A Scandalous Secret (5 page)

Chapter 3

The evening that followed was a civil nightmare such as Elizabeth had never before encountered. Had not Lord Maples entered the room directly behind Mr Markham and distracted her sister’s attention, Elizabeth was sure she would have betrayed herself then and there. But the interruption he afforded, though brief, gave her enough time to recover a semblance of composure. Dorinda busied herself with introducing the two men to each other, and soon they all sat down to dinner and to a curious conversation which Elizabeth was never afterwards able to recall.

That Mr Markham had recognized her, Elizabeth could not doubt. Even in her disoriented state, she clearly saw the look of surprise and dismay when he had stepped forward to be introduced. He had recovered himself almost at once, and his expression then became one of cool - not to say Arctic - politeness. Throughout the next couple of hours, whenever she observed the man’s gaze upon her, his eyes seemed to be twin pools of contempt.

Could this really be the same man whose warmth and tenderness had seduced her into abandoning the beliefs of a lifetime? The man to whom she had given herself so completely, succumbing to a desire she had never known before or since? This remote and rather sardonic stranger? It scarcely seemed possible. Yet the truth was undeniable.

She could barely choke down the excellent dinner prepared by her sister’s cook. Afterwards, when Dorinda begged her to entertain them at the pianoforte, Elizabeth was grateful. She would be spared by this exercise from having to converse with the others while her mind was so dreadfully preoccupied.

She prepared to seat herself at the instrument - a fine new Broadwood with a full, rich timbre - but was startled to find Mr Markham looming over her. Glancing up at him in some apprehension, the look which she received in return was so full of undisguised hatred that she paled before it.

He reached down to open up the keyboard. Her ‘Thank you, sir,’ came out as a scarcely recognizable gasp.

‘You are most gracious,
my lady.’
There was an edge of sarcasm to his voice, which she fervently hoped that no one else could catch.

On the pretext of adjusting the candelabrum, the better for her to read the music, he leaned forward and whispered just loud enough for her to hear: ‘But I have done very little - yet!’

He moved away at once, and Elizabeth hurriedly leafed through several sheets of music as she attempted to collect her all-but-shattered wits. What had the man meant by that last remark? Surely he would not attempt anything rash? He would hardly go so far as to—? But no. She must not anticipate anything.

At last she selected a lively Scottish air and, by a Herculean effort of will, managed to perform it with considerable vigour. When her small audience demanded another, she obliged them with an old ballad and was amazed that her throat did not close up like a drawn reticule as she sang.

Her talents as an actress must have been greater than she knew, for Dorinda seemed to notice nothing amiss. When Mr Markham excused himself very early on and explained that his aunt was still not feeling well and that he must return to her, his hostess was completely satisfied. Indeed, Dorinda promised a special prayer for the old lady’s speedy recovery, and hoped that next time she would be well enough to accept an invitation to dinner. As for Lord Maples, if he was aware of the tension between the merchant and the lady, he showed no real sign of it, though Elizabeth did see him glance at her once or twice with a speculative look.

With Mr Markham’s departure, Elizabeth’s vitality drained away. In his presence, it had required the exertion of all her faculties to maintain an air of calm control. Now, without the necessity of so much effort, there was a strange feeling of anticlimax. A weariness descended upon her which was as much spiritual as physical. She at last bid her sister and Oswald goodnight, and went up to her room.

* * * *

Dorinda’s maid, Ellen, helped her to bed, since she had instructed Janet to retire early after their days of travel. But no sooner had her head settled into the inviting hollow of her pillows than she found that tiredness is no guarantee of rest. Her thoughts went round and round: from Mr Markham to Dorinda, from her sister to little Nicholas, and back again. What would happen when Mr Markham encountered Nicky? Would he guess the truth? And if he did, what then?

The threat of exposure - of the revelation of her deep, dark secret - filled her with horror. She would be branded an adulteress. She could, of course, deny anything Mr Markham might say. But how many would believe her? How could she convince anyone when her own conscience would prick at her every moment? And what of poor Nicky? He would suffer for his mother’s sin - perhaps for the rest of his life.

‘Dear God,’ she found herself praying fervently in the darkness, ‘please do not allow my past mistakes to bring shame and sorrow to my son.’

