Miss Winthorpe's Elopement (10 page)

He eased free of her grasp, stomach churning, unable
to look his friend in the eye. ‘A glass of wine, then. Only one. And then I must be going home.’

Clarissa said, loud enough for all to hear, ‘Ah yes. Hurrying home to your bride, Adam. Just when will she be making an appearance in society? People are beginning to think that the woman is a product of your overheated imagination.’

‘You know full well, Clare, that she wished to remain at home, for you spoke to her this morning.’

‘But, Adam, everyone is dying to meet her. I have told them so much about her. They are aflame with curiosity. Penelope is the daughter of a cit,’ she informed the group gathered around them. ‘And from what I’ve been told, she is very rich. But she will not mix with us, I’m afraid. She is far too busy to be bothered. Adam’s wife is a bluestocking.’ The last was said with enough pity to make the other revelations pale in comparison.

He was expected to say something at this point, but was at a loss as to what. Most of what Clarissa had said was perfectly true, although it sounded far worse coming from her mouth. And she had probably used his absence to embroider what facts she had with as many scurrilous fictions as she could invent. So he seized upon the one thing he could safely refute. ‘Really, Clarissa. You make her sound so exclusionist that she should be a patroness at Almack’s. She is at home tonight, reading
The Odyssey
in the original Greek. I bought her the book this afternoon as a wedding gift. But she’ll mix with society soon enough.’

And then, he could not help himself—he added a fabrication of his own. ‘We are planning a ball, and I suspect most of you will be invited to it. Then you can meet her and see for yourself.’

The crowd nodded, mollified, and there was an undercurrent of curiosity in the gossip that stole the thunder from Clarissa’s tales. Bellston rarely entertained. The new duchess might be an eccentric, but no one would dare comment on the fact if it meant losing the duke’s favour and missing a chance to attend an event that would be eagerly anticipated by everyone of importance in London.

Everyone except the Duchess of Bellston.

Penny sat at the vanity in her bedroom, which she had transformed, with the help of a strong lamp, into a makeshift writing desk. The work had seemed to fly this evening, with words flowing out of her mind and on to paper as easily as if the text were already in English and she was only copying down what she saw. Perhaps it had been the gift of the book that had inspired her. Adam could be so effortlessly kind that she scolded herself for thinking ill of him earlier in the day.

Or perhaps the intellectual stimulation of strong tea and good conversation had freed her thoughts.

That was all it had been, of course. Any stimulation she might have felt, beyond her intellect, was girlish fancy. She had always admired the Duke of Bellston. To see the actual man in front of her, moved by his
subject matter until he’d all but forgotten her existence, was more invigorating than she’d imagined. He’d invited her into his study, allowing her past a barrier of intimacy that she had not expected to cross, and for a time she’d felt she was very much in his confidence.

And then he had kissed her. Thank the Lord that their conversation had been at an end, for she doubted that she would have been able to string two thoughts together after that buss on the cheek.

She had gone back to her sitting room and curled up on the sofa and opened the book, ready to enjoy his gift, only to have her eyes drawn, again and again, to the kissing couple on the bookshelf. She must have looked as dazed and eager as that when he’d left her.

And it had not stopped him from going out, she reminded herself, returning to cool logic. Not that there was anything wrong with being apart in the evenings. How would she get any work done if he forced her to accompany him everywhere, like a dog on a leash? She enjoyed her work.

And she had been quite satisfied with her progress once she left the sitting room, which seemed to attract foolish fantasy like a normal library attracted cobwebs. She could work without fear of interruption in her bedroom.

Certainly without fear of interruption by her husband. If he preferred to be elsewhere, in the company of others than herself? That had been their plan, had it not? She could hardly blame him for it. An
evening of cards at an all-male club was hardly cause for jealousy on her part.

And if she was not mistaken, he was arriving home; through the open window she heard the sound of a carriage stopping in front of the house, and the faint sound of her husband’s voice as the footman greeted him at the front door. She glanced at the clock. Barely eleven.

She had not expected him so soon. It had been later than this when they’d returned to the house on the previous evening, and he’d proclaimed it early. Was tonight’s behaviour unusual?

Not that she should care. She hardly knew the man, and his schedule was his own affair.

But he had come home. Not to her, precisely. But he was home, all the same. Perhaps it would not be too forward to go downstairs in search of a cup of tea, and pass by the door to his study to see if he remained up. She got out of her chair, reached to tighten the belt of her dressing gown, and, without thinking, straightened her hair. Then she laughed at herself for the vanity of it.

