Letters to a Lover, page 11
Handing her into the carriage, Eric was at his most urbane, the perfect town gentleman escorting his lady. And if his eyes smiled, it seemed to be meant only for her.
But was it a smile of closeness or sardonic amusement at expending such civility on a wife who had betrayed him? Why could she not tell the difference?
Because the situation was so odd, neither of them really knew how to behave, except to discover the truth.
Familiar footmen at Kelburn House let down the carriage steps and welcomed them into the house, directing them upstairs to the drawing room.
The Duke and Duchess of Kelburn greeted Azalea with their usual slightly distracted pleasure. They were, she knew, always pleased to see her, but there were also too many other things going on in their lives for them to notice a great deal, which was how Griz had managed to live more or less a double life for years without them noticing. Even when she had first met Dragan.
Griz was not here tonight. The guests were mainly political allies of His Grace, or those he was wooing for that purpose. Azalea knew she had been invited to dazzle and persuade and Eric to add the leaven of wit to heavy conversations.
Her brother, the Marquis of Monkton, was also present, but her two brothers who still lived at home were notably absent, no doubt because Horace worked all the time, and Forsythe would have been bored silly.
The first person Azalea noticed when she had greeted her family was Lady Royston. Smiling, she sat immediately by the baroness. “Lady Royston, how do you do?”
“Exhausted, my dear, utterly exhausted. So delighted to be here because I swear to you until this moment, I have not sat down since I last saw you!”
“Too much gaiety, ma’am?”
Lady Royston sighed. “Indeed. I must be getting old, but it is not just that. Geraldine, my eldest, has not been well, my cook is threatening to resign because she swears she saw a mouse in the kitchen, and on top of that, one of the footmen has vanished into thin air just when I need more help, not less.”
“Vanished?” Azalea repeated, smiling. “You mean he has taken a position somewhere else?”
“No, I mean he has vanished without a word. Did not trouble to give notice or even take his few things with him. No one knows where he’s gone or why. My butler and housekeeper are both distraught.”
“Oh dear,” Azalea said, distracted from her troubles by this fresh mystery. “When did this happen?”
“Oh, a week or so ago. We noticed the very day after the ball when everyone was needed to clear up.”
Azalea paused, lowering her lashes to cover her sudden interest. “Have you spoken to the police?”
“My butler did, but they know nothing. In fact, I was saying to your sister, dear Lady Grizelda, only this afternoon, that I should ask her clever husband to find the boy. Did he not discover the fate of one of Her Grace’s maids in the spring?”
“Why, yes,” Azalea said, startled, “but I do hope your footman’s fate is not so grizzly!”
“There is no sign of it,” Lady Royston said dismissively. “And I would not like you to think he took the silver with him! There will be some girl at the root of it, I daresay. But it is most inconvenient.”
“Indeed,” Azalea agreed. She hoped it wasn’t even more inconvenient for the girl in question.
“But how are you, Lady Trench? You seemed a little faint just at the end of the ball.”
“I was a little,” Azalea said easily. “Like you, perhaps I am exhausted by the gaiety of the Season. But I feel perfectly well now.
Lord Royston, she noted, was talking to Monkton and a young Member of Parliament. And, oddly enough, entertaining a few of the wives was young Lord Darchett, rumored to be courting the wealthy daughter of Eric’s dubious business partner, Mr. Fenner. He was hardly a figure of political importance, but he must have escorted his mother, an old friend of the duchess’s and a former political hostess of some renown.
And then they were summoned to dine. By good fortune, Azalea found herself seated beside Lord Royston, who talked happily to her about politics and the benefits of the Great Exhibition. She did not try very hard to steer the conversation to the recent ball since Griz had already been asking questions on that score. What she really wanted to do was to ensure his attitude to her had not changed. In truth, she could not imagine him stooping as low as blackmail. Nor could she think of a reason. Certainly, he was tall and thin as the man Eric had struck last night, but he bore no signs of assault on his face, and he spoke in his usual avuncular manner.
“I was sorry to hear Geraldine is unwell,” she said once, as the conversation flagged,
“Kind of you,” Royston said wryly, “but I don’t believe she is. Her mother will fuss, but if you ask me, it’s all attention-seeking because she wanted to come out this year, and we put it off to next.”
“I remember being impatient for my debut,” Azalea said with a certain amount of sympathy, but suddenly her head was buzzing, for it had struck her they hadn’t considered any of the Roystons’ family. Their eldest son, Beresford, was willowy in build, like his father, though only eighteen years old. Neither he nor the seventeen-year-old Geraldine had been at the ball, but they must have been in the house, and they had both attended the theatre with their parents. Beresford, at least, would have been able to slip out of the family home and be present at Grosvenor Square at ten o’clock last night. And climbing between the boxes was surely a young man’s trick, as the usher had told Griz.
Of course, he had no more motive than Lord Royston, as far as Azalea could see. Unless it was sheer mischief, born of boredom. Perhaps Beresford and the impatient Geraldine had simply been playing some trick on her.
