Marigold Chain

by Riley, Stella

  ‘And if he gets an annulment … what will you do?’

  She gazed unseeingly out of the window into the dark. ‘I don’t know. What would you suggest?’

  A muscle moved in his cheek and then was still.

  ‘That you accept it. Not for Alex, but for yourself. You shouldn’t waste the rest of your life. You’re worth more than that. I can understand what you feel for Alex – but it will pass. And there will be someone else one day. Someone who loves you as you deserve to be loved. All you need do is give yourself some time.’

  ‘You’re suggesting I might marry again.’ Her voice was flat. ‘And I daresay you are right – I could. But not to someone who loved me.’

  ‘Why not?’ There was an intensity in the question that he couldn’t quite subdue.

  ‘Because all I have to offer is friendship – and that could only hurt a man who loved me. You see, I know how it feels. And it wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘If he loved you,’ said Giles evenly, ‘he might not mind. And things change, Chloë.’

  The coach drew to a halt and the driver climbed down to open the door. Chloë gathered her skirts and then fixed Giles with a gaze of austere candour.

  ‘Some things do – and some never can.’ She managed a crooked smile. ‘Stupid and useless and my own fault. Unfortunately. Goodnight, Giles.’

  And she was gone, with no idea what she had said or the hurt she had left behind her.

  ~ * * * ~

  TWO

  It was a little after seven on Friday, August the thirty-first, when Mr Deveril finally arrived home again to find the house deserted, save for Naomi. He stood for a while in the hall, sternly reminding himself that he had been away for a full week and had sent no warning of his return so it was therefore childish to feel disappointed. He looked round at Naomi and willed himself to speak normally.

  ‘Do you know where Mr Lewis is?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, sir.’

  ‘And my wife?’

  ‘At Court, sir. She’ll be home around midnight.’ Naomi felt a sudden twinge of sympathy for her intimidating employer and then thought of something that might cheer him and remove the strange, blank look from his eyes.

  ‘There’s a letter for you, sir. It’s been here since Tuesday.’ She held it out to him.

  Alex glanced down without much interest and, for a moment, Naomi thought he wasn’t going to take it. Then he stretched out his hand and received it while his expression grew, if anything, even more withdrawn and he walked wordlessly away to the parlour.

  He stood before the empty fireplace staring absently at Persephone.

  “Thou art fairer than the evening air, clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.”

  For the first time, the words meant something to him and he turned sharply away. His head felt light with fatigue and he supposed that it would be sensible to go to bed; but his need, as it had been through all this interminable week, was to see Chloë so he sat down, preparing to wait. It was only then that he saw Sarah’s letter still in his hand and, because there did not seem to be anything else to do, he opened it.

  It was quite short but he found he had to read it twice before its meaning reached him – the reward, he realised, of inadequate sleep – and then he simply tore it across and dropped the pieces in the empty hearth. If there was anyone, thought Alex grimly, that he did not want to see just now, then it was Sarah. Sarah with her airs and graces, her insincerity and her monumental self-conceit; Sarah, with her shallow heart, her vapid brain and her flaunting, deceptive beauty. Sarah – which whom, incredibly, he had once thought himself in love.

  He looked down at the torn pieces of paper. She’d made it sound urgent … but that only meant she wanted to see him and was determined, as always, to have her own way. Well, let her wait. He did not want to go – couldn’t think of any reason why he should; except that she was the most ruthlessly persistent being he had ever met and would continue disrupting his peace until she got what she wanted.

  ‘Oh damn it to hell!’ said Alex to himself, wearily quitting his chair. ‘Better to get it over at once, I suppose. But this time … this time had better be the last.’

  *

  ‘Alex! My dear!’ Lady Sarah flew across the room in a swish of pearl-grey satin and then stopped, ludicrously unable to cast herself against his chest as she had intended. ‘But you are so dirty! Whatever have you been doing?’

  ‘Riding,’ said Mr Deveril succinctly.

