‘I know. I shouldn’t have touched the brandy,’ recited Alex, preparing to swallow the mixture. ‘Just tell me one thing; why did you sleep in my bed?’
Chloë watched him tilt the mug to his mouth and grimace as he tasted its bitterness. ‘But where else should I sleep? We are married.’
The timing was perfect. Caught with a mouthful of tisane, Alex spat, spluttered, dropped the mug and began to cough. Chloë thumped him helpfully on the back and then, when the choking subsided, passed him a handkerchief.
Alex mopped his eyes and then sat quite still, turning the dampened linen thoughtfully in his fingers. Finally, he said, ‘Would you repeat that?’
Chloë experienced a pang of misgiving.
‘I said that we are married.’
Looking up, his eyes bloodshot but disconcertingly intense, Alex considered her.
‘Now that,’ he remarked, ‘is news.’
She met his gaze stubbornly. ‘You’ve forgotten. I thought you would.’
His mouth curled unpleasantly. ‘You were right. I can’t, after all, be expected to recall all my careless excursions into matrimony.’
Just for a second, with a lurch of her stomach, she almost believed him. Then misgiving became irritation and she said, ‘Can we discuss this sensibly?’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Look,’ said Chloë crossly, ‘you could at least try to be helpful. I know it was a mistake. I knew it at the time and I tried to stop you – but you would have it. And so here we are. The question now is what we’re going to do about it.’
Alex stared at her. Then, on an explosion of breath and with less than his usual grace, he got to his feet and extended a hand to her.
‘Well for God’s sake let’s begin by getting off the floor. My head is pounding and my bones feel as though somebody’s taken a cudgel to them. So if you want me to think, I’ll need a chair and a gallon of water.’
Accepting his hand, Chloë rose and followed him to the table. Silently, she poured water from the pitcher and put it in front of him before sitting down. Alex drank, clutched his head for a moment and then looked at her.
‘My recollections of last night are, to say the least of it, imperfect. Remind me.’
She looked back at him, her hands clenched tight in her lap.
‘James Ashton is my step-brother and you must have won more than he could afford to pay because he ended the night by staking me – or rather my hand in marriage and my dowry.’
Alex’s face showed nothing. ‘Presumably my luck held or you wouldn’t be here. What then?’
‘Oh then you insisted we be married immediately – so you climbed the wisteria and sat on the Reverent Morland. He wasn’t happy. He said we deserved each other.’
Mr Deveril’s sense of humour wasn’t working and the blue eyes frowned in an effort of memory.
‘Did I force you to it?’ he asked bluntly.
Chloë coloured a little but her gaze did not waver. ‘No. Or not in the way I suspect you mean it.’
‘Well I suppose that’s something. But why the hell did you do it? You can’t have wanted to marry me.’
The flush receded leaving her rather pale and her voice, when she spoke again, held more than a trace of constraint.
‘I let James stake me because it was a chance to get away from him and seemed the lesser of two evils. And no, of course I didn’t want to marry you. I expected to stay in the house last night and throw myself on the charity of friends this morning. I didn’t bargain for you being so bull-headed or Freddy Iverson and your friend Mr Fawsley encouraging you in your madness. I thought that you’d sober up and regain your senses and that we could come to some arrangement that didn’t involve marriage. But none of that happened.’
‘So I gather. But still … you agreed to it.’ It was not a question.
Chloë hesitated and decided that the best form of defence would be attack.
‘Yes. Well, marriage would be a necessary snag if you were to acquire my dowry, wouldn’t it?’
She was subjected to a long and trying scrutiny.
‘Acquit me,’ he said coldly, at last. ‘I’m not a fortune-hunter, looking for a rich child-bride. How old are you, by the way?’
‘What do you think?’
He considered her. ‘Sixteen?’
She drew herself up. ‘Certainly not. I’m twenty.’
Mr Deveril was not impressed. ‘Well, you don’t look it.’
‘No?’ She returned his gaze. ‘Well, you don’t look as if you’ll see thirty-five again – but I suppose that’s the brandy.’
