An Aria Writ In Blood (The Underwood Mysteries Book 4) (4 page)

“What a charming idea,” said Lady Hartley-Wells warmly, “I cannot recall the last time I ate a picnic.”

              “Peek-neek?  Is that what you call it?” asked Luisa, causing all the Wablers to insist upon giving her individual tuition in English pronunciation.

At that her husband took her firmly by the arm and led her away, as she continued the conversation laughingly over her shoulder.  Verity and Underwood exchanged a telling glance.  It was going to be a long, wearisome day if the Wablers were set fair to behave with their usual lack of tact and pursue a flirtation with Luisa under the glowering, green eye of her jealous spouse.

              However, it transpired that the day went off very pleasantly and without incident.  Luisa was too enthralled by Horatia to take much notice of the boys, who were prompted to play a boisterous game of cricket, making Underwood bowl left-handed, since he had the advantage of being the only able-bodied man amongst them. Francis Herbert was most offended when they told him he didn’t count as he was an exceedingly bad player – Peter refused to take part, on the excuse that someone must entertain the ladies.  Not one of the ladies felt they needed his solicitude and were quite capable of amusing themselves, but they could hardly voice such an unfriendly comment.  When the baskets of food came down from the house, they found a secluded spot under some trees and sat upon spread rugs, Lady Hartley-Wells groaning theatrically at having to sink to the floor, but thoroughly enjoying the experience.  As soon as they were all replete, the Wablers took themselves off to the part of the park where all the young ladies promenaded after luncheon, leaving the older members of the party to relax in the drowsy warmth.  Peter stirred himself to make conversation with Underwood and Dr. Herbert, so Verity, Luisa, Ellen Herbert, Adeline Thornycroft and Lady Hartley-Wells were able to indulge themselves in a pleasantly female-orientated conversation about babies, child-birth and the iniquities of men in general and husbands in particular.

“I long for my own baby,” murmured Luisa, with a sigh, “But Pietro will not hear of it!”

“Why ever not?” asked Verity, before she could stop herself, then fell into blushing silence when she realized what she had said.  Luisa was evidently unconcerned at the intimacy of the question, belonging to a much more candid race than the English, she shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands in her peculiarly Italian fashion, “He says babies make women fat – especially Italian women, and then they are no longer interested in their husbands.”

The mothers in the group looked suitably affronted and as soon as Luisa noticed the stark silence with which this remark was greeted, she began to laugh, “I will tell Pietro he need look no further than the captivating Mrs. Underwood, who is clearly so in love with her husband, and the slender Mrs. Herbert who adores her doctor, then he will see he talks piffle!”

How could the ladies resist joining her laughter after that – particularly when she pronounced the word ‘piffle’ with such emphasis that she almost spat?  Verity began to understand the charm which had captured the fancy of a man like Peter Lovell.  Besides her very obvious beauty, there was an immense fascination about her, a childish desire that everyone about her be happy.  What man could resist the blend of physical loveliness and such an overwhelming inclination to please?

“Mrs. Thornycroft, do you not have children?”

“Call me Adeline, please,” invited the usually shy wife of Jeremy James, “I do have a step-daughter, but she has to go away to school.”

“She is not to come to the wedding?” pursued Luisa, determined to uncover every secret.

“Sadly, she is a deaf-mute, so I doubt she would understand the significance of the day.”

Luisa was at once all sympathy and concern, “
Che brutto!
  The poor child – and your husband too.  You are so very brave!”

To the surprise of all who heard this exchange, Adeline merely smiled, “Pray don’t waste your sympathy on me, my dear Lady Luisa.  I am the most fortunate woman alive to have married my Jeremy.  He makes everything amusing.  The veriest heartbreak is of no consequence when you have Jerry by your side.  Melissa adores him and never misbehaves for him.  My life is not half as hard as you must all imagine.  Of course, Jerry gambles, but he wins more than he loses – and no wife can ask for more than that.  He does not drink himself into a stupor, then beat me when he wakes.  He is loving, good-hearted and kind, he makes sure Melissa and I want for nothing – and if I really want him to stay at home, I simply take away his chair!”

Lady Hartley-Wells gave a loud crack of laughter, “Good for you Addie.  There’s nothing in the world so unattractive as self-pity.  Always look for the good things in your situation, and you’ll never be truly unhappy.”

The sudden glance cast in their direction by Underwood and Peter Lovell showed that the two gentlemen had overheard the wisdom of Lady Hartley-Wells.  Underwood smiled gently, but Peter’s expression was clouded.  He was wondering exactly what his wife could have confided to have prompted such a response from the elderly lady.  It would not be long before he found some excuse to break up the party and escort his wife home.

