A Scandalous Secret (17 page)

Dorinda prepared for bed with little relish. She always found sleep difficult when Alastair was away, but tonight she was more restive than ever. Lying in the darkness, she stared up at the ceiling, shifted her position beneath the bedclothes, plumped her pillows, wiggled her toes, adjusted her cap - and finally got out of bed altogether, abandoning her futile efforts. It was useless. She could not sleep. She must learn the truth.

Clad only in her thin muslin nightdress, she tiptoed down the silent hall to Elizabeth’s room and tapped gently at the door. If only Lizzy might also be awake!

She was.

‘Who is it?’ Her sister’s voice came muffled through the two inches of wood.

‘It is I. Dorinda.’

‘What do you want?’

‘Don’t be asking me silly questions,’ Dorinda snapped. ‘Let me in before we wake the entire household.’

A click and a scrape, and the door was open.

Elizabeth stood there, similarly attired but frowning at her. ‘What on earth are you doing wandering about the house at this time of night?’

‘I could not sleep.’

‘No more could I.’ Elizabeth closed the door behind her. ‘But you observe that I do not promenade in my nightdress.’

‘I had to speak with you, Lizzy.
’

‘You are plainly upset about something.’ Elizabeth’s voice softened, and she sat down on her bed, motioning for her sister to join her. ‘You’d best come and sit down and tell me what is troubling you. Is it Alastair?’

‘No,’ Dorinda replied, pacing the floor and searching her mind for suitable words with which to broach such a delicate subject. None occurred to her, and she began haltingly, ‘It is just that I have been - seized - by the most incredible suspicion.’

‘Suspicion? Of what?’

Dorinda could not be still. She walked about the room, her bare feet making no sound. Her loose nightgown billowed around her as if she were a ship in full sail. A glance at her sister showed that Lizzy was regarding her with some concern.

‘I dare not say what I suspect,’ she answered, growing even more agitated. ‘If I am wrong, I am sure you could not forgive me. Yet how can I remain silent and never know if I am right?’

‘Dorrie,’ Elizabeth said, clearly put out by this vacillating speech, ‘for the Lord’s sake, stop talking nonsense and tell me what is the matter.’

Dorinda stopped. Standing at the foot of the bed, she squared her shoulders, girding her loins as it were, and announced: ‘Lizzy, tell me at once. Am I mad, or is Dominick Markham the father of your son?’

For a moment there was absolute stillness in the room. Nothing moved; no sound was heard. It was as if neither of them dared
even to breathe. Then Elizabeth spoke.

‘As to your being mad,’ she said, easing herself slowly from the bed, ‘that is beyond question. But your suspicions are not unfounded.’

‘What?’

‘Mr Markham is indeed Nicky’s father.’

‘I knew it!’ Dorinda cried. Even so, she felt something like shock at the confirmation of what she had been thinking. It was now her turn to sit down abruptly on the side of the bed. ‘But how, Lizzy?’ she asked. ‘How could such a thing have happened?’

‘My dear sister,’ Elizabeth replied, with a rueful-looking smile, ‘you are a married woman with a child of your own. You must be well aware of the manner in which such things happen.’

‘How can you stand there and treat this as some kind of jest, Lizzy?’ Dorinda stared at her accusingly. ‘This is no trivial matter.’

Elizabeth seated herself beside her on the bed. ‘I know,’ she conceded, more rationally. ‘But it is not easy for me to have my sins exposed before someone whose good opinion is so important to me. Such situations do not arise every day, so you must forgive me if I do not always behave the way I should.’

‘Believe me, I will not love or respect you any the less for mistakes made in the past.’ She put an arm around her sister’s shoulder. ‘Only tell me the truth.’

‘Very well. I suppose anything less would be the height of folly at this point.’

The story which Elizabeth then unfolded to her was beyond anything Dorinda had dared to imagine. She could almost see before her the unhappy girl her sister had been eight years ago - trapped in a nightmarish situation which had been thrust upon her against her will. It was not difficult to imagine how Mr Markham’s passion had overwhelmed her.

‘If you ask me
why
I behaved as I did,’ Elizabeth concluded her narrative, ‘I have no answer. A moment of midsummer madness, perhaps.’

‘Dear Lizzy, the answer is but too plain.’ Dorinda sighed. ‘Alas, there are very few women - virtuous or no - who could resist a man like Mr Markham. He is far too good-looking, and his charm is potent indeed. I have always said so.’