Alex stared at her. Then, ‘Oh God!’ he said with a smothered gasp. ‘You mistake me. I’m not usually crapulous more than four days out of seven.’
Chloë remained unmoved.
‘Oh. But I could hardly be expected to guess that, could I?’ And meeting his eyes, saw the very real laughter there. She grinned back. ‘I must say, you’re taking it better than I expected.’
‘Practice, they say, makes perfect,’ he replied absently. He rose and walked away from her, running his hands through his hair. ‘Doubtless I was given your name but I’ve forgotten it.’
‘It is Chloë. But I was becoming quite used to Marigold.’ She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘If you are willing to forgo my rather small fortune, we don’t really have a problem.’
Alex leaned against the mantel and folded his arms.
‘You are offering me a divorce?’
The narrow brows rose in surprise.
‘No. We don’t need a divorce. The marriage is only on paper, so what we need is an annulment. It should be quite simple.’
The ice-blue gaze rested on her sardonically.
‘It would be quite simple if you hadn’t spent a night in my bed.’
‘But no one knows that,’ she said calmly. ‘However, if you think it necessary, we can … provide substantiation.’
‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘You’re suggesting we rely on medical evidence to dissolve the bond between us by proving it a marriage nisi accedat copula carnalis?’
‘If that means it hasn’t been consummated, then yes.’
‘I see. Excuse me asking,’ he said delicately, ‘but can we rely on it?’
She frowned irritably. ‘Again – yes.’
Mr Deveril smiled with what Chloë personally considered to be infuriating admiration and said, ‘That’s comforting. Unfortunately, however, it may not be enough.’
‘Why not?’
‘I imagine you are a Catholic?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘Simply that I’m not. Which poses not one problem but two. England was excommunicated under Cromwell and, even if it hadn’t been, I rather think we’ll find that no provision has ever been made for cases such as ours. If that’s so, the theologians and canonists will be able to use us as an excuse for interminable debate. In short, it will take time.’
‘Oh,’ said Chloë.
‘Oh,’ agreed Alex. ‘Which brings us to what we are going to do in the meantime. Is Ashton your only relative?’
She nodded. ‘Unfortunately. The only good part is that he’s not blood-kin.’
‘So I presume you don’t want to go back?’
‘Never in this life.’
‘Do you mind if I ask why?’
Wanting, if possible, to avoid this conversation, Chloë said evasively, ‘You know him.’
‘Not well - but as much as I care to,’ replied Alex. ‘And I imagine the reasons why I dislike him aren’t the same as yours. Well?’
She sighed and, realising that she was going to have to say something, decided that it might as well be the truth – distasteful though that was.
As dispassionately as possible, she said, ‘He put a roof over my head because it suited him to have an unpaid house-keeper. And I wouldn’t have minded that if there had ever been enough money – but there never was because he either drank it, spent it on whores or gamed it away. We couldn’t keep a maid-servant more than a
week because he tried to bed them and then hit them when they said no.’ She paused briefly and, when she resumed, her voice was completely without timbre. ‘Recently, it’s been worse. He can’t afford the whores and … and I’ve had to bolt my door at night.’
His eyes hooded and unreadable, Mr Deveril contemplated the faded gown with its signs of careful mending, then the impossibly straight spine and the tilt of her chin, both which told him that sympathy would not be welcome. Finally, with an almost imperceptible nod, he said, ‘Will you excuse me for a moment?’
Rising, he reached for his coat and rifled through the pockets till he found a handful of crumpled paper. ‘Thought so,’ he murmured. And then, opening the door, shouted, ‘Matt?’ – only to discover that Mr Lewis was just outside, sitting on the stairs, whittling.
‘What the hell are you - - ?’ began Mr Deveril. And then, with intense irritation, ‘Give me some bloody credit, Matt. She’s a child, for Christ’s sake! What did you think I was going to do?’
‘Make bad worse – same as always,’ retorted Matt. He stood up amidst a shower of wood-shavings and looked through the open door at Chloë. Then, apparently satisfied, said, ‘What did you want?’