Sure enough, within minutes he was rising to his feet and dusting the back of his frock coat to remove specks of grass and dirt, “I think we should be leaving Luisa.  We are dining out this evening.”

Luisa peeked at him from beneath the frilled edge of her parasol, “Are we?  You did not tell me.”

“Of course I did.  Come, my dear, do not linger.  You know it takes you at least two hours to dress for dinner.”  Luisa regretfully accepted his hand to aid her rising from the rug, “Never mind, ladies.  I shall see you all tomorrow.”

“I think not.  The next two days are going to be very full.  I suspect you may not meet my brother’s guests again until the wedding.”

Her expression, hidden from her husband by her parasol, showed her disappointment only too clearly and all the women felt sorry for her.  Verity, soft-hearted and impulsive, at once rose to her feet and embraced her new-found friend,

“Don’t worry.  Cara and I will insist that you come shopping with us tomorrow,” she whispered, under the cover of Peter’s gruff farewells to the men who remained.  Luisa summoned a tremulous smile and squeezed her hand, “Please try,” she managed to plead, before Peter took her arm and led her away.

“That was a swift exit,” commented Underwood thoughtfully, as they disappeared into the distance.

“She was being punished for daring to enjoy herself,” said Lady Hartley-Wells, thin-lipped and annoyed.

No one replied, but the enjoyment of the outing was at an end.  Horatia had long since fallen asleep on her papa’s shoulder, so there seemed little point in prolonging the day.  The shadows were beginning to fall long and chilly and a slight breeze was whipping across from the west, sending the clouds scudding before it.

“I hope it won’t rain for the wedding,” said Verity, casting a worried look skywards.

“Even an Earl has no control over that,” muttered Underwood cynically, “And thank the Lord for it!  Every man must have something over which he has no dominion, or he will very soon begin to feel invulnerable.”             

*

CHAPTER FOUR

(“Spectatum Veniunt, Veniunt Spectentur Ut Ipsae” - They wish as much to be seen as to see)

When presented with a
fait accompli
Lord Peter had little choice but to acquiesce.  Cara wanted her Aunt Luisa to accompany Verity and herself on a shopping expedition – and no men were to be permitted to join them.  The items needed were of a delicate nature and gentlemen would not be welcome in the shops.

Peter wriggled like a fish on a hook and tried his utmost to find reasons why Luisa should not attend, but to no avail.  Cara could be exceedingly forceful when the mood took her and before long the three were on their way to collect Ellen and Adeline, giggling like schoolgirls for having outwitted the possessive husband.

Underwood and Gil had been left in charge of Horatia and Alistair – the only children of the group to be in London.  The two young Herbert brothers had been sent ahead to Brighton with their nurse, to be joined presently by Melissa, when her school could arrange her transportation, since she needed an adequate companion to make the journey.

Once the wedding was over and the vicar and his new wife sent off to Italy, the whole Hanbury party were to move to the Earl’s seaside villa.  Even the Wablers were to have a holiday, though they were to stay in a suitable inn of their own choosing – not even the Earl’s renowned generosity stretched to the stabling of the Wablers, with their capacity to drink any cellar dry, and their unfortunate effect upon quiet neighbourhoods.  Jeremy James was included in the Underwood group merely by virtue of the calming effect of marriage to the lovely Adeline.  The boys bore no grudge – they felt they were unlikely to be able to maintain good behaviour in the presence of the ladies for much longer than a week anyway.

As had been the norm for generations, and would doubtless be so for many generations to come, once the ladies found the shops, they were tireless in their pursuit of the elusive bargain, all thoughts of their men folk driven from their minds.  Conversely the men found solace in the bottle.  As it happened Lord Peter belonged to Whites and Boodles, though neither place had seen him cross their portals since his marriage.  Now, however, having nothing else to do and having been taken by a whim to see what chaos the Wablers could cause within those hallowed walls, he instructed his housekeeper to take the children into her care and dragged Underwood, Gil, Francis, Jeremy James and the Wablers off to his clubs.

Whilst Gil sedately sipped a sherry, Underwood indulged himself in his favourite brandy (best French, naturally) and Francis hit the port bottle with Peter.  The Wablers drank anything that happened to pass their table.

In an amazingly short space of time the alcohol did its worst and only Gil and Underwood were less than tipsy – though even Underwood was feeling a little ragged at the edges – it was a particularly good brandy.  He wisely by-passed the next round and the others were too far gone to notice and kick up their usual dust when they felt he was being a killjoy.  Of course no one ever complained when Gil was a killjoy – frankly it was expected of him.

Presently the Wablers went off to the games room, as Underwood had always expected they would – and from the triumphant grin on Peter’s face, he had suspected the same.  The sounds of revelry from the boys and the indignant protests from the more staid occupiers of the room floated back to them and Peter grinned more widely still, “No doubt I shall be blackballed for bringing that little crowd in here!”