With her hand on the doorknob, she stopped and listened. But, no. There was no need to seek him. He was climbing the stairs, for she could hear him on the landing, and then he was coming down the hall carpet toward his room. She waited for the sound of his bedroom door, opening and closing.

It did not come. He had walked past his room, for she
had been unconsciously counting the steps and imagining him as he walked.

And then he stopped, just on the other side of her door.

She waited for the knock, but none came. Perhaps he would call out to her, to see if she was asleep, though he must know she was not, for the light of her lamp would be visible under the door.

If she were a brave woman, she would simply open the door and go after the cup of tea she had been imagining. Then she could pretend to be surprised to see him, and inquire what it was that he wanted. She might even step into the hall, and collide with his body, allowing him to reach out a hand to steady her. Perhaps he would laugh, and she would neglect to step away, and she would know if he merely wished to continue their discussion, or if there was some other purpose for his visit.

But she was not a brave woman, and she was foolish to think such things, since they made no sense at all. There was a perfectly logical explanation for his being there, which he would no doubt tell her in the morning at breakfast. If she waited, she could save herself the embarrassment of making too big a thing out of something so small.

But all the same, she kissed the palm of her hand, and then silently pressed it to the panel of the door, holding it very near where the cheek of a tall man might be.

Then she heard his body shift, and his steps retreating down the hall, and the opening and closing of the bedroom door beside her own.

W
hen she woke the next morning, she found herself listening for sounds from the next room and hoping for a knock on the connecting door. Surely Adam would come to her as soon as he was awake, and explain his behaviour the previous evening?

But she heard only silence. Perhaps he was a late sleeper, or simply did not wish to be disturbed.

When she could stand to wait no longer, she called for her maid. She would go downstairs and wait for him at breakfast. But when she arrived in the breakfast room, she was told that his Grace had been up for hours, had had a light meal and gone riding in the park.

Very well, then. If he had wished to speak to her, it had been nothing of importance. Or perhaps she had only imagined it, for things often sounded different through a closed door. Whatever the case, she would go on with her day as if nothing had happened.

She gathered her papers from her bedroom and returned them to the sitting room, where the morning light made working easier. And in daylight, with her husband nowhere about, there seemed to be fewer romantic fantasies clouding her mind. But to avoid temptation, she turned the figurine of the lovers to face the wall.

She had barely opened her books before there was a quiet knock on the door, and a servant announced a visitor, offering a card on a tray.

Lady Clarissa Colton.

The card lay there on the tray before her, like a dead snake. What was she to do about it? ‘Tell the lady that Adam is not at home.’

The servant looked pained. ‘She wished specifically for you, your Grace.’

‘Then tell her I am not—’

‘Hello.’ Clarissa was calling to her from the hall. She laughed. ‘You must forgive me, darling. I have viewed this as a second home for so long that I quite forget my manners.’

‘I see.’ Penny had hoped to load those words with censure. But instead they sounded like understanding and permission to enter, for Clarissa pushed past the servant and came into the sitting room.

She sat down next to Penny, as though they were confidants. ‘Adam and I are old friends. Particularly close. But I’m sure he must have told you.’ Clarissa was smiling sweetly again, but her eyes were hard and cold.
She reached out to take Penny’s hands, giving them a painful squeeze. ‘And when I heard the good news, I simply could not stay away.’

‘News?’

‘Yes. He told us last night, at the party. Everyone was most excited.’

‘Party?’ Obviously, there was much Adam had not told her. And now, she was left to parrot monosyllables back to Clarissa, until the horrible woman made the truth clear.

‘Ooo, that is right. You did not know of it.’ Clarissa made a face that was supposed to represent sympathy, but looked more like concealed glee. ‘Adam came to our house last night after dinner. Not for the whole evening, as I had hoped. But he could not bear to disappoint me. The man is beyond kind.’

Far beyond it, as far as Penny was concerned.

‘We knew you would not mind, of course, for you did not wish to come. In any case, he told us about the ball.’

‘Ball?’ She had done it again. Why in heaven could she not find her tongue?

‘That you will be hosting, to celebrate your marriage. I am sure it will be the most divine affair. Your ballroom is magnificent, is it not? And Adam uses it far too seldom…’

Obviously, for she was not even sure of its location since her husband had neglected to show it to her. She nodded mutely, along with the flow of Clarissa’s words.

