“That is one benefit you will gain by marriage,” he said with some heat. “You will be free from this perpetual guarding.”
“Oh yes, I will be free,” she said, but he thought there was sadness in her voice.
To avoid the eyes of the footmen, he led her by little-used passages and echoing stone stairways to a place close to her bedroom door, then bade her a whispered goodnight, before making his way to his own room. Giggs was astute enough to attend him silently, although with all the tender solicitude of a nurse assisting a sick charge to bed. He clearly expected to follow the prescribed routine of settling his master into bed and drawing the curtains, and Ran had no energy to withstand him. But when Giggs had withdrawn, he sat upright and pondered all that the last two days had brought him.
Two days! Was it only yesterday that Ruth and her parents had arrived and torn his life into tiny shreds? It seemed like weeks… months. Yesterday he had, on the whole, behaved properly, but today! Today had been a disaster. He had allowed anger and dark despair to overwhelm him in the afternoon, storming out of the house and riding like a madman, and now he had kissed her. Of all the impossibly disastrous things he could have done, it was hard to conceive of anything worse.
There was only one bright spot in the entire sorry episode, and that was that she had seen it as no more than a friendly gesture, an offering of comfort in her distress. If she had been shocked or angry, it would have been a thousand times worse. He had not yet broken her trust in him. But that was small consolation.
Max, devil take him, had been in the right. At the first temptation, Ran had fallen into wickedness, and it must never be allowed to happen again, on that he was resolved. He must follow Max’s advice, and leave Valmont. But where could he go? And how could he contrive to leave his brother without the world suspecting a rift or, worse, the truth?
Worst of all, how could he leave Ruth behind? Yet he must, beyond all doubt he must. His future could not be bleaker.
~~~~~
Ruth found Pinnock waiting for her, smiling for once.
“There you are, milady. I was beginning to wonder what had happened to you, until I remembered that you would be with His Grace, of course. Your future husband,” she gushed. “Such a fine young man, and so polite and charming.”
The maid had gushed just as irritatingly when Ruth had been betrothed to Ran. All the upper servants had been allowed onto the gallery overlooking the Mallowfleet ballroom to watch Ran lead her out onto the floor to open the ball, and there had been bowls of punch sent down to the servants’ hall for them to celebrate. Now it was Ger, and there was no thought of Ran at all. Dear Ran, who had held her and consoled her.
“How happy you will be, milady! Everything is just as it should be again.”
Ruth said nothing. How could she speak, after what had happened? Ran had kissed her! He had held her in his arms and kissed her and it had broken her utterly. She had simply melted into his arms as if she had every right to be there, and for those few minutes everything in her world had been in harmony. If only she could have stayed in his embrace! One word from him and she could never have let him go. Everything she felt would have poured out of her in an unstoppable torrent. One word…
But there was no word, and twist it as she might, she could not interpret his kiss as a sign of love. Affection, yes, as a man might show to his brother’s wife, but was there anything more to it than that? Ran was always so perfectly correct that he could not mean anything by it. He had seen her unhappiness, and offered her some gentle comfort. That was all it was, surely, for if he felt anything for her beyond that, if he loved her, he could not have stood by that day and calmly handed her to Ger.
That was what broke her inside, the certainty that her love was not, could never be, returned. Even though he held her, soothed her, kissed her, he did not love her. He was being friendly, that was all, for never was there a better or more amiable man. Dearest Ran. The man she loved. The brother of her future husband. He must never know how she had crumbled inside! After that kiss, it had taken her such a long time to compose herself. She had had to call upon a lifetime of self-control to speak to him with any semblance of calmness.
“Shall you keep to the same wedding date, milady?” Pinnock said brightly from behind her back as she unfastened endless buttons.
“No!” she said, without thinking. If only Pinnock would go away and leave her in peace! How could she think or settle her wildly disordered emotions when the woman talked and talked?
