Sir Frederick Toland overheard and strolled over. “What are you up to now, Philip? Eh? Shouldn’t talk so before the ladies!” But he did not lower his voice. Alastair saw Sir Frederick’s sister frowning, and hastened to change the subject.
“Do you think the Regency Bill will pass?” he managed to say. The new topic roused feelings, and kept them going for quite fifteen minutes. Some thought the regent would be worse than having a mad king, for he was frivolous, had some bad advisors, and might go either way, Conservative or Liberal. And what about the war in the Peninsula — would he support it or order Wellington home?
Daphne grew bored, and moved away to speak to some other friends. Alastair saw Sonia with tight-clenched fists in her lap and took pity on her. She wasn’t used to such company, or late nights either.
He bent to her. “I’ll order our carriage,” he said, in a low voice.
“Thank you.”
She was cold and formal, turning to speak to Lady Barnstable, before rising to join Alastair. She thanked the hostess, smiled frostily at Sir Frederick, ignored Sir Philip. No, she didn’t care much for his friends, thought Alastair, irritated and on the defensive. She probably did not know of his attachment to Daphne Porter, but she might suspect as much.
However, she had much to explain of her own conduct! Fumes of wine in his brain, Alastair vowed to himself he would have it out with her tomorrow. He was tired of beating about the bush. Sonia was quite well now. He would tell her he had to know the truth — or else! She was his wife, and she had to make a clean breast of the matter!
He was angry when they arrived home to find Leah sitting up for her. “You don’t need to sit up,” snapped Alastair. “I will take care of my wife.”
“Leah will stay in my room tonight,” said Sonia, careful not to look at him. “It is late, and you will want your sleep.”
It was a dismissal. In his own bedroom, he fumed and roared at his valet. He did not want to admit the evening had been a dismal failure, boring for him as well as Sonia. His friends were charming and amusing, or at least they used to be. The repetition of the same views over and over had ceased to entertain him, but stubbornly he thought they were splendid fellows for all that.
He slept late the next morning, and was further annoyed to find that Sonia had risen early and gone to her townhouse to work — taking Leah but not Edwina.
“She was in a strange mood; she would not have me,” said Edwina simply. “Do — do you think she does not really like me, Alastair? Truly, I thought she did —” She seemed close to tears.
“Nonsense. She loves you, I am sure of it,” growled Alastair. He paced his study, wondering whether to go after Sonia or wait until she arrived home for tea. She usually came by then.
After luncheon, the butler brought the post to him. It was a motley lot of letters. He flipped through them without interest, then came on one with a strange franking.
He turned it over in his fingers, about to open it curiously, when he caught sight of the address on the envelope.
Sonia, Lady Fairley, it read. And it was from a chap in Portugal! Alastair stared. Did she know someone in Portugal? Usually she received her letters at her own townhouse and said nothing of them.
He hesitated, studying the address with growing suspicion. The return was that of some titled fellow — Marquis — something or other — Paulo de Mondego.
That settled it. Sonia was not going to exchange flirtatious letters with some foreigner without telling her own husband! Alastair ripped open the envelope.
With growing alarm and incredulity, he read the handsome black handwriting.
My dearest Lady Fairley,
I have thought of you day and night since last we parted. When I gaze at the portraits of my house, I see only your beautiful face. Forgive me for writing, you said that you were married. However, you said also that you had not informed your husband of your voyage. That gives me courage to hope that there is some future for me.
My charming lady Sonia, I think of you so often. How courageous you are, so intelligent, so beautiful. No other lady of my acquaintance can equal you, and I long to see you again. Perhaps you have left your husband?
May I come to London and seek you out? I have waited months, fighting with myself. But I shall leave all, my duties here, my family, my responsibilities, to come and see you, if you will but give me leave. If you are now free, then I may pursue my courtship!
