Phantasmagoria

by Madelynne Ellis

  ‘Oh, Vaughan.’ She rose from the bed and pulled the top sheet over her sticky chemise. Outside the sky was grey and already darkening despite the relatively early hour. ‘Where are you?’ She pressed her cheek to the cold glass. ‘Come home.’

  3

  BELLA STARED OUT of the downstairs parlour window at the dreary street. A flock of carriages clattered past, delivering guests to various soirées. Vaughan had been missing twelve days. She hadn’t left the house for ten, just in case he came back and she wasn’t there. She hadn’t spent so much time staring longingly out of windows since she’d left Wyndfell Grange. In London you could go out and find company. In Yorkshire she’d had to content herself with her own. She felt a throb of yearning for her home. She hadn’t seen her brother Joshua for months. He’d visited briefly at Easter, but mostly he was maintaining a diplomatic distance. He couldn’t be seen to be condoning her behaviour. Lucerne had been particularly sour during the stay, and she suspected Joshua had given him a lecture or two.

  Bella rested her chin against the windowsill. She felt so powerless. It was no use talking to Lucerne; he was acting as if nothing was wrong and was relieved to have her to himself for the first time ever. It was working for him, but it felt false and sapless to Bella.

  For nearly three years she’d wished Vaughan would leave them alone for just an hour, but now when he was gone she was constructing elaborate fantasies in her head about a sudden reappearance. Yesterday, after rereading Mysteries of Udolpho for the eighth time, she’d imagined him as the villainous Count Montoni, come to steal her away from her lover. She’d come twice in quick succession as a result, to Lucerne’s astonishment, but she hadn’t had the heart to tell him it wasn’t his doing. After that, she’d tottered off to bed in her own room.

  She wasn’t even sure he’d noticed her leave. Too much port at his club had left him blinking sleepily. The sex had just become part of his routine too.

  She’d lain awake for a while after that, long enough so that no one was up to see her slip into Vaughan’s room where she’d ground herself against his pillows and wet their surface with a thousand hungry kisses.

  She hadn’t noticed it before but Lucerne was changing, and his total obsession with his appearance was just the tip of it. He was gambling again and his kindness and honour seemed facets he only polished for her. She closed her eyes, recalling the muggy September heat of 1797, the smell of the summer greenery, of parched grass and wildflowers. How she’d wriggled on her stomach beneath the rhododendron bushes at Lauwine to spy on him swimming in the river. She’d wanted to strip and dive in beside him. It’d been like a thread of destiny tugging at her, drawing them together. Lucerne had chased her naked through the grounds. Now he was in her bed, and her dreams were all of Vaughan: the mercurial, beautiful, volatile bastard that had dared to compete with her for Lucerne’s heart.

  There’d been no word of him about town, although everyone seemed to have heard about his disappearance, encouraging endless speculation. Someone had even suggested he was on a secret mission for Parliament or the King. Bella thought she’d be happy to know he was taking respite in a monastery or a hermit’s cave away from the constant strain of their delicately balanced ménage à trois. At least then she knew he’d be back at some point, his reserves replenished, ready to stage another delicious game.

  The parlour door opened to reveal William. ‘Mr Henry Tristan,’ he announced before bowing out again.

  Bella straightened her gown. It was a shabby and out of date one, a dour mid-blue in colour, exactly suited to her mood. ‘Mr Tristan,’ she said bravely. ‘I’m afraid Lord Marlinscar’s not at home.’

  ‘Bella.’

  She raised her head to find him standing in the doorway, lean and ballsy as an alley cat. He cast his hat onto a side table and slunk towards her, his cane trailing from a loop about his wrist, so that it clattered against the legs of the furniture. He was slovenly dressed in a shocking-blue coat and stockings striped in the same hue, so that the rings wound around his calves like cuffs. His cravat was a hideous contrast, cream with bilious green spots. ‘Still pining, I see.’ He pressed a powdery kiss to her cheek.

  ‘Henry. And you’re not?’

