A Scandalous Secret (15 page)

Since the country hereabouts was almost uniformly flat, there were no high hills to impede their swift progress. Elizabeth had barely time to become annoyed by Gwendolyn’s ceaseless prattle or Oswald’s unctuous flattery before the former cried, ‘There it is!’

Gwendolyn had not, however, perceived the cathedral itself, but only its famous spire - the tallest in England - which was visible for several miles. Miss Penroth and young Mr Thornwood, carrying on a restrained flirtation, looked up briefly, but were apparently unimpressed.

Elizabeth did not even turn her head, afraid that she might accidentally catch a glimpse of Dominick’s profile. Thus far she had successfully avoided any conversation with him beyond a curt ‘good morning’.

She had not seen him since she had spoken with his aunt three days before. Had Miss Trottson recounted what had been said in the garden at Merrywood? She had not insisted on secrecy, and from what she had gathered, Dominick and his aunt were quite close. Was he aware of her feelings? She could not be certain, but it seemed all too likely. Her one quick glance at his countenance today had been unsettling enough, for the hard, angry look of the past weeks was absent and she could not be certain what had replaced it.

She would never have chanced this little excursion had not Dorinda already accepted the invitation for her. There was another curious matter: her sister had been acting strangely ever since the
morning she learned of Mr Markham’s betrothal. Elizabeth sometimes caught Dorinda staring at her as if she had never seen her before. She was distracted and quiet, though it might only be her fears for Alastair which made her so.

At least Salisbury would provide an escape from the dismal air which pervaded Merrywood. And as they were a party of six, there was little opportunity for an argument between herself and Dominick.

‘But I do not agree at all,’ Oswald was saying, and Elizabeth realized that he had been prating on for several minutes while she was so foolishly wool-gathering.

‘I am sure you are right, sir,’ she replied, praying that he had not been saying anything too idiotic.

Mr Markham reined in the greys and the carriage came to a halt.

‘Here we are!’ Gwendolyn announced unnecessarily. Elizabeth turned to see the huge grey mass of the cathedral’s west front a mere thirty or forty yards away. She had been so engrossed in her thoughts that she had not noticed how near they were.

They all descended noisily from the landau and were greeted at the steps by the verger, who was eager to conduct such distinguished visitors through the building. Trailing behind this jolly gentleman, the three couples crossed the green expanse of turf, pausing to admire the intricately carved figures arranged in geometric perfection before passing through to the interior.

After the brightness of the July day and the graceful exterior decoration, the cool, clear simplicity inside was a surprise to all but Elizabeth and Lord Maples, for whom this was not the first visit. The two younger ladies were disappointed by the lack of ornament. But the restrained richness of the design, accented only by the dark-veined Purbeck marble, was exactly how Elizabeth felt an English cathedral should be.

‘I had not expected it to be so very plain,’ Gwendolyn murmured. ‘Had you, Lady Dansmere? Oh, but I am forgetting that you have been here before.’

‘Yes, and I am quite an admirer of the architecture,’ she answered. ‘We must remember that
“loveliness needs not the foreign aid of ornament
—”’

‘
“But is, when unadorned, adorned the most.”’
Dominick, who was quite near, finished the quotation. ‘In my humble opinion, the purity of the design would only be spoilt by more florid decoration.’

‘It is typical, I believe, of the Early English style,’ Oswald said, clearly determined not to be left out of the conversation.

Elizabeth said no more as they walked up the aisle to view the nave, transepts and Trinity choir. So, Mr Markham had read Thomson’s famous poem - had not everyone? And what if his opinion
did
match her own? It meant nothing.

Their guide continued to expatiate on the cathedral’s history in an oft-repeated monologue, extolling its beauties and reciting its dimensions - always hindered, of course, by Oswald, who was constantly questioning and correcting his statements. Was not the building begun in 1187? He rather thought it was. The spire surely was not added until the fifteenth century? In another minute, Elizabeth fully expected him to detect the influence of Wren!

The others nodded and murmured politely, and Gwendolyn seemed most impressed by Oswald’s sham erudition. Elizabeth, who had heard most of this before, seated herself on one of the carved choir benches, and when they moved to continue their tour by inspecting the adjacent cloisters, she politely declined the invitation.