Pinnock’s hands stilled in surprise. “No, milady? Your clothes are made, and he could get a special licence, I daresay, being a duke and all. Mr Brent said the Archbishop would most likely agree to it.”
“I am sure he would, Pinnock,” she said, using all her willpower to speak calmly, “but His Grace has only just returned home and it might be inconvenient for him to rush into marriage at a moment’s notice. There is no need for undue haste.”
“No, milady.” She sounded disappointed.
When Pinnock had left her, Ruth lay for some time in bed, trying to make sense of all that had happened. Only that afternoon, she had been quite certain that she was making the correct choice, but almost as soon as she had accepted Ger’s offer, small doubts had assailed her. When she had turned round to look for Ran, he had gone, slipping away without a word. Then he had not come down to dinner, and although she tried to tell herself that he was delicately allowing Ger to celebrate his betrothal without the distracting presence of the former betrothed, she wondered if perhaps they had quarrelled, or if perhaps Ran was upset with her. Had she offended him, somehow? Yet when she had met him later in the chapel gallery, he had been all solicitude, so that did not seem likely.
It was unsettling, all the same. And then there was Ger. He had been all gentle courtesy during the evening and they had played duets together after dinner, but then at some point he had disappeared. She had not intended to spy on him, but when she was making her way up to bed, alone for once, she had thought to sit in the Long Gallery for a few minutes.
What she had seen there had shaken all her confidence to nothing. Such an intimate moment she had witnessed as they danced! The expressions of their faces, their eyes aflame with love… they needed nothing else. She understood for the first time why Miss Chandry was content with her situation. What need had she for wealth or rank, when she had a man who loved her so passionately, so completely? Ger had no need to look elsewhere for love, for he had that in abundance from her.
And what of Ruth? She would be respected as the Duchess of Falconbury, certainly. She would even be admired, perhaps. She would be a leader of society. Men would strive for her favours, and women would copy her styles of bonnet or sleeve, but she would never be loved, and the realisation was bitter. Oh, Ger would hold her in some affection, undoubtedly, but theirs would be more of a friendship than a marriage. They would smile and play the perfect hosts for their guests, and then he would disappear to be with his true love. In town, he would chafe to be back at Valmont, in his mistress’s arms. Perhaps he would want her with him even there. He would love her children more than his heirs, because they had her sparkling eyes or freckled complexion or warm smile. She would know only happiness in the years to come.
For Ruth, there was no such knowledge. Such a long, bleak future stretched ahead of her. She could endure it, she thought, because she must. It would be no more than she had anticipated, this cool marriage of convenience, and a mild degree of fondness was all she expected from it. But she could not help thinking of Ran and his kiss — so warm yet so gentle. She shivered, remembering again the feel of his arms holding her against him, and how much his strength had soothed her troubled heart. He was not in love with her, but he could offer her the comfort of his kiss in her distress. He cared about her.
Ger had never held her, never kissed her, never even touched her except for her gloved hand. And yet he must. It was an essential part of the bargain, and surely he must kiss her? What would his kisses be l
ike — warm and reassuring, like Ran’s, or constrained, cool? Whatever they were like, they had to be enough for her. She would never be loved, but she absolutely needed some affection in her marriage, for it would be unbearable to spend her whole married life alone.
She slept fitfully, troubled by strange, vivid dreams where she stood in the chapel beside Ger reciting her vows, and it was the mistress wearing the clerical robes and holding the Prayer Book, as Ger gazed adoringly at her. Or else Ruth was seated at one end of the long table in the State Banqueting Room, Ger at the other, and the mistress sat beside Ger, as he laughed and teased her and rested his hand on hers.
Ruth woke, heavy-eyed and miserable. No matter how many times she told herself that she was doing the right thing, that there was satisfaction in obediently doing her duty and making a marriage that pleased her parents, still her heart was heavy with foreboding. How could this end well when Ger was so much in love with another woman? He could not possibly have any affection to spare for his wife. Yet what could she do about it? She would not even know how it would be until after she had bound herself for life to Ger, and then it would be too late.