  ‘Oh!’ Sarah brightened. ‘You’ve come straight here to see me without even stopping to change? But how gallant! I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be. I hadn’t even thought of it.’ He looked at her and his eyes matched his voice, cool and faintly impatient. ‘I haven’t much time so perhaps we can come to the point. What do you want?’

  Some of the vivacity drained from the lovely face and she eyed him petulantly. Then, recovering, and managing a melting sigh, she said, ‘You don’t know then. I had thought that someone must have told you – your wife, perhaps?’

  ‘I haven’t seen her,’ he replied briefly. ‘What is it?’

  The cornflower eyes rested on him mistily. ‘It’s Graham. He’s dead.’

  It was the last thing he expected and it threw him slightly off balance.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ he said politely.

  ‘And I,’ continued Sarah with restrained emphasis, ‘am a widow. A very rich widow.’

  Alex appeared to give this a modicum of thought. Then, ‘Well, I expect you’ll enjoy that. It’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?’

  There was a pause and then she said carefully, ‘You’re mistaken. I don’t want to be a widow at all.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Boredom was beginning to creep into Mr Deveril’s face. ‘Then I don’t suppose you’ll have much trouble finding someone to help you change that. Only take my advice, Sarah – choose somebody young and healthy with safe habits this time – or you may find your suitors wondering if your fatal charms aren’t rather more fatal than charming.’ He smiled perfunctorily. ‘Why did you want to see me?’

  And for the first time, Sarah – who thought she’d already told him – was lost for words.

  Alex looked at her, remotely indifferent; then something in her face penetrated his mind and stirred it into life.

  ‘You didn’t,’ he asked with slow incredulity, ‘think that I might become Number Three? Did you? Is that why I’m here – to lay my heart at your feet and offer you my name?’

  She did not reply but two spots of colour began to burn high on her cheekbones.

  Mr Deveril stared at her with an oddly desperate expression in his eyes. Then, his voice not entirely steady, he said, ‘My compliments, Sarah. You are unbelievable!’ And dissolved into helpless laughter.

  ‘Stop it!’ shouted Sarah, stamping her foot. ‘Stop it this instant! I will not be laughed at. How dare you?’

  With an effort, Alex pulled himself together.

  ‘I apologise. But you must see – or no. You can’t, of course.’ He was conscious of a crazy wish that Chloë was there to share this priceless moment and then pushed it aside. ‘But you do appear to have forgotten that I’m already married.’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ Her voice was sulky. ‘But that’s nothing. Any fool can tell you’ve never bedded her – don’t try to deny it! – so you can easily have it set aside.’

  Alex was suddenly very serious indeed.

  ‘It’s an interesting concept – but what makes you so sure? I doubt Chloë has told you so.’

  Sarah had recovered her poise and was aware of a need for caution. It would be as well not to mention her visit to Chloë or their conversation.

  ‘She didn’t need to. One can tell simply by looking at her. And it’s hardly surprising. She is dreadfully commonplace – with absolutely nothing to attract you.’ She smiled with teasing malice. ‘Except her brain, of course.’

  Mr Deveril smiled back. ‘So you thought I’d be glad to be rescued from such
mediocrity – and would get rid of Chloë in order to marry you?’

  Lady Sarah took his hands and peeped seductively into the silver-blue eyes.

  ‘And won’t you?’ she asked huskily.

  Alex allowed his hands to remain passively in hers.

  ‘No, Sarah. I won’t,’ he said flippantly; and felt the shock run through her body to her fingertips. He disengaged himself then and took a step away from her and when he spoke again his voice was hard and cold. ‘This farce has gone far enough and it’s time we made an end of it. You have miscalculated. I will not annul my marriage for you for the simple reason that I don’t want to. To be frank with you, my egocentric little leech, I’d as soon choose a wife from Bridewell or from any street corner.’

  ‘But you love me. You’ve always loved me!’

  ‘No.’ His gaze was frigidly implacable. ‘It’s true that I once thought so – but that was long ago and I now know how wrong I was. I neither love you nor want you and I wouldn’t care if I never laid eyes on you again. In fact,’ he said clearly, ‘I should prefer it.’

