The Apsley House Incident, page 14
Until she'd faced danger. Because of Robby, though in the end Robby had proved to be starting to act responsibly for perhaps the first time in his life. But she'd been in danger and Sandy had insisted she move into his flat. Just for a few days, she'd thought. She still remembered the first time she'd stepped into the flat in the Albany. Bachelor quarters, big enough to house three families in St. Giles. She'd been afraid to sit down for fear she'd damage the upholstery, afraid to drink tea out of the delicate cups one could almost see through, afraid to sleep on sheets finer than any chemise she'd ever worn. The first time Sandy's valet Birchley called her "Miss," she'd looked round wondering whom he was talking to.
But then Sandy's brother had faced exile and Sandy had faced the ruin of his relationship with his brother, and it had been no time to leave him alone. She and Birchley had become allies taking care of Sandy. Mélanie had taken her to her modiste. They'd gone to dine with Mélanie and Malcolm, and though she'd felt hopelessly lost at first, she'd learnt which fork to use with which course and how to take turns talking to the gentleman on either side of her. And after a bit, fine clothes and fine linens hadn't seemed so odd, and her hand had stopped shaking when she poured tea for a guest. But even then, she only went a few select places with Sandy. On nights he dined with his family or went to a ball or a rout or a musicale given by anyone other than the Rannochs or the Davenports or the Carfaxes, she stayed home. Or went to spend the evening playing with the Rannoch children.
"Ben and Nerezza are betrothed," Sandy said.
"That's different." Sometimes with Ben and Nerezza and Kit and Sofia, she felt as though they were part of a set of young couples. But she knew they weren't the same. Nerezza might have a past, but it was far away in Italy. "Sandy, if you think you need to copy Ben—"
"I'm not. I wouldn't make a decision like this to copy anyone. Though I should have offered for you long before Ben offered for Sofia."
"But you didn't. Because you knew it was impossible."
"Bet—" He held out a hand, then let it fall to his side. "I was an idiot. I couldn't see what was in front of me. I was caught up in stupid rules and conventions."
"You weren't. You defied convention by having me move in with you."
"That was nothing. I mean, of course it wasn't nothing. It meant the world to me. Having you here has meant the world to me." He drew a rough breath. "I wouldn't have got through everything with Matt if you hadn't been here."
"And I'm glad I was. I wouldn't have been anywhere else. But it's been almost two years."
"And you're tired of being with me?"
"No, of course not! You can't think that."
"What else am I supposed to think? You want to leave."
"I don't—"
"You don't want to leave?"
"Sandy, we can't go on like this."
"I know. That's why I asked you to marry me. I told you, I should have done it months ago. From the first."
"But you didn't. Because you know it doesn't make sense. You know we aren't meant to be together."
"By whom?"
"By the world. You know what people will say. You know what your parents will say."
"I've been ignoring what my parents have said for months."
"But you knew we couldn't be more than—what we are. You knew better than to try. We were never going to have a fairytale ending."
"I don't want a fairytale ending. I want to live here and now. Bet, please don't punish me for not being clever enough or brave enough to do the right thing sooner."
"God, Sandy, I'm not trying to punish you. I want you to be happy. More than anything."
"And I can't be happy without you." Sandy came up to her again and took her face between his hands. "I knew it from the first. Well, almost from the first. I was three sheets to the wind that first night and didn't know much of anything. Except that I was comfortable with you. Always have been. I can talk to you as I can to no one else. I can laugh with you as I can with no one else. I feel as though I belong with you. Set aside that, what is everything else?"
She gripped his arms instinctively. "Everything else is the world, Sandy. And the world isn't well lost for love, outside of fiction."
"The world wouldn't be lost. We have our friends. We'd make our own world. Bet, please be brave enough not to walk away. You've always been the bravest person I know."
"I'm not brave."
"Sweetheart. You survived in St. Giles. You looked after Nan and Robby. You've faced down my parents. What more bravery can there be?"
"You've read Pride and Prejudice. I make Elizabeth Bennet look like the toast of the season."
Sandy frowned. "I'm no Mr. Darcy."
"You're just as well bred."
"I'm not proud. Am I?"
"Of course not. But the way people look at you—"
"That's what I mean. You're brave. You don't care what people think of you. And I'm much braver than I was. I'm braver with you." He glanced away, then looked back at her. "Davenport said—we were talking about Alistair. He seems to want an heir, which I could care less about. But I think—wouldn't you like children some day?"
Tears prickled her eyes. Not having children had been a preoccupation for so long. But she had always liked them. Nan's little girl. The young Rannochs and Davenports and the rest of their friends' children. She'd even thought more than once that if she and Sandy had a child, it wouldn't be impossible. He'd make sure they were cared for. But she also hadn't wanted to burden him. "We can't—"
"The thing is, maybe I'm being too conventional, but it would be better for the children if we were married. Devil take it, it would be better for us to be married. That's what I want, Bet. I want to be with you. Not like this. Well, yes, like this, it's been wonderful. But it would be better if we were married."