The idea that anyone could have so turned her life upside down for a mere prank boggled her mind. And could they really have frightened her so much that she had blanked her memory? Of course, the two were not necessarily connected. Still, she wished she could remember more about the children, but she had had very little to do with them.
Fortunately, Lord Royston’s attention was taken by the lady on his other side, and he did not notice her sudden distraction.
On the other side of the table, Eric was dividing his attention between the Dowager Lady Darchett, who was looking very frail, and a Mrs. Pickard, whose husband was about to stand for Parliament with the duke’s backing. Their eyes met for an instant, and he twitched one humorous eyebrow, acknowledging her as he had used to when they were parted at formal events.
The fleeting gesture warmed her. If only they could get this blackmail business behind them, and if only she had not done anything too dreadful, perhaps happiness was still possible. At the moment, those felt like very large ifs.
At last, the ladies left the gentlemen to their port, cigars, and heavy discussions, and made themselves comfortable before joining Her Grace in the drawing room. Azalea was not quick enough and found herself hailed by her sister-in-law, Augusta, the Marchioness of Monkton.
“Azalea. What was the matter with you at the Roystons’ ball?”
Azalea sighed. “I don’t know, but I feel sure you are about to tell me.”
Augusta cast her a sharp glance, as though suspecting the barb but missing it, “You walked right past me, pale as a sheet when I spoke to you.”
“I beg your pardon. I did feel a little faint that night. But thank you for asking. I am now quite well.” That was a barb, too, since August had waited two weeks to inquire after her health. But again, the marchioness missed it. There was really no point, so Azalea merely asked. “How are you, Augusta?”
“In perfect health, as always. Tell me, have you seen anything of Grizelda or that ramshackle husband of hers?”
“Why, yes, I called on them only this morning. But I don’t believe she would thank you for the epithet ramshackle.”
“Monkton,” Augusta said grandly, “does not like him.”
“Trench,” Azalea replied, “does. So do I. More to the point, he makes Griz happy, so let’s leave them be. How are the children?”
It was some time before the gentlemen rejoined the throng in the drawing room, wafting in on a breeze of brandy and recent cigar smoke. Eric veered toward her, leaning down to murmur, “Anything?”
“Bits and pieces. You?”
“Likewise. But I have learned that young Darchett is an intimate of our friend Gunning, and he looks petrified whenever I speak to him.”
“Does he?” Azalea said, startled. “I wonder why? He did make those odd remarks to me in the park. What are you going to do?”
“Speak to him some more,” Eric said blandly and strolled away toward Lord Darchett.
The younger man saw him coming and did indeed look like a frightened rabbit. When Eric fell gracefully onto the sofa beside him, she thought he would actually bolt. Although it wasn’t really funny, a surge of laughter escaped her, which she turned into a cough and apology.
*
“Well, what did you get out of him?” she asked impatiently when they finally shut the door of the carriage to go home.
“Darchett?” he said, immediately understanding. “Nothing, really, except that he says Gunning was at his club with him the night we went to the theatre. And later, they went on to some cockfight.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I’m not sure. I’d say he’s definitely covering something. But he may just have heard about Gunning’s behavior and how we dealt with it. What did you learn?”
“I can’t believe it was Lord Royston, though it did strike me it could be his children. Do you know Beresford and Geraldine?”
“No,” he replied thoughtfully, “but perhaps we should consult with Griz about them.”
“Oh, and one of their footmen is missing. Vanished without a word, which is odd, though I can’t see how it’s relevant.”
“Missing since when?”
“Since the day after the ball.”
He met her gaze. “That is interesting. Though like you, I cannot see how it would connect to our problems.”
“Perhaps he was aiding the children in their trickery and took fright. Or helping some unknown man who is our blackmailer. After all, it is not forced to be one of Griz and Dragan’s suspects.”
“No, but it does make sense to be someone close enough to you to know your likely engagements and—”
“And what?” she prompted as he broke off and lapsed into silence.
He shrugged. “And the state of our marriage.”
She felt it like a blow in the stomach, which she covered involuntarily with one hand.
“I mean that we are not often together,” he added. “That neither of us truly knows what the other does from day to day.”
“And that I am reckless and fast? You really have been talking to Augusta.”
“I have, and she did indeed begin on how I should curb your madder starts before… Well, I’m not quite sure what dire eventuality will befall either you or me, but she certainly advises the curbing. More importantly, she is an excellent source of gossip about other people.”
“Such as?” Azalea asked, distracted.
“Such as Lawrence Hammond has financial woes. Gunning has been cut out of his great-uncle’s will. And the Roystons cannot afford their daughter’s social debut this year.”
Azalea frowned. “So, they are short of money. But my thousand pounds, surely, would not be enough to change the lives of such expensive men! Or their heirs,” she added, thinking of Royston’s son.
“Well, the thousand pounds was never likely to be the last demand,” Eric pointed out. “Although we might have scared him off. Why would you pay any more when I know everything?”
“To keep it out of the newspapers?”
“I think, between us, the duke and I can manage that. At least the ones that matter.”
She stared, then closed her mouth with a snap. “You mean I paid all that money for nothing? We were never in any danger of exposure?”