My foot is healed at last, I can do more than hobble about. I eagerly await your word… pray give me a favourable response. You need not commit yourself; do but let me come and gaze into your lovely glowing eyes, as we did in the carriage — speak honestly and bravely — as we did then.
I eagerly await your permission to come.
Your
Paulo de Mondego
“My God!” whispered Alastair. He read the letter again, taking in the firm handwriting, the crest on the notepaper. “What has she done? My God!”
His doubts and suspicions had all focused on Jacob, her cousin. Now — now — here was another fellow — a member of the nobility of Portugal! She had been to Portugal… he spoke of her being in his house there! Alastair turned cold with shock and fright. His beautiful, modest, highly moral wife — what had she done?
She must have been swept off her feet. To go to her lover in Portugal — surely someone she had known before — to go to him, make her cousin take her to him — stay with him for three months …
Alastair took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. It was damp with sweat. He longed to throw the letter into the purging fire. But he would not — he would confront her with it — he would have her answer now!
He sat there for a long time, staring into the fire, then lifting the hated pages to read them again, over and over, until the words were imprinted on his brain.
He heard the carriage, finally. He jumped up and went to the hallway. He saw Sonia come in, with Leah behind her like a grey shadow, the faithful retainer — who had not gone on this journey with her! No, Leah, like himself, had been left behind on this journey. She had left Leah, who adored her mistress, and had gone off for three months…
Sonia smiled wanly when she saw him, for she was weary. He had no compassion, the anger burned so furiously in him.
“Come in here, Sonia,” he said curtly. Leah frowned at him disapprovingly.
“She is weary,” said Leah.
“Come in,” he ordered, and stamped off into the drawing room. Sonia followed him and he slammed shut the door after her.
Her great grey eyes questioned him. Her face seemed so innocent, so calm, with the slight tinge of greyness that showed her weariness, even after the cold ride in the carriage.
“I have received a letter — meant for you,” he said icily.
“A letter?” She seemed to turn even more pale, glancing at the pages in his hand. “But I never receive — I mean —”
“Yes, he probably writes to your own house?” sneered Alastair. “Well, I have it now. Your love letter from Paulo de Mondego!”
“What?” she whispered. Her hand had gone to her throat.
“I said — your love letter — from Paulo de Mondego! A marquis of Portugal, I believe, by his crest —” He held out the letter to her. She took it automatically, gazing at his face rather than the script.
“Paulo is only a friend,” she said quietly. “He helped us — he should not have written —”
“Indeed!” Alastair began to stride about the room, so furious that only activity would soothe him. “A friend, eh? A friend, indeed! He asks if you have left your husband yet! He asks to come and gaze into your beautiful eyes, as you did in the carriage —”
“Oh, no!” she breathed. She glanced in a dazed manner at the writing, but did not read it. “Oh, Alastair, he does not mean it. He knows I am married. There is nothing between Paulo and me… I swear it!”
“Do you swear it? Do you? You will perjure yourself!” he raged. He swung around to her. “Tell me what happened on that j
ourney! You went to Portugal — I know that much —”
“I cannot — tell — you. I beg of you, Alastair! You are not yourself, you are not calm —” She sat down uncertainly on the edge of a chair, and pushed back her bonnet. “I have meant to tell you — I must tell you now — no matter how angry you are with me — I am to have a child.”
A child! He stared at her, at the bent head. A child! If only she had said so, before that hateful letter had arrived!
“Whose child is it? Jacob’s — or your Paulo’s?” he sneered furiously. “Whose child is it? Did you think to palm it off as mine?”
“Alastair!” The great grey eyes were in agony, but he refused to see that. She put out her hand in pleading, and he turned from her.
“I am going to Scotland!” he said harshly. “With Mrs Porter and the others! When I return, you can inform me what you wish to do. Send for your lover, Paulo, if you wish. You might as well live openly with him — and his child!”
He strode towards the door.