Elizabeth refused to be comforted. ‘His looks are no excuse for
my
weakness, however. You—’ She faltered a little. ‘You do not despise me, knowing this?’

Dorinda gave her a warm squeeze and smiled at her. ‘Never!’ she declared. ‘You know, Lizzy, I always pitied you because of that dreadful marriage. It was so unfair that you should have been sacrificed to save Papa and me.’

‘Well, it was either Gerald or the Fleet!’ she said, with a pitiful attempt at humour.

They both shuddered at the mention of London’s infamous debtors’ prison, a ghastly destination for such gently bred members of a bankrupt’s family.

‘I know very well that, had it not been for me, you would have chosen poverty instead.’

Elizabeth returned her hug. ‘Never tell me that you have been feeling guilty for our father’s sins. Now, that
is
silly!’

‘I owe my happiness to you,’ Dorinda insisted. ‘Had you not married Gerald, there would have been no London season, no Court presentation. I would never have met Alastair—’

‘Enough!’ Elizabeth interrupted. ‘Next you will be wanting to canonize me — which, after what you have just learned, would be most inappropriate.’

‘I do not agree. But I will not argue the point with you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Lizzy?’ Dorinda hesitated to enquire further, but could not be
satisfied until she knew the whole. ‘Lizzy, do you love Mr Markham?’

‘What do
you
think?’

‘I already know the answer, I suppose.’ Dorinda shook her head in wonder at her own simplicity. ‘Now I understand why you would never marry again - why no man, including Oswald, could move you. When I think of all the time I wasted - while you had already found the man you wanted.’

‘A clerk in a counting-house.’ Elizabeth laughed, though not very happily. ‘Oh, Dorrie, I thought I should never see him again.’

‘And now?’

‘I am more in love with him than ever.’

‘My dear!’ Dorinda could feel the tears coming to her eyes, but fought them back resolutely. ‘I need not ask if he returns your affection. The look in his eyes this morning when he saw you quite took my breath away!’

‘Then he had best look the other way,’ her sister snapped.

‘Why?’

‘Would you have me marry a common clerk, my dear?’

‘He is not a clerk any longer.’

Elizabeth shrugged. ‘A merchant, then.’

‘A very wealthy merchant,’ Dorinda pointed out, surprised at her. ‘I do not understand you, Lizzy. You are the last person I would have expected to be swayed by matters of rank. Why, Alastair says you are more democratic than an American!’

‘You are mistaken, Dorrie.’ Elizabeth’s mouth twisted wryly. ‘It is the gentleman who finds
my
rank objectionable.’

‘What nonsense is this?’

Elizabeth described the brief conversation in the meadow that afternoon, which only made Dorinda smile indulgently. Really, in matters of the heart, her sister was as innocent as a new-born babe.

‘He will come around soon enough,’ she predicted confidently.
‘It is the way with men, my dear. I am convinced that he is the very man for you. I would have you wed for love this time, Lizzy. Few people are as deserving of happiness as you are.’

‘It will not happen.’

‘Why?’ Dorinda demanded, becoming rather cross at her sister’s lack of faith.

‘There is the little matter of his betrothal to Miss Thornwood,’ Elizabeth explained.

Dorinda had quite forgotten this fly in the ointment. ‘The devil with Gwendolyn!’ she cried.

‘But I thought she was a very nice young lady,’ Elizabeth quizzed, recalling Dorinda’s former estimation of the girl.

‘I do not care what she might be,’ Dorinda said pettishly, ‘so long as she is not to marry Mr Markham. He does not care a fig for her - which would be perfectly obvious to the girl if she were not such a pea-goose!’

‘True.’

‘This is dreadful. Oh, that wretched girl!’ Dorinda could hardly contain her sudden animosity towards the innocent Gwendolyn, whom she had quite liked until a few minutes before.

‘Well,’ Elizabeth said, obviously attempting to lighten the atmosphere, ‘I suppose I shall have to content myself with Oswald.’

‘If you do,’ Dorinda declared roundly, I'll disown you!’

‘He has fallen from grace, I see.’

‘I quite detest the man. Speaking of which,’ she continued, recollecting something else, ‘since you have told me so much, would you satisfy my curiosity a little further by telling me just what occurred at Salisbury today? Because if you think I believed that plumper Oswald told me—’

‘For Heaven’s sake, do not say so,’ Elizabeth broke in on her impetuous speech. ‘I sincerely hope that no one else will guess the truth.’

