Nicola Cornick (15 page)

So here she was. The church was as flower-bedecked as Annabella herself, whose huge organza frills resembled nothing so much as a large meringue dessert, to Alicia’s mind. She was clearly very pleased with herself, casting languishing looks at her young husband throughout the service and tossing her golden curls as she trilled with excited laughter. Alicia found it all vaguely sickening, particularly as before the service
had started she had also spotted Francis St Auby exchanging looks of an intimate nature with a fast-looking matron in stripes. Worse, from Alicia’s point of view, Bertram Broseley had made sure she was installed very ostentatiously beside him on the front pew and had joined her, beaming, after he had given away the bride.

Relations between them had been superficially pleasant so far. Shortly after her arrival at the St Aubys’ house, Alicia had rather tartly enquired whether her father had invited his mysterious business associate to be amongst his guests, sure that he would not miss this opportunity to try to promote the match he had mooted to her before. Rather to her surprise, Broseley had appeared to find this highly amusing, relating that Mr Wood, as he referred to him, had a previous engagement in the county and could not attend. A little later, Alicia had caught her father’s eye resting upon her roguishly, as though he was enjoying a good joke, and she had even thought she saw his shoulders shake slightly. Vaguely irritated, she had dismissed it as of no importance.

Also absent from the nuptials was Josiah, whom Alicia had expected to see at an occasion where he could have played the gentleman. Again, her father had seemed amused by her enquiry after her cousin, telling her Josiah was indisposed and could not attend. Alicia, concerned, had asked if his illness was serious, at which Broseley had looked as though he was about to burst out laughing. It was all rather odd and, Alicia thought, rather childish of him.

Alicia sighed. The St Auby family were Catholic and had insisted on a wedding mass, and the service was lasting some considerable time. Annabella appeared not to mind, no doubt caring little about the religious denomination of her husband as long as she could hang upon his arm in front of the assembled throng. Francis was a slender youth whose delicate fair looks might well appeal to some women, but whose nature could be described as neither delicate nor fair. Alicia did not like him at all. From her vantage point she could see him shifting from one foot to the other and trying to catch the eye of the stripy lady whilst Annabella’s attention was distracted. Beside her, Broseley exuded all the confidence and complacency of the self-made man.

Alicia could feel her own attention wandering as the priest’s voice droned on. She turned her head, idly scanning the rows of guests in the side aisles, mostly the local gentry who had decided for whatever reason to grace the occasion with their presence. Lady St Auby had managed quite a creditable turnout, Alicia thought with surprise. She had expected most of the gentry to spurn the invitation on the grounds that
Broseley was a jumped-up nobody, but evidently curiosity had done the trick…Her train of thought came to an abrupt end as she recognised a familiar dark head across the other side of the church, at the front of the congregation. Surely it could not be! Whatever could he be doing here? Alicia stared harder to make quite sure. And at that moment the Marquis of Mullineaux turned his head and met her startled gaze with the very faintest sardonic glint in his own eyes. He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Alicia removed her gaze hastily, blushing furiously and flustered at having been caught staring. What on earth was Mullineaux doing there and how could she possibly have missed his arrival? He must have already been in the church when she went in, for Alicia had arrived deliberately late and some of Bertram Broseley’s acquaintances had kept her talking until just before Annabella had arrived.

Alicia was utterly dumbfounded by Mullineaux’s presence. She realised that she was breathless, gripping her dainty reticule between clenched fingers, brought close to panic by the sudden and unexpected nature of his appearance. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. The congregation was standing up, indicating that the service was almost over. Annabella and her new husband were walking slowly down the aisle and Bertram Broseley was offering his arm to her as the St Aubys swept out in front of them. Alicia took the proffered arm numbly, all her thoughts suddenly centred on Mullineaux and the necessity of trying to avoid him during the rest of the celebrations.