“Yes, go to your mistress!” she cried after him, her voice breaking. “Go to Mrs Porter! She has been your mistress these years. Now you may live with her openly. And when you marry her, your sisters may be more willing to receive her —”
He slammed the door on her words. He went up to his rooms, and ordered his valet to pack — three trunks of heavy winter clothing, his hunting boots, his guns. The valet, startled, packed for him, and had the further task of having to order his carriage for that very night.
Alastair stormed out without seeing Sonia again. He was so angry with her that he did not trust himself. Having her lover’s child, deceiving him — all those months — all the year! God, he was sick with it, with his fury. The coachman did not dare to speak to him, so they drove on until the horses were so tired they were on the verge of foundering.
The valet had been peering out into the cold January night. “There is a fine inn coming up, my lord. We are almost to it… if I might recommend —”
Alastair’s first fury had worn off, and he was half asleep and cold in the great coach.
“Yes, yes, we will stop for the night to rest the horses,” he said wearily.
They stopped, but he could not sleep. He roused early the next day and they pressed on. He knew where Sir Philip Ryan’s hunting lodge was in Scotland. He might arrive before them, but he would be sure of a welcome. Some shooting and living in the glens might clear his brain, he thought.
He brooded, staring out of the window at the cold grey hills, the grey skies, as the horses trotted cautiously over the icy roads to the north.
He could not think… his brain seemed numb. He had trusted Sonia… he had married her in good faith. She had been a virgin when they married, he would have staked his life on that. She had been so shy, but willing, and even passionate when she had learned how to match his ardour.
And that they had come to this! That letter from her lover — Paulo de Mondego! He clenched his fists, and muttered angrily to himself. His valet glanced at him apprehensively. His master had been given to whims, but this was the wildest yet.
They crossed the border into Scotland and wound through the hills going north. Day followed day, and Alastair finally calmed. The wild beautiful country soothed him, making him better able to think again. The very monotony of day after day of travel, the jingle of the harness, the inns they stayed in, the varying foods, the quiet, with little talk…
The journey encouraged thinking, as journeys will. He began to see things in more perspective, as his first anger cooled. Paulo de Mondego had not said he was her lover — nothing in the words had said so. Rather he had been eager to woo her; he had asked if she was still with her husband. What if Sonia had not given in to him? What if some other urgent task had taken her to Portugal? And why Portugal, for God’s sake! They were at war with the French, for that was why Wellington was down there. And what about the man’s injured foot? Why injured? In a hunting accident, or something of more importance?
Too many questions. He cursed his impulsiveness. Finally one morning, brooding over his breakfast tea, he came to a decision.
When he and his valet went out to the carriage, to find fresh horses ready, Alastair said curtly, “We will turn back. To London.”
His valet, shuddering in his cloak from the Scottish cold, was relieved. “Yes, sir, my lord!” and he gave orders to turn back.
Alastair brooded in his corner of the coach, shifting restlessly from time to time. Days wasted. He could have had the truth from Sonia by this time. He would get it from her, by God, or he would go to Jacob and wring his neck! Yes, that was it, he would threaten Jacob with bodily harm, if Sonia did not tell the truth. She was fond of her cousin, she must tell him!
Too many mysteries. That strange disappearance must be accounted for!
And he must have the truth about the child. He began to count. Sonia had not returned until late October. Now she told him in late January that she was to have a child. He had noticed nothing, but if she had been pregnant on her journey, she would have been well along by this time, at least three months or more. He frowned. He wished he knew more about the matter. It could be his child — but if she had had Paulo as a lover — or her cousin Jacob…
He wished the horses would go faster, but they could not, for slick ice covered the ground and snow swirled about the huge coach. It would be dangerous to go more rapidly. It had been foolish to start out in the winter… He must be patient now until he reached home. Then he would have the truth at last!
CHAPTER 19
Sonia did not know if she were more coldly furious or more hurt. Alastair’s words rang in her brain.
“Whose child is it? Jacob’s or your Paulo’s?”
That Alastair could think so badly of her! That he could insult her so!