“I wish you had trusted me.”
So do I. She could not speak. Her throat was blocked with tears and self-anger.
In the silence, he leaned across from the seat opposite and took her hand in a firm hold. “I’m not blaming you for this, Azalea. How could I?”
“How could you not?” she whispered. “Whatever I did or didn’t do, I have made such a mess…”
“We both have. It would never have happened if my pride had not let this distance form between us.”
She clung to his hand. “I don’t want the distance, Eric.”
“Neither do I.”
The carriage stopped outside their home, and reluctantly, it seemed, he released her.
As they alighted and climbed the few steps to the house, Azalea knew how such evenings ended. For the last two years, on the few occasions that they attended and left an event together, they walked upstairs together. Usually, Eric would leave her on the first landing with a civil, “Good night, my love,” and head off to his library. Lately, she had longed to be invited to go with him, as in the early days, but without his indicating a desire for her company, she had refused to inflict it—more pride.
Once or twice, when it was very late, they had actually climbed to the next floor together, and her heart had raced with hope. But he had usually left her at his own bedchamber door, and desire and hope had crumbled just the same.
He was right. Foolish pride had let this distance flourish until neither knew what she had actually done in her unhappiness. Their evening together after the incident with Gunning had been his idea. Now it was her turn.
“Shall we go to the library to plot tomorrow’s adventures?” she asked lightly. Please don’t say, ‘It’s late, you need to rest’…
He didn’t even think about it. “Excellent plan.”
And at once, her dropping spirits rose immeasurably.
When they entered the library, Azalea turned up the lamps enough to make the room welcoming, while Eric went to the decanter and frowned. “There’s only one glass. Ring the bell, Zalea.”
“There’s no need,” she said, unwilling to be interrupted. “I don’t really want a drink.”
She knelt once more by the empty hearth, and for a time, they discussed the theory of the blackmail being a careless, callous prank by the Royston children.
“The trouble is, I don’t remember seeing them leave the theatre,” Azalea said. “I was more interested in who Griz and Dragan were going to find collecting the packet from our box. I don’t know if there was any time Beresford wasn’t with them.”
Eric sat down with his brandy in the same chair he had occupied last night. “No, and it does seem a very young man’s trick to be climbing out of one box and into another. On the other hand, it’s a mean trick. Children can go their own way, but is it really likely in the Roystons’ offspring? What on earth could they have against either of us?”
“Nothing. Just opportunism.”
“Well, until we can rule them out, we shall bear them in mind.” He sipped his brandy thoughtfully. “And on Monday, you think Gunning might appear at Mrs. Ellesmere’s al fresco?”
“Yes, but it will be difficult for either of us to question him directly.”
“I shall endeavor to speak to a group of friends that includes him. Perhaps we can learn more about where he was and what he was doing at the relevant times.” He took another sip of brandy, then, to her surprise, offered her the glass.
Her gaze flew to his, for it was reminiscent of an old ritual from the early days of their marriage, when they shared a wine glass, and he made sensual play of drinking from exactly the same place her lips had touched.
His eyes gave nothing away. But pride, or the pretense of it, had been no friend to either of them. She took the glass, just brushing his fingers, and turned it toward the light to find the mark of his mouth.
Deliberately, she held his gaze over the rim of the glass and drank. His eyes darkened as the fiery, fragrant liquid spilled over her tongue and burned its way down her throat. Desire rose to meet it. Slowly, she held up the glass to return it.
He reached down. Both his hands closed over hers on the stem of the glass, and she couldn’t breathe. He lowered the glass and her hand and kissed her.
It was not a long kiss, just enough to melt her bones, and then he straightened, the glass once more in his sole possession.
“Tomorrow evening is Lady Gaveston’s ball,” he said, as though nothing had happened, “where we might encounter several of our suspects. Did you accept the invitation?”
“I did,” she managed. “I think even Griz did, more to prove she is not ashamed of Dragan than because she actually wants to go, but at least we should be able to confer there.”
“Then we shall have a busy day ahead of us.”
But not until Monday. Sunday was a quiet day. Nothing between her and Eric would or could change all at once. They had already spent more time today in each other’s company than at any time for more than two years. And that, surely, was enough to build on.
“We shall,” she said, rising to her feet before he could move to help her. “And I believe I shall sleep well, in spite of everything.” She touched his shoulder to keep him in his chair. “Don’t get up. Good night, Eric.”
With a fleeting smile, she walked toward the door, realizing almost with surprise that she was not sad at this parting. She turned back to find him watching her from the chair.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He stared. “For what?”
“For being with me. For helping me.”
His lips curved. “My dear, I will always help you. I will always be with you.”
And that, she thought, as she ran upstairs with her heart full, was the sweetest of goodnights.
Chapter Twelve
Azalea’s optimism was still strong as she and Eric walked through Hyde Park at midday on Monday. Sunday had been a quiet but agreeable day. She and Eric had gone to church together at St. George’s in Hanover Square, and they had spent the afternoon largely with the children, at home and in the park.