  He brushed at the large snuff stain on his oversized lapels. ‘M’dear, I’ve been pining since the day we met, and I realised you were wasting yourself on two consummate rogues.’ He pressed another kiss to her fingertips, finally raising a smile from Bella.

  She offered him a seat, but he remained standing. ‘I do believe that’s the first time you’ve acknowledged that fact, Henry. What’s changed? Am I this month’s scandal? Are you here to break it to me?’

  ‘No, no.’ He scrunched down the front of his ludicrous cravat with his chin. ‘Although the grandes dames are pressing Lucerne deuced hard about a formal proposal now your cousin’s flown.’

  Bella shook her head. ‘Marquis Pennerley is not my cousin and well you know it.’

  Henry turned a pirouette, sending the skirt of his square-cut coat spinning about him like butterfly wings, and finally accepted a chair. ‘No news?’

  ‘None of any importance. What about you? Lucerne tells me nothing, but he must hear the talk.’ She watched disapprovingly as Henry helped himself to some snuff and sneezed violently.

  ‘My apologies.’ He returned his box to his pocket. ‘All I’ve heard is speculation. Of as much validity as Napoleon’s claim on Egypt, I’d say.’

  Bella returned to the window. She’d hoped he’d bring her better news. ‘What am I supposed to do, Henry? I feel like a songbird cooped in a gilt cage, with naught to do but sing for my supper.’

  ‘Which I’m sure you do very nicely.’ He joined her by the window, leaning over her to get a view of the street. Bella turned and gave him a hard stare.

  ‘You could take another lover. Luc–’ He stopped, licked his lips.

  ‘Henry!’ She pushed him away. ‘Please. Be serious.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, hand on heart.

  Bella wrinkled her brows at him. ‘It’s just not the same since he’s gone. I’ve thought about hiring someone to search for him, but he’ll only be found if he wants to be.’ She kicked at a chair. ‘Damn him, I swear I’ll wring his neck for this if he ever does turn up.’

  Henry laughed. ‘That’s the spirit.’ He took her hands, turned them in his. ‘You know, you’re looking awful pale, and dainty doesn’t suit you. Ask Lucerne again when he comes home. He may have heard something by then. I’d better go now. I’m expected at the Allenthorpes for dinner, and people will talk.’

  Bella watched Henry leave from the landing window. He was as blond as Lucerne, but the complete opposite in every other regard. His coat was ridiculously sloppy and his poor cane was still dangling limply from his wrist. She knew some considered Henry a buffoon for his choice of fashions, but his mind was far too sharp for that and his grip on politics frighteningly exact. His real weakness was that he was hopelessly besotted with Vaughan. Bring them together and Henry would follow Vaughan like a devoted lapdog, the ultimate style-cramping accessory and therefore a target for Vaughan’s ruthless sarcasm.

  A pity, because, alone, he had an exotic appeal all of his own.

  Bella continued up the stairs for no other reason than a chance to walk. She wished Lucerne would come home and keep her company. In Vaughan’s room, she curled up on the bed. It no longer smelled of him. She’d muddied his scent with her own, but there was a sense of comfort attached to it.

  Soon, surely, she would hear something.

  The sound of Lucerne’s voice from the hall woke her. The room had grown dark as she’d slept and only a faint glimmer of moonlight penetrated the window. Bella stumbled onto the landing, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The hall clock was striking eleven. She’d been asleep four hours and managed to miss dinner. She wondered if Lucerne was hungry and would sit down with her now.

  Bella padded down the stairs in her soft pumps, hoping he wasn’t drunk again. Halfway down th
e stairs she had a clear view of the hall.

  She froze.

  He wasn’t alone.

  Suddenly wide awake, Bella stumbled down the next three steps, hope and fear slicing through her chest. Lucerne was obscuring the second figure as he handed his greatcoat to William. Bella’s fingers tightened on the banister, waiting. Her mouth opened on a squeal, which froze in her throat. The dark hair wasn’t Vaughan’s. Lucerne had come home with a woman.

  Horrified, she watched him help her remove her cloak. His fingertips feathered across her bare shoulders, teased a stray curl by her ear. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he murmured.