A hint of colour touched the flat pallor of Alex’s face and the flash of temper vanished as quickly as it had come. ‘These are Ashton’s notes of hand from last night. Take a look and see what they amount to, then go and tell him I want them honoured by the end of the week. Oh - and tell him I’ve married his step-sister but warn him against paying us any bride-visits.’ A hard smile curled his mouth. ‘Frighten him a bit, if you like … or even a lot.’
Matt’s seamed face brightened. ‘Reckon I can manage that.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ returned Mr Deveril absently, waving him on his way.
As soon as the door closed, Chloë said baldly, ‘Why did you do that?’
‘For fun,’ he said flippantly. And then, catching sight of her expression, ‘Don’t read too much into it. I frequently do things I don’t have to. Now. Where were we?’
She was starting to wonder how often Mr Deveril said what he really meant – but wisely refrained from asking and said instead, ‘You were trying to decide what to do with me.’
A very different smile lit his eyes. He said, ‘Not the best way of putting it - but yes. And I have a suggestion to make. I will make discreet enquiries about the possibility of an annulment, meanwhile you will continue to reside here with all the appearance of wifely permanence. All, that is, save one.’
Chloë looked up, a sudden light in her eyes. ‘Nisi something copula carnalis?’
‘That’s the one. You’ve a good memory.’
‘Only for vital implications.’ She hesitated. ‘Since you don’t want either me or my eight hundred pounds, I can’t imagine what possible benefit such an arrangement might be to you.’
‘You don’t need to. And don’t be so cynical. Call it a matter of chivalry.’
She gazed back in rapt fascination. ‘Chivalry? Really? That’s nice.’ Then, shaking her head, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Deveril – but I don’t believe you.’
His expression remained enigmatic and his voice pleasant as he said, ‘That, of course, is your privilege.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t have anything to do with Sarah, would it?’ she asked thoughtfully. And was given ample time to regret the question.
Finally, he said, ‘Who told you?’
She swallowed. ‘You did. At least, you asked Mr Lewis to tell Sarah you were married. And when I told him I had no intention of holding you to it, he said I’d be doing you a favour if I didn’t tell you so just yet. So I thought … I just thought the two things might be connected.’
He did not speak but the look in his eyes was no longer either enigmatic or pleasant. Recognising that she had made a major tactical error, Chloë saw nothing for it but to plough doggedly on.
‘What I’m trying to tell you is that, if you have an understanding with Sa – with any other lady, you need not feel honour bound to terminate it because of me.’
‘Am I,’ he asked sweetly, ‘supposed to be grateful?’
‘No. You’re supposed to tell me if you are betrothed – or the equivalent.’
Faster than she would have thought possible, he was across the room and leaning his hands on the chair-back beside her.
‘You are either very tactless or indulging in a fit of female curiosity – or both. But you should have stuck with Matt. You might have found him easier game.’ He drew a sharp breath. ‘I won’t be interrogated or discussed – in fact, I’ve a strong dislike of both. Do I make myself clear?’
Chloë said weakly, ‘I was trying to be helpful.’
‘Well, don’t. I can arrange my life without outside assistance. And though I’m obliged to you for the Self-Denying Ordinance, I’m not particularly impressed by sacrificial gestures. Especially when they’re unnecessary.’
Rather pale but capable once more of meeting fire with fire, Chloë said witheringly, ‘I see. Do I applaud, say thank you or cast myself down the nearest well?’
‘The choice,’ replied Mr Deveril, coldly, ‘is yours. What you not do is make any more attempts to organise my existence. Our marriage, as you said yourself, is only on paper.’
She suddenly felt rather angry.
‘You don’t need to remind me – and you needn’t be afraid that I shall try to change it. With an annulment pending, your privacy and your bed are both quite safe from me.’
Alex raised one mocking brow and surveyed her from head to foot until she flushed to the roots of her hair.
‘My dear girl,’ he said carefully unlocking each syllable, ‘I don’t need your assurance of it. You won’t invade my privacy because you won’t be given the opportunity; and as for my bed … I believe it’s usual to wait until you are asked.’