Pulling aside the curtains, she silently crossed the room and opened the window a fraction more. Cool morning air flowed over her, refreshing her. Below her, a mass of colourful flowers surrounded the fountain, its cascades catching the morning light and turning to a thousand tiny diamonds, sparkling as they fell. It was beautiful, and the sight would always be hers to enjoy, for Valmont was her home now, or very soon would be. All these splendid rooms in the house, all the parterres and grottoes and pools in the grounds, even the Broadwood instrument in the Grand Saloon — they were hers. That was some consolation, surely, so why was her heart so heavy?
She would be free, and that was another consolation, as Ran had pointed out to her. As a married woman she would escape the constant chaperonage, free from her mother’s perpetual agonising over propriety and her father’s ambition. She would be free to go where and when she pleased. Except that she would not. Her parents had taught her well — had taught her to be this timorous, cowardly creature who dared not break free from their constraints. Would she ever be able to do so?
The hidden door in the wall drew her eye. Now that she knew it was there, it was obvious, yet she was sure that Pinnock had not noticed it. She took a step nearer to it, and then another and another. She ran her hand along the almost-invisible crack. Then, in great trepidation, she reached for the sconce. And pulled…
Instantly, the door opened, as silently as if the hinges had been greased, and perhaps they had. It was just the sort of detail that Ran would think of. Light flooded out from a narrow window, lighting a small, square staircase with polished wooden steps leading down. Lord, how tempted she was, but she could hardly go wandering about in her nightgown, and what if her mother should find out?
She took a deep breath. She was one and twenty years old, about to be married, to be a duchess, for Heaven’s sake! It was time to stop being afraid of her mother’s disapprobation. Crossing the room with quick steps, she listened at the dressing room door. The faint rumble of snores reassured her, but she drew the curtains round the bed once more, just in case the maid should check. Then she pulled on a wrap and entered the secret stair.
Down and down she went, past one window, and then another, before reaching a lower door. This, too, opened at a touch, and she found herself in an unfamiliar corridor, half hidden behind a vase taller than she was. After a moment she got her bearings. Further down, she could see the entrance to the chapel gallery where she and Ran had sat the previous night. Opposite her was another gallery entrance, one which had been concealed in darkness last night. The library, she guessed, remembering the layout of rooms. With a quick, nervous check to ensure there was no one about, she sped across the corridor, lifted the latch and entered the gallery.
Unlike the chapel, whose gallery was only at one end of the room, the library gallery ran all the way round the room, wide enough for comfortable chairs to be grouped around low tables. Here and there were globes, small tables embedded with chess or backgammon boards, and an orrery. Down below were the bookcases, interspersed with statuary on plinths and framed maps hung on the walls. One long table filled the central space, and here a man sat, books spread all around him. Her heart lurched, for it was Ran, dressed in nightgown and robe, just as she was, his hair tousled. He had a pen in his hand, and was furiously scratching away with his right hand, making notes on a paper, while his left forefinger rested on a book, picking out the words he was copying. He stopped, threw down the pen, pulled another book towards him and started frantically leafing through pages. A large atlas lay open to one side. What on earth was he doing?
But she could not ask, nor did she wish to intrude on whatever project impelled him with such urgency. If he chose to work on some secret matter at this ungodly hour of the day, it was in the expectation of privacy, so he must certainly have it.
She crept out of the library and, the corridor being still empty, she walked with fast steps to the chapel gallery. There she sat for some time, trying to pray and instead thinking only of gentle words and strong arms and warm kisses. But in such thoughts lay only madness and grief. Ran could never be more to her than a friend, and her husband’s brother.
Giving it up, she crept on silent feet back to the hidden stair and returned to her room, heart pounding. At the top of the steps, she paused, listening. Would she open the door to find her mother or Pinnock waiting to berate her? But all was silent. She pushed open the door, slipped into her still-deserted room, and smiled in pure triumph. She had done it! For a little while, she had done what she wanted. She had been free. Such a small success, but it gave her hope.