  My God, she thought. What had he brought her here for? He couldn’t suppose she was actually going to be fine with this. ‘Lucerne?’

  He turned towards her growl, giving her a warm smile. ‘Bella. Excellent. Come down. Join us.’ He rakishly draped an arm around the woman’s shoulders.

  Bastard, she seethed, a lump of fury forming in her throat. How dare he bring a whore home with him and act as if it were routine? She reached the bottom of the stairs and marched across the hall to meet him. ‘What’s going on?’

  Unruffled, Lucerne pressed his guest forward a little. ‘Miss Bella Rushdale. Miss Georgiana St John.’

  Georgiana extended a hand which Bella ignored. She didn’t care for civil hypocrisy. The woman had to leave immediately. She glared at her to make her hostility obvious. Georgiana took a hesitant step back and peeped nervously up at Lucerne, whose smile never wavered. ‘Shall we go through to the parlour?’ he said.

  He offered them an arm each. Georgiana pliantly accepted, but Bella hung back, seething and grinding her teeth. Lucerne stopped in the doorway. ‘Is something the matter, Bella?’

  ‘Don’t patronise me,’ she hissed. ‘What’s she doing here?’

  He shrugged. ‘I think you know perfectly well the answer to that.’

  ‘Well, you can’t expect me to accept it.’ She planted her hands firmly on her hips, while her mouth twisted into a tight aggressive pout.

  ‘Why ever not?’ Lucerne’s voice was soft, his tone inflexible.

  ‘You can’t just bring any old tart home and expect me to go along with it. Just because I shared with Vaughan doesn’t mean I’m prepared to do it with anyone else. Especially,’ she clenched her fists, ‘another woman.’

  ‘You’re prepared to consider another man, then?’

  ‘Damn you – no! This isn’t funny. Vaughan’s still missing.’

  ‘Yes, I’d noticed it was quiet.’ His smile remained fixed but his eyes turned glassy and cold and his body language was rigid, indifferent to her protests. What is going on with you, she wanted to ask. He’d been changing since the moment Vaughan left, transforming into someone she didn’t recognise. The scary thing was she didn’t know if this was the real Lucerne or just a temporary reaction. She’d met him twice before Vaughan came along and turned their every interaction into an elaborate contest. Once, in Yorkshire, Lucerne had told her London did strange things to people, that he’d almost lost himself there. Bella suspected he was about to lose himself again. Maybe he already had.

  ‘I don’t know you,’ she said softly, shaking her head.

  For just a moment there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. Regret, she thought, perhaps, or sorrow. ‘You never wanted to,’ he said. ‘You were always too obsessed with Vaughan. You’re still obsessed with Vaughan.’

  They stared at each other, two familiar strangers. It was Lucerne who turned away first.

  ‘You know where he is, don’t you?’

  Lucerne rubbed his lips.

  ‘Lucerne.’ She grabbed his wrist, then slipped in front of him and blocked the parlour door. ‘Tell me, where is he?’

  ‘I understand he’s gone home.’ The admission was barely a whisper. ‘Here.’ He took a gilt-edged envelope from his inside pocket and handed it to her. ‘It’s a party invitation. Some sort of phantasmagoria.’

  Her fingers would barely work to get it open. The card inside formally invited them both to Pennerley for Hallowe’en. Bella’s eyes started to fill up as she read, preventing her from making any sense of the details. She could see Georgiana watching her across the top of her fan, and she wasn’t about to cry in front of her. ‘Pennerley?’ She sniffed.

  ‘Returned to his estate. It’s in Shropshire on the Welsh border.’

  ‘When did it come?’

  He inhaled slowly through his teeth. ‘A while ago.’ He crossed to where Georgiana stood before the fire. Bella watched him, mouth open but words failing her. All this time he’d known and said nothing. That hurt more than the damn whore. Hellfire! A scream rose in her throat. She wondered if she should smash something. Instead, she bit down on her rage and retreated to the window. Boiling over wouldn’t get her the explanations she needed. More likely, it’d just send him running to the bedroom with Miss St John.

  ‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me? Are you trying to end it?’

  ‘I’m not the one who left, Bella.’ He sounded weary. ‘But you can be certain of one thing, he’s not being chaste and virtuous. It’s not in his nature.’

  ‘Is that your justification?’ She clung to the curtain, frantically blinking back tears that spilled regardless. Everything was going so wrong. She’d never expected it to last for ever; the balance of power had always been too delicate. But she’d hoped for a better ending than this.

  In a fit of claustrophobia, she opened the shutters and wrenched up the sash window. The night air was biting. It seeped into her limbs, numbing the pain.

  ‘Bella.’ Lucerne’s tread sounded on the carpet behind her. He traced a finger down the side of her neck.

  Bella shook him off. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Please …’ His arms encircled her, trapping her within his familiar embrace. His heartbeat was strong against her back, his hold a touch possessive. ‘Can’t you forget him a while? Just tonight even?’ He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, among the jumble of carefully constructed curls.

  He was just a pale shadow in the dark glass. The ghost of what could have been if that day by the river three years ago had turned out a little differently. They could have been expecting a child by now, like her friend Louisa and her husband. Instead, everything was crumbling into dust.

  ‘I know it’s been a little stale between us,’ Lucerne whispered against her cheek, ‘but it could work again. It just needs something to heat it up. Come and play. Come and laugh with us, Bella.’

  She turned her head towards Georgiana, not even slightly tempted.

  ‘I haven’t heard you laugh for so long,’ Lucerne continued. ‘I hardly recognise you. What happened to the woman who filled vases with weeds and never changed out of her riding habit?’

  ‘You brought her to town.’ She turned to face him. Looked up into his cornflower-blue eyes, seeking, she didn’t know what. Some glimmer of love perhaps, some glint of the old Lucerne. ‘If that’s the woman you want, take me to the country, don’t ask for an awkward night in a shared bed.’ She grasped his arms, strained forward on tiptoes. ‘Let’s do it, Lucerne. Let’s go and find Vaughan, and then head north to Lauwine. We could send word ahead to Joshua, he’d see that everything was made ready.’

  ‘No.’ Lucerne slipped free of her grip and backed away. ‘I can’t. Not yet, anyway. Maybe come the New Year.’

  ‘Why?’ Her brow crinkled into a frown.

  Lucerne hit the back of the settee, but continued to edge away from her. ‘Because I need space if it’s ever going to be right between us again. I don’t miss him, Bella. Not in the way you do, anyway.’

  ‘That’s a lie –’

  ‘No.’ He cut her off. Bella stared at him, her mouth agape. His words tore at her heart like glass splinters. She turned back to the window. Was it really true that he didn’t miss him?

  She missed Vaughan with every ounce of her being, longed for him and craved his touch. She’d shared some pleasant moments with Lucerne over the past week, b
ut that’s all they’d been. Their lovemaking lacked the edgy intensity she felt when she was with Vaughan. She stared at her dour reflection, barely recognising herself. God’s blood! She wished she knew what to do.

  Her image blurred as a carriage rumbled past outside. When it solidified again she found herself looking at her lover embracing another.

  Lucerne held Georgiana against his body as he slowly explored her lips and throat. It was unbearable. But with sickening morbidity, she couldn’t help but watch. How could he believe she was interested in being part of this or that she’d forgive him for his deceptions? He caught her looking. ‘Bella,’ he mouthed. ‘Dear Bella, come to us.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she mouthed back.

  ‘You’d do it for Vaughan.’

  ‘No!’ She snapped from her trance. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

  She didn’t remember leaving, just collapsing, breathless at the top of the stairs, her mind and heart full of poison. How dare he? He was ruining everything.

  Once in her room, Bella wrestled a small trunk from the closet. She tipped out the collection of shoes and put back two pairs, practical, and evening slippers. On top of them she packed several dresses, two shifts, an assortment of linen, a muff and a winter cape. Luckily, her gowns took up considerably less space these days since the whalebone paniers had dropped out of style.