‘It is more than large enough to hold the cream of London society. We will begin the guest list this morning, and the menu, of course. And in the afternoon, we can see about your gown.’ She glanced down at Penny’s sombre grey day dress. ‘I do not know what fashion was like where you came from—’

‘I came from London,’ Penny interjected.

‘But these clothes will hardly do. We must fit you with a new wardrobe, gloves, perhaps a turban for evening. With an ostrich feather. You will adore it, I am sure.’

Penny was quite sure that she would look ridiculous with her hair dressed in plumes. And that was probably the point of the suggestion.

‘We will go to my modiste, together. And I will instruct her on just how you must look, to display your true self to the world.’

There could not be a more horrifying prospect than that. Must she be polite to this woman, for the sake of her husband? Or could she say what she thought, and risk making a powerful enemy?

‘Penelope. So sorry to intrude, I had no idea you were entertaining.’ Adam stood in the doorway, still in his riding clothes, expression unreadable.

‘That is all right, dear. You are not interrupting anything of importance. Only discussion of our ball.’

Discussion had been a charitable way to describe it. ‘Clarissa says that you announced it at her home last evening. It was most unwise of you to give the secret away before we set a date.’
Or before telling your wife
.

He seemed to pale ever so slightly at being caught out. Then he regained his smile and said, ‘So sorry, darling. I could not help myself.’

‘Really?’ They would see about that. ‘No matter. Clarissa has come to offer her help in the matter, if I need it.’

Adam smiled again. ‘How kind of her. But I am sure you have the matter well in hand, so she needn’t have bothered.’

Clarissa laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Adam. She will have no experience in handling a gathering of this sort. She knows nothing of our set, or what will be expected of her. And you have thrown her into it, assuming that she will not embarrass herself. It will be a disaster.’

Penny hardly dared breathe, for fear that Clarissa would notice how close to the truth she had come.

But Adam waved his hand and shrugged. ‘I doubt it is so hard as all of that, and Penny is a most enterprising and intelligent woman. No need for you to bother about it. But thank you for your concern. Let me show you out, and we will leave my wife to her work.’

‘I could not think to leave the poor creature in the state she’s in.’ Clarissa spoke as if Penny was not in the room. ‘At least convince her to leave her books long enough to go shopping, like a normal female.’

‘You were going shopping, eh? Well, I know how much you enjoy that, and we mustn’t keep you from it. Perhaps, some day, when Penny is finished with her
book, you may come back for her. But for now…’ Adam reached out a hand to her.

Clarissa weighed, just for a moment, continuing the argument against the chance to be nearer to Adam, if only for the short walk to the door. Then she smiled up at him and said, ‘Very well, then. There is nothing for it—if you wish me to go, I must go.’ She rose, and linked her arm with his. ‘And perhaps you can be persuaded to tell me what I must purchase, so that I look my finest when I return for the ball. I do wish to look my best when in your presence.’

She watched them leave the room, Clarissa smiling brightly and leaning on Adam as if she could not manage to walk the few steps to the door without his support.

Penny did not realise that she was still clutching a pencil in her hand until the thing snapped under the pressure of her fingers. The gall of the woman. The infernal nerve. To come into her house, to point out her flaws and to rub her face in her husband’s perfidy. The rage simmered in her, as she waited for Adam to return.

Before he was near enough to speak, she met him in the hall, and demanded, ‘What is going on?’

‘Penny. The servants.’ He said it as though the lack of privacy should be sufficient to contain her temper.

But she was having none of it. ‘The servants might also want to know the amount of extra work you have brought to this house, for you have certainly set us all a task. We are to have a ball, are we? Do we even have
a ballroom? Clarissa seems to think so, but I do not know, myself.’

His ears turned slightly red, which might indicate embarrassment, but nothing showed in his voice. ‘It is on the third floor. We have not had time for a whole tour—’

‘Because we have been married less than a week. I have lived in this house for only two days, and at no time do I remember any discussion of our hosting an entertainment.’

He backed her into the sitting room, and shut the door behind them. ‘The subject came up yesterday evening.’

‘When you were at Clarissa’s party. Another thing you made no mention of.’

‘And
I
do not remember, in any of our discussions, the need to inform you of my whereabouts at all times. In fact, I specifically remember our agreeing that our social lives would remain separate.’

‘An agreement which you chose to violate when you invited all of London to our house and neglected to inform me. While I can hardly complain over your choice of
entertainments
last evening, it embarrasses me when your
hostess
chooses to come to my house and make me aware of them.’

She glared at him, and watched the guilty anger rise in his face. ‘I do not like what you are implying.’