She heard the noise of his leave-taking — no one in that great house could miss it! The slamming of doors, his shouts, his furious orders to valet and coachman. The protesting whinnies of the horses being hitched up on the icy cobbles near the stables. Edwina’s tears and pleading, Henrietta’s scolding, Maurice’s bewildered questions.
Noise, fury, anger — she had never experienced such. Her life with Uncle Meyer had been placid, calm, a life of the mind. It seemed that her calm was gone for ever here in this household!
She wakened early the next morning and was promptly sick at her stomach. She was reminded again that she expected Alastair’s child — and that he had gone to Scotland to be with his mistress!
She drank some hot tea, which settled her stomach. Then she ordered Leah to pack.
Leah tried to dissuade her. “Now, my lady, you will be sensible,” she pleaded. “It is enough that my lord has gone off in a tizzy. You must be calm — for the sake of the child!”
“If you do not pack for me, I will!” And Sonia began to tear down dresses recklessly from the wardrobe racks — heavy woollen dresses, cloaks, and bonnets…
Leah cried out, taking the garments from her. “Be calm, please be calm,” she pleaded, but Sonia would not be calm. She had been grossly insulted, deserted. Why should she be the only calm person in the world?
She had thought about it in the wakeful hours of the night and she had decided. She would leave Alastair, he would divorce her, he could keep the money. That was all he wanted. He could keep the hateful money — and she would keep his child. He would not want her child.
She knew exactly where she would go. Not to Uncle Meyer, for he had betrayed her in this marriage to Alastair. Not to Jacob, not to any relative or friend.
She would go to the country, into retreat. Nobody would find her now.
Edwina came to see her as she heard the sounds of Sonia’s movements from below. Sonia greeted her coldly, turning from Edwina’s tear-stained face.
“Sonia, you are not leaving also! You cannot! Alastair has a terrible temper! He will recover it and return, you will see!”
“No, I will not see!” cried Sonia passionately. “I will be gone
from this house where I never was welcome! He may return or not, as he pleases.”
She was cramming books into a valise, with Leah vainly attempting to stop her. Trunks stood nearby, filled with dresses and undergarments. Edwina sighed deeply, and went looking for Henrietta. Henrietta had great charm and persuasion when she chose.
Henrietta came to Sonia’s room, sat on the bed and gazed thoughtfully at Sonia. “I always thought you had such a good sensible mind,” she murmured hopefully.
“It shows how mistaken one can be!” snapped Sonia.
She crammed in two more books, adding her sketching pads and a bundle of pencils.
“Do you go to your townhouse?” asked Henrietta. “And may we come and visit?”
“I shall not see you,” said Sonia ominously.
Edwina tried again. “But dearest Sonia, we need you here. You know that Ralph and I — that Mr Hastings and I — may announce our engagement soon —” And she blushed charmingly.
“I will be sorry to see it,” said Sonia bitterly. “Marriage is a fool’s game. No woman truly knows a man until she marries him, and then it is too late. He shows his true nature, becomes a devil — a very demon!”
“Oh, Sonia!” Edwina began to weep again, gentle tears falling from her beautiful blue eyes. Sonia turned her back, and swept several miniatures from her dresser recklessly into her next valise.
“I cannot pack them all,” she muttered. “Edwina — I should say Lady Edwina — will you kindly order all my other possessions packed and sent to my townhouse? I am sure my lord will not wish to be burdened with clearing out these rooms.”
Henrietta looked at Leah, pleading silently. Leah flung up her hands, palms upwards, invoking heaven.
“When he comes back, he will be so upset,” murmured Edwina, wiping her eyes.
“No, he will not. He will be glad!” said Sonia. “He will get a divorce from me, and marry that — that mistress of his, Mrs Porter. And you will have the pleasure of getting along with that brazen woman. I am sure you will enjoy her company!”
Star Sapphire: Love and wild adventure in Regency England Page 23