‘The cloisters are delightful,’ she reassured them, ‘but I have already seen them and would much prefer to remain here out of the sun to rest for a while.’

Her friends were inclined to protest, particularly Lord Maples, who declared his intention of remaining with her. She was delivered from this terrible fate by Gwendolyn, who insisted that it was unthinkable for them to do without the viscount’s sage comments. He could hardly refuse her entreaties, but still wasted one or two minutes in trying to persuade Elizabeth to accompany them. When he saw that she was in earnest, however, there was nothing for him to do but accept her decision and continue with his friends.

Gradually, as the little group moved out of the main body of the church, their hollow voices faded, and Elizabeth was left to the silence of perfect solitude. She had intended to be still and await their return. But for some reason she grew restless and disturbed. Rising, she moved to stand before the high altar and, on impulse, knelt to pray. Her thoughts seemed all chaos, her heart thudding unaccountably in her breast as she whispered the Lord’s Prayer - the only portion of scripture which came to mind.

‘Our Father, which art in Heaven ... forgive us our trespasses ... and lead us not into temptation ... for ever and ever.... Amen.’

This calmed her spirit somewhat, and she began to ponder whether she should not rejoin the others after all. She made her way in the general direction she believed they had taken, but she really had not been paying very much attention to their movements, nor could she recall from her previous visit precisely how the cloisters were reached. She became confused, and shortly found herself entering a large room almost circular and supported in the centre by a slender column which seemed far too fragile to bear the weight of the fine-ribbed stone vault above. Of course, this was the chapter-house.

Dappled sunlight poured through the high, arched windows, but one could see little of what might be outside, and she was almost overcome by a feeling of being caged - trapped in a fantastic Gothic prison of stone and glass. Yet she did not leave.

She moved forward to stand in the centre, her back to the stone pillar, waiting for ... for what?

Then a whisper, soft but clear as a church bell in the stillness. One word only.

‘Bess.’

Slowly she turned about, and there, in the subdued radiance, he stood. Dominick. He looked at her, and she saw that the resentment and bitterness were indeed banished from his eyes. She saw, too, what had replaced them. She trembled, though not from fear. He held out his hand, and the simple gesture was her undoing.

The lofty proportions of the chapter-house dissolved into a narrow hallway at a small country inn. Time itself dissolved. She was not conscious that either of them had moved, and yet she was in his arms and his mouth was claiming lips which had waited eight long years for this one moment.

He lifted her off the floor, binding her to him, drawing her ever deeper into a vortex of passion. She clung to him feverishly, her fingers seeking thick chestnut curls, her body feeding on the fire of his embrace while her heart soared higher than the cathedral spire.

He began to press hot, sweet kisses on her face, her throat. Each one was a balm to her bruised soul. Just as his ardour had once soothed the wounds of her lost girlhood and empty marriage, so now it melted away the hurt of the past weeks as he murmured over and over, ‘Bess ... my love ... oh, my dearest love.’

How long they stood together, unconscious of shame or danger, or anything save their seemingly unquenchable desire, neither could say. Eventually, something like sanity prevailed. He lowered her until her feet once more touched the ground, and she leaned her head on his chest, too weak to stand on her own.

She wanted never to leave this blessed place. Only minutes before, it had seemed a cage. Now it was a refuge, a sanctuary
from the polite world and all that would separate her from her love.

His arms were still around her, and his lips at her temple as he whispered, ‘Dearest Bess, can you ever forgive me?’

‘You have much more to forgive than I, Dominick.’

‘Only tell me that you love me.’ He swallowed, as if even now afraid that she might not. ‘I ask no more.’

She looked at him, neither hesitant nor coy. ‘You must know that I do,’ she said. ‘I belong to you, Dominick. I always have.’

He bent his head, intent on claiming her lips once more, but she pulled away abruptly, stepping back from him as though from a too-close flame.

‘What is it, Bess? What’s wrong?’ he asked, his eyes clouded.

She shook her head. ‘This is wrong. You know it is.’ Looking away, she continued, addressing the window opposite. ‘It seems we are fated to meet always at the wrong time. Eight years ago, I was not free to love you. Now you are the one who is bound to another.’

