeanour. Yes, he had continued to flirt with Melissa Petersham, at least while she had partnered him in several games of whist. But for the most part he had seemed content to enjoy the company of his male guests, most especially that of Miles Petersham and Sir Henry’s son Claud. And perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to understand why, she reasoned. After all, hadn’t all three much in common? All were known to take pleasure in similar vices—gaming and frequenting the fleshpots of the capital!
The instant the explanation passed through her mind she chided herself for the spiteful comparison. Luke wasn’t a namby-pamby popinjay like Claud Willoughby, who took refuge with his relations whenever in dun territory. Nor did she honestly suppose his temperament was so very similar to that of Lord Petersham’s son. She had already decided there was something distinctly sly and untrustworthy about that particular gentleman.
Yes, and that was it! she all at once realised. One could never be quite sure what Miles Petersham was thinking or feeling. Much remained hidden behind that impassive countenance and those unemotional dark eyes.
But didn’t Luke remain an enigma, too? Look how he’d behaved tonight, she reminded herself. Why, she’d almost foolishly come to believe he was one of the most considerate gentlemen of her acquaintance, until she’d witnessed his behaviour at the dinner party—a flirtatious, weak-minded buffoon who couldn’t hold his liquor!
Realisation hit her with all the force of a physical blow, almost making her gasp as she sat bolt upright in bed. Luke might indeed be a womaniser—the jury was still very much out on that particular issue. One thing he was not, though, was a fool. And he most certainly hadn’t been drunk, she decided, recalling with painful clarity that unfortunate interlude between them in the garden. True, she’d detected the smell of wine on his breath, but his gaze had been direct, piercingly so, and there hadn’t been so much as a slur in his speech, nor a suggestion of a stagger in his gait. It had all been an act… But why?
All at once consumed with curiosity, Briony abandoned any thought of sleep. Tossing the bedcovers aside, she managed to locate her slippers and dressing gown without the need of a candle and had similar ease descending the stairs, aided by a bright moon in the cloudless night sky. Once in the dining room she closed the door, then did feel the need for an artificial light in order to scrutinise the decanters and bottles on the sideboard, which thankfully the servants had delayed clearing away.
Most all the bottles were empty, save three, all of which still contained varying levels of liquid. One was clearly the white wine served with the dessert; a small sample of another proved to contain one of the red wines served earlier during the meal. She poured out a little from the third bottle, which also held a red liquid, and was surprised to discover it was weak in the extreme, obviously diluted with water. Her eyes narrowed. If this was what Luke had been tossing down his throat quite freely throughout most of the meal, it was little wonder he had seemed stone-cold sober during their contretemps in the garden. The truth of the matter was, of course, he had been in full possession of his faculties. Yet he had attempted to give the impression throughout most of the evening of being quite otherwise. Her eyes narrowed. How very intriguing!
It was at that moment, when she had just begun to ponder over why Luke should have ordered the footman to replenish his glass only from that particular bottle, that she detected a sound in the hall, the lightest footfall on the stairs. She blew out the candle in case the flickering light should be detected beneath the door. The last thing she wanted was to be found loitering in the dining room at this time of night. It would appear strange indeed, and would undoubtedly give rise to a deal of speculation.
She detected the sound of footsteps again, crossing the hall this time in the direction of the kitchen. A servant, perhaps? It seemed odd, for in general the staff kept to the back stairs. She listened for what seemed an age for a further sound that might indicate whoever it might be was returning to bed, but she heard nothing at all.
Although it was early June and the night was warm, she shivered, possibly through apprehension. The long-case clock in the hall chimed the quarter, making her start, and she decided she’d waited quite long enough. Relighting the candle, she left the dining room and paused for a moment, unsure what to do, then curiosity overcoming fear decided the matter.
To her intense surprise she found the kitchen dark and deserted, the bolts securely thrown across the door. Had she allowed her imagination to run wild?
It seemed so, for where was the mystery prowler now?
Chapter Seven