Dominick.
So that was his name. She had always assumed that ‘Nick’ was short for ‘Nicholas’. Elizabeth was surprised that he still remembered her after eight years. Their acquaintance had been so very brief - but so intimate, she recalled, blushing at the traitorous memories which flooded her mind. It was impossible that she should ever forget him. But why was he so angry? Could memories that were so precious to herself be so bitter for him?

There had been times in the past years when she had wondered what he might be doing, where he might be. Whenever she visited London, she had been unable to stop herself from searching for a glimpse of chestnut hair in every crowded street. If only she might see him again...! She had even indulged in the most ridiculous day-dreams, imagining what it would have been like if she had run away with him that night; if she had left her old life behind. If only she could be loved by him again as she had been on that one unforgettable night! But in her heart she had been certain that they would not meet again. Never could she have conceived of a reunion such as the one that had taken place tonight.

How was she to face him? How was she to pretend that this man, her former lover, was a total stranger? How could she hide her feelings? And just what
were
those feelings? At present, she was far from certain. She could not deny that she was confused and more than a little anxious, yet her heart was filled with something she had not known in so long that it was almost foreign to her. Could it be hope? But that was madness. What was there to hope for now?

And what, precisely, were Dominick’s own thoughts and plans? Was he merely shocked, or dismayed at her presence? He had looked and spoken like a man bent on revenge. But surely he could not blame her so much for what had happened that night. And why should it matter to him after all this time? Unless he already knew about Nicky. She shivered beneath the warm bedclothes. She would have given a great deal to know what he was thinking at that moment.

* * * *

Mr Dominick Markham rode home in a mood blacker than midnight. He kept his big bay hunter, Behemoth, at a moderate pace - very much
andante -
until he had passed the avenue which led to Merrywood. Then he galloped
presto con animato
towards Lammerton Hall. He felt that he could not put enough distance between himself and that yellow-haired Circe. She had ensnared him with her golden enchantment once, but tonight the spell was broken for all time.

It was not many minutes before he found his way home - his newly furnished, lavishly decorated house, fit for a princess from a fairy-tale. But there was no princess, only a wicked witch, whose disguise had now been thoroughly exposed. He might have known it was folly to trust a woman!

Relinquishing Behemoth to a nearby groom, Dominick entered the house with steps that were somewhat regimental: loud, exaggeratedly stiff and with a pronounced rhythm like a one-man military band. He would have stumped noisily up the stairs to his room had not a harshly pitched voice halted his progress.

‘For the Lord’s sake,’ it said with feminine sternness, ‘what’s all the commotion? Are you trying to frighten a poor old woman out of her senses?’

Dominick turned towards the west drawing-room. Standing in the open doorway, watching him with shrewd dark eyes, was an elderly woman in a severe black gown. Though she had recently passed her seventieth year, she was as straight and erect as a girl of one-and-twenty. She was thin, but not frail, and pale without being sickly. She had a decided nose, and there was an air of suppressed energy about her which seemed at odds with her advanced years. Her one concession to encroaching age was a predilection for heavy woollen shawls - a grey-and-white one at present. She hated the cold, and had often said that she should have been born in the Indies - East or West.

‘Forgive me, Aunt Winnie,’ Dominick said, somewhat sheepishly. Privately, he thought that he would not wish to encounter a terror that could frighten Winifred Trottson. ‘I was just going up to bed. I hope you didn’t wait up on my account.’

‘You’ll not be going to bed now, my lad!’ the old lady said, in the strong accents of rural Somersetshire. ‘It’s plain as a pudding that something’s got you in a pother; and I won’t get a wink of sleep until I know what it is. Not,’ she added acidly, as he passed by her through the drawing-room door, ‘that I’m surprised, mind you. I’ve told you more than once about hanging your hat too high. No good can come of mixing with the gentry when you’re not born to it, and as for these fine friends of yours - well, enough said.’

Dominick led her to the sofa and helped her to seat herself. He gave a rueful grin. ‘You certainly have said enough - although that’s never stopped you from saying a great deal more.’

‘Don’t be saucy, Nick. Just tell me what’s plaguing you.’