  Sarah stared at him as though he were speaking a foreign language and then the beautiful mouth curled back over the small white teeth.

  ‘You stupid bastard! You’re nothing – do you near me? Nothing! So go home to your tedious little wife and I hope she makes you as miserable as you deserve – because you’ll never forget me – never! Unless,’ she finished with blistering sarcasm, ‘you’re going to tell me that you are in love with that plain, sorry creature?’

  A slow, strange smile lit the sculpted face.

  ‘But I am,’ replied Alex. ‘Completely and totally in love with her. And for my life-time.’

  There was a long silence and then Sarah laughed derisively.

  ‘You’re losing your mind. You’ve been married for eight months and your wife is still a virgin - and you say you love her? What is it, Alex?’ she asked vindictively. ‘Won’t she have you? Or aren’t you capable?’

  Mr Deveril shrugged. ‘I don’t expect you to understand – only to believe that it is so and accept that there’s no more to say.’ He looked for a moment into her stunned, silenced face and swept a deep, formal bow. ‘Life, you should know, is full of small disappointments. But I’m sure you’ll soon get over it. Goodbye, Sarah.’

  And he left without waiting for her reply.

  *

  Back in Southwark, with the clock of St Mary Overie just striking half past nine, there was still no sign of Matt or Chloë. Alex went upstairs to wash and change, then returned to the parlour. It was still only a little after ten; two hours to wait; an eternity. He poured a glass of wine, picked up the first book that came to hand and sat down to read. Ten minutes later, when the glass was empty and he had not turned a page, he got up irritated by his own restlessness and walked over to re-fill his glass.

  Completely and totally … and for my life-time, he had said; and it was true – though he wasn’t sure why he had said it to Sarah. Alex stared into the ruby-coloured liquid and came to the conclusion that there was a terrible tyranny in words. Just a collection of syllables with no meaning except what one chose to give them, no life until they were uttered. They could say anything or nothing – be a bridge or a chasm; and once spoken, they were inviolate, existing indestructibly in one’s mind.

  You’ve been married for eight months and your wife is still a virgin. The annulment, he recalled hazily, had been Chloë’s suggestion and never once had she given any sign of having changed her mind. She had never sought his company nor tried to bring herself to his attention in any way; in fact, she had seemed almost unaware that he was both masculine and her husband – merely offering him a placid, sexless friendship where there was no need for pretence, no room for shyness. And that, he now realised, was as unusual as it was depressing.

  So why, since she did not even seem to regard him as a man, let alone as a potential lover, had she never treated him as she did Danny? Because, came back the uncompromising reply, you never gave her the chance – any more than you treated her as a woman. So what you got was precisely what you asked for. Except once; on the Falcon Stairs, when you thought you only wanted a body and she offered you the moon in a kiss.

  A ray of light; the only one. What is it, Alex? Won’t she have you? Trust Sarah to find the thing that could really hurt – but she was wrong. She had to be wrong for there was the kiss to prove it. Chloë might not love him but she had undoubtedly responded to him in a way which suggested that it would not be very difficult to seduce her.

  And there the thought stopped, leaving him feeling ashamed of himself.

  He filled his glass again and was about to drain it when he realised what he was doing.

  ‘Oh God! I’m drunk – or as near as makes no matter. I must be or I wouldn’t be thinking this way.’ Through the silence came the sound of a carriage rumbling to a halt outside the gate. Alex stood up and then, rising, extinguished the single branch of candles.

  ‘Oh Marigold,’ he said, vaguely rueful. ‘I meant well .. but I really don’t think I’m fit to talk to you after all. And it won’t help if you find me cup-shot.’

  On entering the house, Chloë’s eyes went automatically to the place where, for four days, Sarah’s letter had lain. She saw that it had gone and felt her breath leak away. He was back, then; she had half-expected it. Taking off her cloak, she dropped it over a chair then stood for a moment, staring at the parlour doors, trying to compose herself. At length, she took a deep breath and went in.

  There was no light but every sense told her he was there.