*
The meal, which Matt shared with them, was not a success. Mr Deveril delivered an acid diatribe on the subject of well-meaning interference to which neither of his listeners felt any desire to contribute. Chloë began by envying Mr Lewis his ability to let it flow over him without showing any more reaction than a deaf-mute and ended by wishing she could sink into the floor. When they had finished eating, she rose thankfully to clear the board only to be pressed back into her seat by Matt’s large hand on her shoulder.
‘Sit down, Mistress,’ he said tersely. ‘I’ll take care of this. You might as well stay there and see what you’ve taken on.’ He glanced at Mr Deveril and added, ‘Ashton was out. I’ll maybe try later.’ And picking up the plates, he stumped out.
Chloë was left uncomfortably facing her husband who, mercifully, had stopped talking and was watching her sardonically.
‘Well? Are you lost in admiration of my loquacity or debating whether or not to fly the coop?’
‘Neither,’ she returned shortly. ‘If you really want to know, I was thinking a tongue like yours could start a small war.’
The blue eyes lost their baleful gleam. For a moment, Mr Deveril contemplated her in silence and then, against all expectation, he said, ‘I apologise. I don’t suppose the situation is any easier for you but at least you’ve retained a sense of proportion. It was unfair of me to reward it with ill-temper.’
Chloë smiled a little. ‘Perhaps it’s a bad time?’
‘You could say that. At the moment, it feels like total bloody disaster – most of which is entirely my own fault. The only consolation is that I rarely make the same mistake twice … unless you favour polygyny?’
‘Only,’ she said firmly, ‘when I can’t get cloves.’
His brows soared and he said amicably, ‘I’d say you’ve a fairly smart mouth of your own, Marigold. However – let us address the practicalities. As you’ll have realised, this is a lodging house so the accommodation is somewhat limited but I believe we can get round the problem. You take my room, Matt will remove to an empty one on the floor below and I’ll occupy his. That should preserve the proprieties without letting th
e world know what we’re about.’
‘We aren’t going to tell anyone, then?’
‘Not unless we must. I may eventually have to confide in Giles in order to stop him trying to knock my head from my shoulders, but --’
He stopped as the door opened and a lady came in. She was beautiful – tall, dark-haired and graceful. For a moment, Chloe wondered if this could be Sarah but a glance into dark-fringed blue eyes assured her that it could not.
‘Hello, Ju. Welcome to Pluto’s den. What brought you? Feminine intuition or a message from Matt?’
Lady Julia Blanchard laughed and shook her head.
‘Wrong on both counts. I met Freddy Iverson.’
‘Iverson?’ repeated Alex vaguely. And then, looking at Chloë, ‘He was a witness?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Mr Fawsley, also. Mr Beckwith left before the game.’
‘Bristling with disapproval. Yes. I can imagine. Oh – this is my sister, by the way.’ He turned back to her ladyship. ‘So. You know everything and it’s all true. This is Chloë.’ And, closing his eyes, he rested his chin on his chest, apparently relinquishing all interest.
Fortunately, my lady knew better than to let it bother her. She walked over to Chloë, smiling warmly but with faint anxiety. ‘Alex is determined to be difficult – which as you may have already gathered is by no means unusual. I am Julia Blanchard and I came especially to meet you. It’s too much to expect that Alex should recognise the awkwardness of your position so I thought perhaps you might make do with me.’
The kindness was unexpected and Chloë felt herself grow pink.
‘Thank you. It is rather awkward. I only wish I could explain how it happened.’
Alex opened one eye. ‘Don’t put yourself out. I daresay Julia understands perfectly – or thinks that she does.’
He sister’s response to this cryptic utterance was to put out her tongue.
‘Go to sleep. You look like a two-day-old corpse. And, of course I know how it happened. With you, how do such things ever happen? You were monumentally drunk and that’s all it takes when you’re in a wild mood.’ She returned her attention to Chloë. ‘Did you bring your things with you or must you go back for them?’
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