“You don’t seem to be overly concerned at the prospect,” commented Underwood, carefully enunciating every word.

“I’m not.  The world is a wide place.  There are other venues which hold more amusements than this dead and alive hole.”

In the face of such scathing and loud contempt, Gil and Underwood could only be grateful that the arrival of the Wablers had ensured that the room where they now sat was empty but for themselves.  Francis, however, was too far-gone to care, “There speaks the voice of experience,” he said, barely audible, slumped, as he was, in a large leather wing chair, “Do tell us more of your adventures, my dear fellow.”

“I’d have to be a lot drunker than this to do that, my friend,” answered Peter with even more grim amusement.

“Then tell us how you met your lovely wife.  She is a diamond of the first water.”

For one tense moment Peter clenched his fist and looked dangerous, but the innocence apparent in the half-foxed doctor quickly calmed him, “Be careful what you say, Francis.  Luisa occupies a portion of my soul which is sacrosanct.  If I did not know you were in love with your own wife, I might have to kill you for casting your eyes in her direction.”

Francis, who had no empathy with a man who was so obsessed that he could speak of killing with such
sang froid
, merely thought Peter was joking and laughed affably, “Dear God!  If you kill every man who ogles your wife, you must be knee deep in corpses!”

Gil and Underwood both visibly winced and exchanged a pained look.  They knew Francis was speaking out of ignorance, but he could not have said anything more calculated to infuriate the insanely jealous Lord Peter.

In what seemed at that moment to be a timely interruption, Peter’s nephew Trentham chose to stagger into the room, evidently even more worse for wear than the present company.  It rapidly became apparent, however, that this encounter was no less dangerous than the previous one.  Trentham’s expression was neither friendly nor conciliatory, and Peter’s far from avuncular.

“So, you’ve allowed poor little Luisa out from under your thumb, my dear uncle.  By Jupiter, what miracle occurred to bring this about?  I thought the unfortunate girl was beginning to imagine she was in a nunnery, not a marriage.  Isn’t it a sad thing to witness – a man in his dotage who has managed to snare a wife who is young enough to be his daughter?  How afraid he is that she will wake up one day to the realization that she has thrown away her youth and beauty on a doddering old fool, who will doubtless turn up his toes before she gets her first grey hair – if the very effort of trying to satisfy her does not kill him first.”

Peter listened to this speech with palpably growing fury and though he desperately tried to hide and control his boiling emotions, it was evident to all who observed him that he was rapidly becoming an open powder keg which would need only one more spark to ignite it.  Underwood and Gil could only be astounded that he lasted as long as he did before he leapt to his feet and smashed his fist full into the youthful visage of his relative.  Blood spattered from Trentham’s nose as he flew backwards across the room, and both the Underwood brothers rose of one accord, too late to stop the first blow, but able to prevent the murder in Peter’s eyes becoming a reality.  It took all their strength to hold him, especially when the half-dazed Trentham staggered to his feet and careless of his beautifully tailored coat, wiped his streaming nose on his sleeve.  He shrugged off Francis, who with a doctor’s instinct had gone to the aid of the injured party, and muttered through a burst lip, “You can always hit me, uncle.  You can pound me into a pulp, but you’ll never change the fact that I have youth on my side – and one day Luisa will see you for the cruel old rogue that you really are.  I can afford to wait for that day to dawn – but can you?”

With a roar like an enraged bull, Peter struggled to escape from the grasp of Gil and Underwood, but they clung on for dear life until Trentham, encouraged away by Francis, wisely made his exit.  For a few seconds longer they held on to him, until they felt him sag in their arms and knew that his fury had spent itself with the disappearance of his nephew.

“What the devil was all that about?” asked the befuddled Francis, as he returned from the hallway where he had seen Trentham safely leave the premises.  Peter turned and took up his half-filled glass from the table beside his recently vacated chair.  He downed what was left in one gulp and reached for the decanter to refill his glass, slopping the liquid carelessly with a shaking hand, “I would have thought it painfully obvious.  The boy has a bad case of calf-love for my wife and takes every opportunity to remind me of the fact.  I should not have let the pup rile me so, but the very thought of his impudence makes my blood boil!”

“Boil indeed,” agreed Francis, laying a concerned hand on his companion’s wrist and feeling the tumult of raging blood beneath his fingers, “Your pulse is racing and your colour high.  My friend, if you continue to allow yourself to fall into such passions, your nephew’s prediction will undoubtedly be proved accurate – and you may not even have the consolation of dying in your wife’s arms.  You will drop dead on the spot of a seizure.”