‘But what
is
the truth? It looked to me as though he had received a good thrashing.’

‘So he did.’ Elizabeth proceeded to tell her all about it.

‘Gave Oswald a leveller, did he?’ Dorinda said at last. ‘Mr Markham rises in my estimation every moment.’

‘Dorrie!’ Elizabeth expostulated. ‘You are as bad as Nicky.’

‘Well, this is one time that we must be thankful for Lord Maples’s vanity. It will certainly keep his mouth shut, for he would rather die than admit he was so easily beaten.’

‘Perhaps he will take this opportunity to leave us,’ Elizabeth suggested, not without hope.

‘I think not,’ Dorinda disagreed. ‘Alas, he is punctilious to a fault. I invited him for six weeks, and six weeks he will stay. Besides, were he to go so precipitously, it would cause the kind of speculation that none of us desires.’

‘But the fact remains that he knows the truth,’ Elizabeth retorted. ‘I can certainly never feel comfortable in his presence again. I could hardly face him tonight at supper.’

‘I am determined that you shall marry Mr Markham,’ Dorinda told her with resolution.

‘And just how will you manage that?’

‘I do not know,’ she admitted. ‘But I cannot sit by and see your happiness snatched away once more. Surely you did not find each other again for nothing? You were
meant
to be together!’

Elizabeth stood and looked down at her, her violet eyes bright with unshed tears.

‘Then you had best pray for a miracle, Sister.’

* * * *

After spending the night unburdening their hearts and attempting to console each other, the ladies Barrowe and Dansmere felt listless and not much inclined for other company the next day. They came downstairs in the early afternoon, and soon received a visit
from the squire and his family, who had come to see how the unfortunate viscount was mending.

‘It was so tragic!’ Gwendolyn lamented, really distressed. ‘It was such a perfect day, was it not, Lady Dansmere?’

Elizabeth smilingly agreed, with an inward shudder at the memory of how near she had come to public disgrace. By the narrowest of margins had scandal been averted. She managed to feign concern for Oswald, for Gwendolyn’s benefit - although she was guiltily aware that she would not shed a tear if he were to cock up his toes the next day. Indeed, it would be a blessed relief!

Oswald kept to his bed, so the visitors were not able to present him with either their good wishes or their special recipe for a plaster, which Mrs Thornwood assured them would ease the swelling in his eye quite miraculously. Elizabeth suspected that the viscount would allow no one to see him until his eye had healed and he could present a sufficiently noble appearance for others to gaze upon. The man was truly insufferable, and she could only hope that his recovery would not be too rapid.

Before the Thornwoods bade them farewell, they imparted a fresh bit of news to their hostess. Mr Markham, it seemed, had gone off to London that very morning. There was no telling when he would return, for his business was most urgent. However, it must be within a fortnight; for, as the whole neighbourhood was now aware, he would be holding a ball at Lammerton Hall at that time to celebrate his betrothal.

Gwendolyn was so puffed up at the thought of having captured such a wealthy suitor, that she kept the Merrywood ladies standing at the door a full twenty minutes while she repeated every detail of her gown for the ball. By her own account, it was destined to be the envy of every other lady present.

Elizabeth cared little for lace-trimmed white satin dresses,
however. Such things were of no importance to her. It was the girl who would be wearing it that she envied. Gwendolyn might not appreciate the fact, but she was indeed the most fortunate woman on earth.

Chapter 11

Dominick set off for London with his thoughts and feelings far from clear. It was as well that he was getting away from Wiltshire for a while. His business affairs were not as pressing as he had made them out to be, but he needed to reflect and to consider what, if anything, he could do to extricate himself from this appalling situation.

Bess - or rather, Lady Dansmere - had been right in saying that it was
his
pride which had separated them. Devil take it! When he believed she had duped him, made him look a fool, his pride had been deeply wounded. He had reacted like a hurt child. Then, when Lord Maples had convinced him that they were secretly engaged, it had been almost more than he could bear.

For once, he should have listened to his heart rather than his head. Within himself, he had always known that Bess loved him - ever since that wonderful night when he had found in her everything he had ever desired. The certainty that she felt the same was all that had kept him determined to find her again, even if it took a lifetime. Yet when he had found her, he allowed the knowledge of her rank to blind him to the fact that underneath she was the same warm, giving and gentle creature he had always loved. If she had changed, it was only for the better. She had gained a strength, a maturity, which made her all the more lovely and desirable.