‘I suppose you will not allow me to escape until I do. But it will be a lengthy tale, I fear.’

‘I’ve no objection to a long story, if it’s a good one. And I believe that this will be most interesting.’ Her eyes narrowed as she watched him closely. ‘Now, get on with it. You’d better make a start, or we’ll be here till morning.’

Dominick took a deep breath. He needed a good supply of air before he could embark on this oration. It was the first time he had ever spoken of this to anyone. He didn’t think he could confide the truth to anyone else, but he was both embarrassed and relieved to be allowed - or rather, forced - to make this revelation at last.

‘Do you recall,’ he began, a little hesitantly, ‘about eight years ago when I was employed at Mr Lyne’s counting-house?’

His aunt sniffed. ‘Of course I do. You were practically running that business yourself. Not that you got any thanks for it from that old nip-cheese!’

He shook his head, but only commented, ‘I am well aware of your opinion on that matter.’ He paused again. This was not going to be easy. ‘Do you remember once, not long before Mama’s death, when I came to visit you both at Bridgewater?’

‘I remember it well.’ She nodded slowly.

‘Well, on my return journey to London, I stopped at a small inn.’

‘Which one?’

‘It does not matter which one,’ he said shortly. ‘The point is what happened there.’

‘And what did happen?’

‘I met a woman—’

‘I guessed as much,’ Aunt Winnie said, with sour satisfaction. ‘Why is it always a woman?’

Dominick stood up with sudden impatience. He wanted to get this over with. ‘May I continue, Aunt?’

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘You can hardly stop now.’

And so, with slow deliberation, he unfolded the events of that night when he had met a beautiful girl called Bess. He took great pains to avoid the more intimate details, which would almost certainly shock and distress an old maid, though he was much afraid that his aunt was but too capable of filling in any missing pieces for herself. She was altogether too knowing for his peace of mind.

At last he came to the end of his narration, and remarked, without looking at the old lady, ‘Do you know that I had been on the point of offering for Mr Lyne’s daughter, Gertrude? I thought it would cement my position with the company, and I’d been steeling myself to make a push, even though I had no real affection for Miss Lyne.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘But after I met Bess, I could not bring myself to do it. This will sound terribly foolish, but I was tail-over-top in love with Bess from the moment I saw her.’

‘You were always too romantic for your own good,’ Aunt Winifred said, pulling her shawl more tightly about her shoulders. ‘But then, I remember that Miss Lyne very well, and I don’t care how much money her papa had - she was no wife for you. If your Bess kept you from that piece of folly, then God bless her!’

‘I have to agree with you there.’

Aunt Winifred frowned heavily, a puzzled look on her pleasantly wrinkled face. ‘But what does this have to do with your visit tonight?’

‘She was there - at Merrywood,’ he said baldly.

‘Who? Miss Lyne?’ The old woman was truly surprised now. ‘I wouldn’t have thought her likely to move in such exalted circles.’

‘No, no!’ he corrected her. ‘Not Gertrude.
Bess.’

‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is that why you’re so upset? Has she not aged well, then? Put on flesh since you saw her last? I know these country lasses—’

A spurt of involuntary - and not particularly pleasant - laughter escaped him. ‘No, indeed, Aunt. If anything, she is more beautiful than before.’

‘I don’t know of any new servants at Merrywood,’ Aunt Winnie reflected aloud. ‘She must be the maid of this Lady Barrowe’s sister, the countess.’

‘She
is
the countess.’

‘Eh? What d’ye mean?’

‘The woman I knew as Bess,’ he explained deliberately, ‘is, in reality, Elizabeth, widowed Countess of Dansmere.’

His aunt stared at him as though he were some gargoyle that had just sprung up magically out of the carpet. ‘You must have mistook—’

‘Do you think I could mistake such a woman?’ he interrupted sharply, clenching his fist.

‘Perhaps it’s just a strong resemblance to your Bess,’ his aunt suggested.

‘Would to God it were so,’ Dominick said, not caring that his voice betrayed the bitterness he felt. ‘But it is not. If you could have seen her face when I was presented to her this evening! She looked as if she might swoon from the shock. Believe me, she knew me as surely as I recognized her.’