"Better?" she said without thinking.
"We could go more places. It would be—official."
"Sandy. We could go fewer places," she said. And then realized for the first time she'd admitted getting married was even a possibility. How strange that she would first admit it as a negative. Though perhaps also not surprising.
"We could go more places together." Sandy reached for her hands. "It would be easier for the children."
"The children are a hypothetical." She tugged her hands away. "And it's not very good for children to see their mother has ruined their father's place in life. Think about Pride and Prejudice."
Sandy retained hold of her hands, though normally he would have let her pull away. "That assumes the parents fall out of love, which we wouldn't. But that's not—it's not even about that."
"You don't want children?" she asked, more quickly than she intended.
"No. That is, yes, I do. Very much, I think. But that isn't why I want to marry you. I don't think that's really a good reason to be married. I suppose I haven't been sure of what was a good reason to get married. It always seemed like something one's parents encouraged and one avoided. But—I think maybe the point is"—his fingers tightened over her own—"I want to be with you. I want to know we'll be together forever. I want to say so in front of our friends. Maybe that's what marriage is about."
"Marriage is about fortune and family."
"But is it really? That's what my parents say. But not Malcolm and Mélanie, or Julien and Kitty, or Harry and Cordelia. Or Laura and Raoul."
"They're—"
"Or Ben and Nerezza."
"They're different."
"Why can't we be different? I never could see much sense in getting married for my parents' reasons. Maybe that's why I've avoided even thinking about it. But—" His hands tightened round her own and he drew her closer. "I quite like the idea of getting married for our own reasons. To be together. To say so in front of all our friends. What better reason can there be than that?" He drew a breath. "I mean, I know I'm a bumbling idiot—"
She should pull away. She should point out how those reasons were silly—no, not silly, but powerless against the tide of family and society and all the forces in the world that stood against them. And yet—She released his hands but only to take his face between her hands. "Sandy, you idiot. That is, you aren't an idiot at all. And that's the loveliest thing you've ever said."
"I mean, too often it's about money. Really. That's what it comes down to that my parents want, beneath all the frippery about eligible girls and family alliances. That's what it comes down to for the girls they introduce me to, and their families. That’s what it comes down to—"
"That's what it came down to for us at the start."
"No!"
"Sandy. You left me money the next day."
"Well, yes. It would have been bloody rude not to."
"You have a point."
"But that's not what—that's not what it should be about. It should be about us. What we mean to each other. The future we want. Does that sound foolish?"
"Oh, Sandy. It sounds lovely. Like a lovely dream."
"Dreams are important." He turned to the dressing table and picked up the ring he'd given her. He looked down at the aquamarine in the candlelight for a moment, then moved back to her side and held it out to her. "Marry me, Bet. Because I love you. I mean—marry me because—if you love me too."
Bet looked into Sandy's familiar eyes. The eyes of the man she loved. The eyes of the man she'd thought she'd have to leave. The eyes of the man she couldn't imagine being without. "Yes."
Historical Notes
The protests in Queen Caroline's favor at the time of the royal divorce trial are very real, but the specific events of this story are fictional. In one of her letters, Harriet, Countess Granville, refers to Emily Harriet Wellesley-Pole, Fitzroy Somerset's wife, as Harriet. Based on this, I have always called her Harriet in the series.
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PROLOGUE
London
October 1820
Hubert Mallinson sat back in his chair and looked at the man across from him. Strange to be talking like this. And yet perhaps inevitable. "I assume you have your reasons for risking this."
"I'm not risking a great deal. No one's looking for me. And you won't make this public."
"You seem very sure."
"You don't want to force it into the open any more than I do." He leaned back and took a sip of wine. "It doesn't really make sense that we're enemies you know."
"Doesn't it? I'd have said that that's one of the few things that does make sense."
"We're aligned on most important issues. And we could accomplish a great deal more as allies."
"Assuming I had any desire to help you accomplish anything."
"You've always been a pragmatist. Surely that would depend on what I have to offer."
Hubert reached for his glass but did not take a drink. Much as part of him wanted to leave the room, he had to ask the inevitable question. "What do you have to offer?"
"A profitable alliance that will benefit us both. You have much more in common with me than with Malcolm. And God knows more than with O'Roarke."
"Malcolm's a very good agent. So's O'Roarke if it comes to that."
The other man grimaced. "I suppose I can't deny it. But that doesn't make you allies. You can't deny O'Roarke stands against everything you believe in."
"Oh yes. So does Malcolm. But I don't have to worry about their stabbing me in the back."
"I should think St. Juste would give you enough to think about in that regard."
Carfax took a drink of Bordeaux. A good vintage, he'd give his companion credit for being a good judge of wine. And other things. "You have a point there."
"Not to mention Mélanie Rannoch. She can't possibly be as domestic as she appears."