‘Bound?’ He seemed not to comprehend.

‘Have you forgotten that you are betrothed to Miss Thornwood?’

She heard him move, and felt the warmth of his breath upon the nape of her neck as he came up behind her. ‘It was madness,’ he confessed, his lips already seeking the warm flesh above the collar of her gown. ‘You must know that I do not care for her.’

Then why... ?’

‘I was crazed with jealousy.’ His voice was rough, almost hoarse. ‘I was sure you were going to wed Maples.’

‘You ought to have known better.’

He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently to face him, his eyes pleading eloquently for her understanding. ‘There are many things I should have known, Bess - and, God help me, many more things that I should never have done or said. But men,’ he finished, with a wry smile, ‘seldom behave rationally when they are in love. I believed that the night we spent together must have been only a sham on your part, that the memories I had cherished were all false and tawdry. It was only when your sister told me the truth about your marriage to the earl, that I—’

‘Please,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘Whatever the circumstances of my marriage, they in no way excuse my conduct eight years ago.’

‘May I at least enquire why you were dressed in your maid’s clothes that night?’

She nodded. ‘You, of all people, have the right to know the truth.’ She gave a brief account of the accident and its consequences. Then, stroking his cheek lightly with her gloved hand, she added, ‘I had no intention of deceiving you at first. But when you assumed me to be Janet, I could not bring myself to correct your misapprehension. I thought you might withdraw if you knew my rank.’

‘You were right.’ He grimaced, but covered her hand with his own and held it there. ‘I would never have been so bold had I suspected.’

‘Yes. And I could not have borne that.’ She laughed a little in self-deprecation. ‘You were Lochinvar, Lancelot, Sir Charles Grandison, and every hero I had ever imagined. I tumbled into love with you the moment I saw you.’

‘
“Who ever loved,” ‘
he quoted softly, ‘
“that loved not at first sight?”’

‘A lovely sentiment.’ She drew away again. ‘But still it cannot turn wrong into right.’

‘What was done to you,’ he insisted, ‘by your father and that odious man you married, was far worse than any sin you have committed. If either of them were alive now—’

‘This is idle talk, Dominick. Your betrothed is waiting for you outside.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘The past is over and best forgotten.’

He took her hands in his and pressed them painfully. ‘And our son?’ he whispered. ‘Am I to forget him, as well? Am I to forget that I love you both with every drop of blood that flows in my veins? Must I forget what passed between us here today? Can either of us do that?’

She compressed her lips, then forced herself to say, ‘We must. Honour and conscience both demand it.’

‘What an affecting scene,’ a sneering voice intruded. They spun around to see Lord Maples observing them from the chapter-house entrance.

‘What a pity Miss Thornwood is not here to witness it!’

* * **

Elizabeth was almost paralysed with dismay. How could they have been so foolish? Where had they allowed their passion to lead them this time? She felt the pressure of Dominick’s hands increase for a moment before he released her and turned to address Lord Maples.

‘I would advise you, sir,’ he said, ‘not to interfere in matters which are no concern of yours.’

‘No doubt you would much prefer that I ignore your embarrassing little secret.’ Oswald continued to regard them with an air of self-satisfied disdain. ‘After all, if one’s friends and neighbours were ever to learn the truth....’ His voice trailed off suggestively.

He was obviously enjoying his power, gloating over their compromising situation. Dominick, however, was now too angry to be wise. Elizabeth saw him move towards the other man, and fear for what he might do propelled her forward first.

‘I do not believe that even
you,
Oswald, would stoop so low,’ she declared, and had the satisfaction of seeing his cheeks darken.
‘As a gentleman, you have nothing to gain from repeating any malicious stories - except the embarrassment of your host and hostess, and the distress of Miss Thornwood and her family.’

‘Fine words,’ he retorted, ‘from someone who has just been behaving like a Covent Garden demirep.’

The last word had scarcely escaped his lips when Mr Markham’s fist seemed to appear from nowhere and connect with Oswald’s chin so forcefully that it sounded like the crack of a whip in the vaulted chamber. Oswald fell back, but recovered sufficiently to regain his balance and remain on his feet. He charged at Dominick, ready to return blow for blow.