‘I did not think you would. But that is hardly a denial, is it?’ She waited, praying that he would tell her she was wrong, and dishonoured them both by thinking such horrible things.

Instead he said coldly, ‘It does not suit you to be jealous over something that was over before we even met.’

The admission, and the easy dismissal of her feelings, made her almost too sick to speak. ‘I am not jealous, Adam. What cause would I have? You know that our relationship is not likely to be close enough to merit jealousy. But I am disappointed, and more than a little disgusted. I had thought you a better person than that. And to carry on in such an obvious fashion, under the very nose of a man you claim as friend…’

‘Perhaps, if I had married a woman who wished to be at my side, then there would be no cause to wonder at my relationship with another man’s wife.’

She laughed in amazement. ‘It is all my fault, then? That you choose to make a fool of yourself over a married woman?’

‘I am not attempting to make a fool of myself. I am endeavouring, as best I can, to make our marriage seem as normal as possible to the rest of the world. But apparently I am failing—already there has been talk about you.’

‘Only because Clarissa spreads it, I am sure. Better that they should talk about me than the two of you.’

He made no effort to correct her. ‘If we do not appear together in public, and supremely happy, everyone will say that I am keeping you out of sight because you are an embarrassment to me.’

‘What do I care what people think of me?’

‘Apparently nothing, or you would not look as you do.’

One, two, three
… She closed her eyes, to stop any chance of tears, and continued her counting. She had known he would say something about her looks eventually. How could he not? But she had hoped, when the time came, it would be as a casual statement of the obvious. Then she would be better prepared, and could agree and laugh the pain away. But he had been so good about not commenting. To have it thrown back in the heat of anger had taken the breath from her and her argument with it.

She made it all the way to nine and then blurted, ‘If you had a problem with my looks, then you should have thrown the licence on to the fire when we were in Scotland. There is nothing I can do to my appearance to make it a match for yours. No amount of money will turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.’

He waited until she was through with her outburst, and then said, ‘Do not turn soft on me, now that I need you to be strong.’ There was no kindness in his voice, but neither did he seem angry. ‘Our initial plan will not work. At least, not while we are in London. And so I am making another, and I expect you to obey me in it. If you do not wish to follow my advice, I will allow Clarissa to return and badger you into your new role as duchess. She is better qualified to teach you how to navigate in society than any other woman I know. But she can be amazingly stubborn and surpassingly cruel. Do you understand?’

She bit her lip and nodded.

‘First, you will not, nor will I allow you in future to, refer to yourself as a sow’s ear, a lost cause, wasted effort, nothing, nobody, or any of the other terms of scorn. Self-pity is your least attractive feature, and not one I wish to see displayed in my home for the duration of our marriage.’

When she was sure her eyes were dry, she opened them and glared at him.

‘Very good. You look quite like a duchess when you are angry with me.’

She could not tell if he meant to be amusing, but she had no desire to laugh.

He stared down her body. ‘Is all your clothing like this?’

She nodded. ‘Practical. Easy to care for.’

‘Dull. Ugly. Drab.’

‘I put foolish things aside when my father died.’

‘And how long ago was that?’

‘Two years.’

‘Two years,’ he repeated. ‘And you are still dressed in mourning. You are a bride, Penny. And to see you dressed so is an insult to me. It is as though I pulled you from weeping on a grave, and forced you to marry.’

‘Very well,’ she said. ‘I will wear my old things. I have more than enough gowns in storage, hardly used since my come-out.’

‘But they must be…’ he added quickly on his fingers ‘…at least five years old.’

‘They are not worn, so I have not needed to replace them.’

‘But hardly the first stare of fashion.’

She laughed bitterly. ‘As if that would matter.’

He let out a growl of exasperation. ‘You listened to nothing of what I just said. Very well, then. My patience is at an end.’ He seized her by the wrist and threw open the door.

She pulled her hand away. ‘What do you think you are doing?’

‘What someone should have done a long time ago. You are coming with me this instant, Penelope, and you will remedy the sad state of your wardrobe.’

‘There is nothing wrong with the clothing I have. It is clean and serviceable.’

‘And totally unfitting for the Duchess of Bellston.’

‘I never asked to be the Duchess of Bellston, and I fail to see why I should be forced to conform to her needs.’

It was Adam’s turn to laugh. ‘You are the duchess, whether you planned it or no. When you decided to pull a stranger from the street and marry him, it never occurred to you that there might be complications?’