"I think Mrs. Rannoch would rake you over the coals for suggesting she even appears anything of the sort."
His companion gave a short laugh. "She certainly pulled the wool over Malcolm's eyes. And apparently continues to do so, considering the fact that he's still living with her."
"That might signify that he knows her very well indeed."
"In what way?"
"Malcolm's a number of things, and God knows I've been known to bemoan his impossible delusions about the human race. But I wouldn't discount what's between him and his wife. Or his determination to preserve a marriage that means a great deal to him."
"At what cost?"
"You'll have to ask him that." Hubert pushed his spectacles up.
"I'd assume you think him a fool. But you don't sound that way."
"I wouldn't necessarily play the situation as he's done. But recent events have perhaps given me an appreciation of why a man might see the value in preserving his marriage."
His companion gave a grunt. "Some marriages can't be preserved."
"Very likely. The Rannochs’ isn't one of them."
"You sound very sure of that."
Hubert twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers. "I'm sure of few things in life. But oddly, I think I am sure of that."
"She married him to spy on him."
"And managed to deceive all of us. It was ably done. Among other things, Malcolm appreciates that. And Mélanie, I rather think, values having a husband who appreciates her."
"You sound as though you admire her."
"I do," Hubert said, for once speaking the unvarnished truth. "And not in the way most men do. It doesn't mean I trust her. But I'd rather have her at my back than you."
A shadow flickered across his companion's face. He took a drink of wine. "I thought you said you were interested in what I had to offer. Or was that all a hum?"
"Oh, I'm interested. It wouldn't be prudent not to explore all options."
His companion leaned forwards, "I can help you secure the king's case. There's a lot to be said for a grateful monarch. It will ensure the Whigs and Radicals retreat and give them no chance of turning the royal divorce to their advantage."
"I'm listening,"
"You can send that upstart Brougham packing with his tail between his legs."
"Brougham has a tendency to bounce back like a rubber ball. But go on."
"It will let you consolidate your power against Castlereagh and Sidmouth and anyone else who's been encroaching."
Hubert stretched his legs out under the table and cupped his hands round his glass. "I wasn't aware that anyone had been encroaching. I must be slipping."
"You know damn well you're not slipping. But you can't deny certain people have been taking advantage of the recent changes in our circumstances."
Hubert's hands tightened round the wine glass, though he flattered himself no one could tell. "My power never rested on being Lord Carfax."
"But you turned being Carfax to your advantage. You're good at turning things to your advantage. I'm offering you the chance to do so again."
Hubert took a deliberate drink of wine. "And in exchange?"
His companion reached for the bottle and refilled their glasses. "I want what Fanny got for O'Roarke and Mélanie. I want a pardon."
"For what?"
"For everything."
"I don't even know what everything is."
"No, that's true. You don't."
"It's asking a great deal."
"If the king gets what he wants it will be worth a great deal."
"To him."
"And to you if you bring it about."
Hubert twisted the stem of his glass between his fingers. "You could of course be setting all this up to ruin me. You've tried to enough in the past."
"That's because you were trying to destroy us. If you join us you wouldn't be an enemy anymore. After all isn't joining us what you always wanted?"
"Joining you? I wanted to stop you from wreaking havoc on Britain and the Continent. Just like O'Roarke and Malcolm and their Leveller friends."
"Are you sure it wasn't jealousy of your brother?"
The word lingered in the air. "I never paid enough heed to my brother to be jealous."
His companion leaned back in his chair. "Can you really say you wouldn't have joined us all those years ago if we'd asked you?"
"Oh, I daresay I would have done. To keep an eye on you. I daresay O'Roarke would have done for the same reasons."
"You're talking about O'Roarke as though he's a friend."
"He is after a fashion. I'm not particularly pleased that you've tried to have him killed."
"You've done the same yourself."
"Possibly. With better cause. I wouldn't do so now unless things changed drastically."
"Things have a way of changing, don't they?" His companion took a drink of wine. "And given our current circumstances, I'd have no reason to move against you. Not if I could secure your cooperation."
Hubert held his companion's gaze. "Unless you wanted to destroy me for the same reason you wanted to destroy O'Roarke."
His companion returned his gaze. His hand remained steady on the wine glass, but Hubert fancied it cost him an effort to keep it so. "In your case it was a mission. In Arabella's too."
"Difficult to tell sometimes where the mission leaves off. I imagine Mélanie could tell us something about that. And I imagine Malcolm and my wife could tell us something about whether or not it's being a mission negates the impact on others involved."
"Don't make the mistake of confusing me with Malcolm, who for all his apparent coldness is entirely too likely to dwell on the emotions involved. O'Roarke has always been my opponent. Our tactics could never align. Yours and mine could. That's all it comes down to."
"There's rarely any ‘all' anything comes down to. And while I agree it's a tiresome waste to dwell too much on emotions, I think one ignores them at one's peril. I'd never make the mistake of assuming you were entirely rational."