This proved relatively easy to begin with. The wedding breakfast was being held at the St Aubys’ town house in Fore Street and Alicia was relieved to find that her place at table sandwiched her between Sir Frederick St Auby and his elder daughter, Lady Grey. James Mullineaux was out of Alicia’s sight, as Lady St Auby had claimed the hostess’s privilege and put him on her right hand as an honoured guest. Although Alicia could not see James, her senses seemed intensely aware of him. She knew, for instance, what a commotion his presence at the wedding was still creating, as guests clamoured to greet him and speculate over his motives in accepting Lady St Auby’s invitation. In her mind’s eye, Alicia could see the friendly greetings of the men and the fawning of the women, and could imagine the tilt of Mullineaux’s head, that slow, devastating smile, the sleepy look in those dark eyes which masked the shrewd appraisal as he summed up his fellow guests.

Alicia was no less perplexed than they about his presence, though perhaps for different reasons. It was natural for Lady St Auby to have
invited him, she supposed. Together with the Piltons and Cavanaghs, the Mullineauxs must be considered one of the premier families in the county whose appearance at the wedding could not but add cachet. To leave Mullineaux off the guest list could have been interpreted as a monstrous snub. On the other hand, Alicia, not normally prone to gambling, was willing to bet that Lady St Auby had never expected Mullineaux to accept and had probably had a fit of the vapours when he had done so.

And why had he done so? Alicia could not puzzle it out. Surely any event involving her family would naturally lead him to cry off? He was certainly making no attempt to seek her out, and whilst this relieved her she also found to her annoyance that it piqued her as well.

The banquet over, the guests began to mingle and chat. Alicia was immediately pounced upon by Richard, Viscount Pilton, the youthful heir to a local earldom, who made a beeline for her side and stuck fast.

‘Splendid wedding, Lady Carberry, quite splendid!’ His fair, cheerful face beamed with good humour and good claret. ‘Such a shame Lady Stansfield could not be here!’

Alicia did not enlighten him. Her grandmother had not been invited.

‘Splendid to see James Mullineaux back amongst us,’ Pilton continued, oblivious of the tactlessness of his observation. ‘Always said he had been away too long!’ He looked across the room to where Mullineaux lounged at ease, one shoulder resting against a pillar, a faint smile on his lips as Francis St Auby’s inamorata plied him with wine and conversation. ‘Taken up where he left off,’ Pilton said enviously. ‘God, I wish I had his style! Francis won’t be pleased—’ He broke off, flushing as he encountered Alicia’s quelling gaze, and realised that such a comment was hardly appropriate to the sister of the bride. But a moment later Alicia smiled charmingly at him and he instantly forgot his tactlessness and smiled back, completely enraptured.

A hand fell on his shoulder.

‘Richard,’ the Marquis of Mullineaux said in his distinctive drawl, ‘your aunt Marion is looking neglected. Go and fetch her a glass of lemonade, there’s a good fellow!’

Pilton was already halfway across the room before he stopped to wonder how Mullineaux, who a moment before had appeared engrossed in flirtation, could possibly know of his aunt’s need for refreshments. He scowled, but it was too late.

Mullineaux watched him go with a slightly pitying smile on his face.

‘So easy to mislead,’ he mused, with mock sadness. ‘Modern youth has much to learn!’

‘Doubtless he has not your wealth of experience,’ Alicia said sarcastically, and saw him smile with appreciation.

‘True enough, I suppose! And by the same token he is out of his depth with you, Lady Carberry!’ Mullineaux’s frankly admiring gaze approved her dress of aquamarine velvet, lingering on its fichu of almost transparently fine lace. ‘I was merely saving our young friend the inevitable humiliation of falling prey to unrequited love!’

‘Not a misfortune ever likely to afflict you, sir,’ Alicia snapped, before she had time to bite her tongue. His comment had caught her on the raw for she already seemed to have fallen prey to that undesirable condition herself. Her hypnotised gaze travelled over him. His coat of darkest blue, worn with pale buff pantaloons and a cravat immaculately tied in the Mathematical, gave him the same indefinable elegance that she had noted at Ottery. His black hair was carefully disordered and as her eyes met his she saw that he was watching her with interest and not a little amusement. Alicia felt her colour rising and cursed the perfect, pale complexion which betrayed her so easily.