22: Reconsiderations
Ran was in his office early, arriving even before Max was at his desk. He began reading through the piles of letters to be dealt with, but he could not summon any enthusiasm for the task. What was the point of discussing land acquisitions or repairs to tenant’s houses when he would not be here to see the outcome? He must be gone, and soon, and now that the decision had been made, he chafed at the bit, anxious to be away from Valmont and the temptation of proximity to Ruth.
As soon as Max arrived, Ran burst out, “You are quite correct, Max. I have to leave here at once. I have been thinking that I might offer myself as a secretary of sorts to… well, I am not sure to whom. I have been looking up the Peerage to see who might suit. What about Dunmorton? He lives up in some God-forsaken place in the far north — Northumberland or some such. He might want an extra secretary. Or Carrbridge — he is in Yorkshire. That would be far enough. He has that clever Merton fellow looking after his affairs, but now that he is taking more interest in politics and will be in town more often, he might want someone to keep an eye on the Yorkshire holdings. Or there is—”
“Wait, wait!” Max said, holding up a hand. “Last night you told me you would consider it. Now you are on fire to leave this very minute. What on earth has happened to bring about this change?”
A long hesitation. “Do not ask me,” Ran said in a low voice. “Suffice it to say that leave I must.”
“Ah. Very well. But I did not mean that you should pack up and leave instantly, nor that you should take paid employment. If you do anything of the sort, there will be no end of rumours, and you would not want that. You will have to be at the wedding, naturally, to show by your smiling face that you are not in the least bit dismayed by the loss of your betrothed. You will be able to display a smiling face, I take it?”
“I… probably,” Ran said, grimacing.
“You are very good at hiding what you feel, so I am sure you will pull it off splendidly,” Max said. “It would be unexceptional to give the newly-married couple some privacy, so you might take a few weeks inspecting all these wretched mills in Lancashire. By the summer, it will be safe to return because Valmont will be full of relations and you will be well protected. In the autumn, Ger will be off hunting on so
meone else’s patch, and that will get you through to Christmas. Make sure you invite a few people to stay. Then another round of inspecting far-flung estates. That is all I had in mind. Do you see?” Ran nodded, uncertainly. “Shall we begin the letters? Oh, there was a special package for you. One of the lawyers came all the way from town to deliver it by hand, and ensure that it was given to you personally. I had to swear on the Bible to do so before the fellow would entrust it to me. Let me fetch it.”
He unlocked the safe, and drew forth a neatly wrapped package tied up with string and then sealed.
“I cannot imagine what is so important that it needs such pomp,” Ran said, his fingers carefully unwrapping it. “It will be a title of some sort. Oh, perhaps it is about that new farm in Yorkshire that Spark and Morrell went up to sign for. Or it might be—”
He stopped with a strangled cry.
“Whatever is it?” Max said.
Ran’s voice was hollow. “It is a special licence for a marriage between Lord Randolph Litherholm and Lady Ruth Grenaby. You see, it is even in my correct name. I asked the lawyers to arrange it for me weeks ago, since I thought I might not have enough time myself. When Ger was found, I advised them of my reversion to the old name and to stop work on the settlements, but I said nothing about the special licence. The covering letter explains quite proudly that they made sure the licence reflects the new name. Oh God! I have a licence for a wedding that will never take place.”
“Do you want me to burn it?” Max said.
Ran considered it, gazing at the elegant script and the Archbishop’s seal. “No. I shall keep it as a reminder of a happier time, and of the foolishness of false hopes.”
“It was hardly that,” Max said. “You were betrothed, after all. You had every expectation of a long and happy marriage. You are entitled to feel… disgruntled, at the least.”
The Duke (Silver Linings Mysteries Book 6) Page 22