Peter withdrew his arm from the doctor’s grasp, though not with urgency nor ill-temper, “Francis, you say that as though it would be a bad thing.  Sometimes I think it would be a kindness on God’s part to deliver me from this torture.  When Luisa and I are together and of accord, I think there can be no happier man alive than I, but the torment of seeing her laugh and flirt with other men, to see the look of desire in their eyes, to know that she may one day return that look and flee from me – that I cannot bear.  The boy is right.  I am forty-five, she barely twenty-three – and she had a score of lovers and suitors before she met me.  As sure as the sun rises and sets, she will grow tired of me – and some other man will be there to catch her when she falls.”

“I think you do your wife a great injustice, Peter,” said Gil as gently as he could, “You should not bandy her reputation thus.  The past is gone and I’m sure she regrets it, but nothing can undo it.  She gives every indication of being a devoted and faithful wife.  If ever she is driven to leave you, it will, in all probability, be due to just such a scene as this.  Is that what you really want to happen?”

“Of course not!  God knows I try to control my temper, but when the red mist comes down – do you think I wanted to hit the boy?  Do you think I am in any way proud of myself?  He is my own flesh and blood.  I will have to take her away.  If it were not for this damned wedding, we would not be here in London at all.”  He sank wearily into his seat, his head dropped forward into his hands, the knuckles of his punishing right scuffed and bleeding from contact with Trentham’s teeth, “God, I wish we had never come back!”

“You will break Cara’s heart if you do not attend our wedding,” said Gil severely.  Much as he sympathized with Peter’s very evident turmoil, he could not help feeling that all that was required was a little more self-control – both on the part of the husband and the nephew.  “Leave the matter in my hands.  I shall speak to Trentham.  He will not trouble you or Luisa for the remainder of your stay, take my oath on that.”

Peter nodded wearily; it was as though he had lost all his strength when his passion subsided, leaving him empty and without a will of his own, “Do whatever you think best, Gil.  If any man alive can make Trentham see sense, I’ll wager it is you.  His father ceased to have any influence over him years ago.  He was always too soft with the boy.  A spell in the army would have given him a little backbone – and an inkling of the honour which dictates that you do not try to steal another man’s wife.”

Underwood swiftly intercepted at this point, suggesting that it was perhaps time they rescued the club members from the Wablers and retired, to rearm, for dinner.

It happened they had no need to search out the ex-soldiers, for they had been told by a young and easily impressed waiter that there were fisticuffs in the smoking room.  They arrived at that moment, breathless, drunker than before, and unspeakably disappointed to have missed the fight.  They were not in least consoled to be assured quietly by Underwood that it had been a tame affair, with only one blow struck and a bloody lip the only casualty.  It was universally acknowledged that Peter was a lucky dog to have the lovely little pocket Venus as his spouse and they would all have gladly piled in on the side of Trentham, though he was not much liked because of his youthful arrogance and the fact that his father supplied him with an allowance which made an army pension seem like utter penury.

There were still mumbles of discontent when they re-met at the dinner table; a situation not much helped when all the ladies could talk of were hats and muffs, reticules and pelisses, gloves and shoes, and, worst of all, scents, powders and creams.   They were unspeakably bored and therefore unutterably rude.  It did them no good, for the ladies, in high good humour, merely thought of them as naughty little boys and treated them with good-natured contempt.  As a result they wolfed dinner and were gone out carousing before the ladies had even retired to the saloon to take their tea.

Over port and brandy, Peter, who appeared to have sobered, though his eyes were shot through with red streaks and his hair still wet from being plunged under the yard-pump, spoke to his remaining male companions, “I behaved abominably this afternoon, gentlemen, and I should be immensely grateful if Luisa were to remain in ignorance of the fact.”

Underwood responded for them all when he answered, “My dear fellow, if we all had to relate an occasion when love had led us into folly, we would be here all night.  Pray think no more about it.”

*

There were several conversations in the vicinity of Westland Square that evening to which Underwood would never be privy – and he probably would not have wished to be so.  He found displays of deep emotion incredibly embarrassing and avoided them assiduously.

Gil, his face determinedly set, insisted that Trentham accompany himself and Cara into the earl’s library – the earl and countess were dining out with friends.  The boy did his best to resist, but Gil was accepting no excuses.  He was not quite as tall as his older brother, but rather more solidly built – Underwood tended towards the slender.  When Gil drew himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders and looked straight into the eyes of his chosen victim, he was rather more menacing than one could reasonably expect from a man of the cloth.  Cara felt a delightful thrill of excitement, tinged with a little fear, when she saw the grim expression on the face of her groom.  Trentham must have been behaving tiresomely indeed to have produced such a reaction from the usually calm vicar.