‘Oh, I do not know about that,’ Mullineaux said thoughtfully, his disturbing dark gaze never leaving her face. ‘And you, Lady Carberry—do you have any experience of that melancholy state yourself?’

Drat the man! He was too perceptive! Alicia was certain that some degree of her discomfort must be showing in her face. She said the first thing that came into her head in order to distract his attention.

‘Whatever are you doing here, anyway, Lord Mullineaux? I would scarce have expected to meet you at my sister’s wedding!’

‘Nor I you perhaps, Lady Carberry,’ James Mullineaux said, somewhat obscurely. His wicked grin lightened his expression suddenly in a way that always made her heart turn over. ‘We really must make an attempt to greet each other with more originality! This must be the second or third occasion on which one or other of us has uttered those words! But I suppose I should be grateful, for at least they have helped me place your mood.’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘And now I perceive that you intend to be eccentric. How am I to answer such a blunt question? I could be courteous and claim a close friendship with the St Auby family, or flattering and claim I wished to see your beautiful sister wed…’

They both looked over to where Annabella stood in a group of ad
miring young bucks, tossing her fair curls and giggling girlishly. Mullineaux grimaced.

‘But then, alas, I would be lying!’ His dark eyes moved over Alicia’s face feature by feature, with a grave consideration. ‘In some ways you look very alike,’ he said thoughtfully, then added softly, ‘But you are very different in character, are you not? And she cannot hold a candle to you, Alicia.’

Alicia’s breath caught in her throat. The expression in his eyes was making her feel both hot and dizzy at the same time. There was a dangerous intimacy in that dark gaze, a disturbing power which held sway over her senses. For a moment she saw the white heat of a remembered passion flare in his eyes, then it was replaced by his customary cool detachment.

‘Or,’ Mullineaux finished lightly, as though the intervening moment had never occurred, ‘I could just admit that I was bored and succumbed to the impulse to discompose your father by appearing at a public function where I knew he could not cut me dead!’

Alicia, still trying to recover her poise, barely took in his words at first. Had she been concentrating she might well have chosen not to take him up on a comment which might well lead to trouble. But now she regarded him with some puzzlement.

‘Why should you wish to do that, my lord? I was not aware that you had ever met my father!’

Mullineaux viewed her with weary cynicism. ‘Oh, come, come, Lady Carberry, you can do better than that! It may be old history, but let us not pretend that it never happened!’

Alicia raised her chin stubbornly at this reference to what she could only assume was their previous, unhappily concluded relationship. ‘I have no wish to pretend anything, my lord,’ she observed frigidly. ‘However, I do not understand you. I did not know that you had ever met my father.’

Mullineaux looked exasperated, both with himself for raising the subject in the first place and with her for pursuing it.

‘It seems, then, that we must be very frank, you and I,’ he said dryly. ‘You must know—none better!—that your father and I are old adversaries! We met on the fateful occasion when I called in at Bruton Street to question your sudden betrothal to George Carberry and he had me thrown out into the street on your—’

He broke off as all the pretty colour fled from Alicia’s face, leaving her chalk-white and her eyes huge and stricken pools of green. She
opened her mouth, but no sound came. Mullineaux instinctively took her arm, fearing she would faint. Then her attention was claimed by Broseley himself, insinuating his large bulk between the two of them with the superficial social smile reserved for such occasions.

‘Alicia, my dear! May I make you known to some friends of mine?’ His glacial gaze touched Mullineaux briefly and slid away. ‘Excuse us, Lord Mullineaux.’ He shepherded his daughter away with a possessive arm around her waist.

Alicia looked back at Mullineaux over her shoulder as she walked away. She looked completely shattered, the lovely, heart-breaking innocence he remembered showing clearly in her eyes, overlaid with disbelief and puzzlement. The truth burst over him with the power of a tidal wave. She had never known. Broseley had never told her.

Mullineaux put down his drink gently and turned to answer some casual question put to him by an old acquaintance. But his mind was elsewhere. He had had enough of rumour, half-truth and equivocation. There and then, he resolved that he would make Alicia tell him what had really happened, if it was the last thing that he did.