  ‘Hello,’ she said quietly. ‘Have we run out of candles?’

  The silence seemed to stretch out to infinity and then Alex stirred and spoke, his voice disembodied in the gloom.

  ‘No,’ he said to the sound of scraping flint. He re-lit the candles and looked across at her. ‘How did you know I was in here?’

  ‘Instinct.’ Her eyes rested on his face as if she had never seen him before. ‘Is everything all right? You look … strange.’

  He smiled and came out of the shadows towards her, saying pleasantly, ‘You mean, more so than usual? No. You’re just seeing me as a hero for the first time.’

  ‘No, I’m not.’ Chloë managed a creditable grin. ‘The only difference is that now it’s official. I just hope you won’t let it go to your head.’ And to herself, she added despairingly, ‘You’re bone-tired and tense and not very sober. Again. Why must I pretend not to notice?’

  The light gaze dwelt on her intently. ‘I think I can promise that. Matt told you about it?’

  ‘Yes. I think he was sorry he missed the grand finale, though. Was it spectacular?’

  ‘Very. A worthy rival to the City of London’s Royal Birthday Party.’

  Chloë smiled. ‘But without Muses or doves?’

  ‘We didn’t need them. We had Giles doing acrobatics and me supplying the verse. Faustus, in fact. It seemed appropriate.’

  There was something in his expression that Chloë found disturbing and she turned away to escape it, feeling rather confused. It was as if they were conducting their conversation in code. Her own part she understood; she was doing what she always had to do, when all she really wanted was to ask about Sarah. But the baffling thing now was that he seemed to be doing it too; forcing himself to say things he cared nothing about as a shield for those he did.

  She sank gracefully into a chair and started the nightly ritual of pulling the pins from her hair while she said hesitantly, ‘I can see why you said you had to have solid proof. It’s quite hard to believe Simon was behind all the things Matt told me about. He was always so … efféminé.’

  With an effort, Alex tore his attention away from the delicate curve of her neck and summoned a reply. ‘Quite. Unfortunately, he’s also vain, avaricious and vindictive – not to mention dangerously clever. I don’t know what they’ll do with him but I hope never to hear of him again.’ He paused for a second and when he spoke again, his voice
was faintly unsure. ‘Perhaps I should have killed him. I intended to.’

  Chloë looked round and met his eyes.

  ‘You intended to and you wanted to – which is why you didn’t. And you were right. Wasn’t Prince Rupert satisfied?’

  He smiled a little. ‘Eventually.’

  ‘Well, I should think so too. And the King is not only satisfied but grateful. In fact,’ she said, a shade less buoyantly, ‘he wants to give you a reward. Anything, I gather, except money or Frances Stuart.’

  As she hoped, Alex laughed. ‘What a shame. We could have done with the money.’

  ‘And Frances Stuart?’ asked Chloë, unable to help herself.

  ‘Is she His Majesty’s latest?’

  ‘About to be, I think.’ She dropped the last of the pins on the table, shook her hair loose and ran her hands through it.

  ‘I can take her or leave her,’ Alex said, staring and wishing he could touch. ‘And then, of course, I’m not looking to establish a seraglio.’

  And this time, Chloë couldn’t think of an answer.

  Alex watched as she bent her head thoughtfully over her hands. The candlelight touched the rose-gold hair with flame and shadowed the artfully darkened lashes lying downcast against her cheek. Her face was thinner than he remembered and she looked pale – as if, beneath the composure, lay a strain at whose cause he could not even guess. Something he couldn’t name rose in his chest and it hurt to breathe. He forgot that it was late, that he wasn’t entirely sober, that he’d meant to wait for a better time. He forgot everything except that, though uncertainty was killing him, the possibility of a rebuff was worse.

  With some vague idea that an oblique approach might be safest, he said lightly, ‘I’ve been wondering whether our annulment is worth the trouble of continuing to pursue it.’

  Chloë’s throat closed with shock. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes. One becomes … accustomed, after all. And Matt is strongly averse to change. It seems a pity to upset him necessarily. What do you think?’