Letitia Or The Convalescent Heart

by Catherine Bowness

  She had heard his admission about drinking the poisoned brandy before she looked at him and had known in that moment that she still loved him or – perhaps more accurately – that she had fallen in love with the man he now was. It was only when she had already jumped up, laid hold of his arm and looked up that she saw his face, as though unveiled, and knew that the boy and the man were the same person.

  She had spent the afternoon, together with her aunt, in arranging huge vases of flowers and placing them in the best positions to enhance the beauty of the Castle. It was thus not until they went upstairs to change that she had time to consider what had transpired earlier.

  As Bess brushed her hair and pinned it up, she stared at her face without particularly registering that it was her own blue eyes at which she was gazing for, in her mind’s eye, they were Archie’s. She was afraid she had discovered her true feelings too late for she was in little doubt that he must also have learned a good deal about her in the time they had spent together recently. It would be wonderful if he had not conceived a disgust for what he was bound to see as her trivial fascination with appearance.

  When she had first kissed him, she had been fourteen, he two-and-twenty; when she had eloped with him she had been sixteen, he four-and-twenty; it had never crossed her mind either at the time or afterwards that there was a vast difference in their ages. Subsequently, her aunt had explained that the gap between them was not purely due to the number of years but owed more to their differing experiences.

  When Lord Archibald joined the party a few minutes later, his arrival brought a blush to her cheek. He still leaned upon a cane and his right arm was still in a sling, although it was a much reduced version, being no more than a piece of black silk which kept his arm close to his chest. He was elegantly dressed in white knee breeches and a black coat, a diamond pin winked in the snowy folds of his cravat and he wore dancing pumps on his feet. He was freshly shaved and his hair newly trimmed so that he looked every inch what he was: heir to an earldom.

  He thanked everyone for their help and told them that his brother continued to improve and was, when he had left him, getting dressed in order to make an appearance at his own ball.

  “But you will do very well as the host, Archibald,” the Countess said. “I see no need for him to tax his strength by coming downstairs and possibly infecting everyone else.”

  “I thought it had been established that he had eaten something which poisoned him,” the Major said.

  “Almost anything has the ability to poison Frederick,” the Countess reminded him.

  “The extreme nature of his illness does indeed lead one to the conclusion that it was something he ingested,” Archie agreed, “but we have been unable, as yet, to identify either the substance or the food or drink in which it was concealed. The brandy does not seem to be the culprit,” he added, looking for the first time directly at Letty.

  “You – you have not suffered any ill effects?” she asked hesitantly.

  “None – and even the slight sense that I had imbibed strong liquor at an inappropriate time of day has dissipated now. You look very beautiful,” he added, bowing to her.

  She blushed even more deeply although his compliment was no more passionately pronounced than Captain Sharpthorne’s, indeed possibly less so and, daring to look into his face, she could discern no particular admiration there; it was, she concluded, simply what a man was expected to say to a finely-dressed woman.

  “As do you – my lord,” she murmured.

  “I? I have done my best not to frighten the guests,” he returned.

  “Must you – is your arm so improved that you can manage with so little support for it?”

  “I think I could manage with none,” he admitted, “but I was afraid you might be shocked – as you were when I took off the eye patch.”

  “I hope I am not so fragile that you must strive to protect my sensibilities,” she said, rallying slightly because – although she suspected his thoughtfulness had been triggered by her tendency to irrational starts – his concern did seem to imply that he was aware of her.

  “Not fragile,” he said, “exacting.”

  “I am sorry.”

  “Pray do not express sorrow for who you are. If you think I should do without it, will you undo it for me?”

  He did not turn away or sit down but bent his head so that she could reach behind him; doing so brought her bosom, heaving with agitation, to within an inch of his nose. Neither spoke, although both breathed rather hard as she endeavoured to untie the silk.

  “I cannot do it,” she said at last, her voice trembling.

  He looked up and met her eyes for a fraction of a second before he said, “Shall I kneel?”

  “No, no pray do not – you cannot – it will hurt your knee!”

  “True! I am not that much improved. If I go down upon it I fear I may never be able to rise again. I will sit; will that be better?”

  “Yes.”

  He rose awkwardly to his full height before sitting down beside her. But this position proved no more helpful as his back was once more unreachable.

  He grinned mischievously as she strove to reach behind his head without either falling into his lap or engulfing his face in her bosom.

  “It is a very tight knot,” she said at last after she had wrestled with it for some time to no avail. “I do not think I can untie it.”

  “Very well. We will come at the problem another way. If I take my hand out – so – I can slip it over my head, still knotted.”

  He suited the action to the words and, having removed the narrow strip of silk, handed it to her.

  “Why did you not do that before?” she asked, her face flaming.

  “I suppose I must have had a reason,” he said softly, grinning at her outraged expression. “You have unbound me,” he went on, becoming serious again, “but I think you should keep the rope in case you have need of it later.”

  “Where can I put it?”

  “It is silk,” he pointed out, “so you should be able to fold it very small and push it inside your dress; then, if you have any trouble from anyone this evening, you will be able to whip it out and tie them up.”

  “I cannot make it very small when there is such a big knot in it,” she complained, trying to unpick it.

  He watched her for a moment before saying, “I cannot do it with one hand but perhaps we will be able to manage it with three.”

  Chapter 32

  While Archie and Letty were wrestling with the knot, Lord Stonegate came into the room.

  He, like his brother, was dressed in knee breeches and a coat designed by the famous Stultz, although none of those present was sufficiently au fait with fashion to be able to identify it.

  He was pale and drawn, his face showing lines that had not been apparent before. Where the younger brother’s health and vigour had improved in the last few days, the elder’s had deteriorated overnight so that he looked more than his six-and-thirty years.

  “My lord – should you be out of bed?” Aspasia asked.

  “Yes,” he replied bluntly but softened the monosyllable with a smile.

  “You’re a fool,” his stepmother declared, not for the first time. “At your age you should not be trying to do things which your health does not permit.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I believe I am not yet in my dotage and can, in any event, give you more than twenty years, Mama.”

  “At this rate I shall have no difficulty outliving you,” she retorted. “For God’s sake, sit down if you will not return to bed.”

  He obeyed, smiled with great sweetness at the soldiers and said, “I believe I have you to thank for arranging a retreat from the dancing in the blue saloon. You have all been wonderfully busy,” he added, including the rest of the party in a circular glance which finally came to rest on Aspasia, who was sitting in the window seat.

  “The dress becomes you,” he said mildly. “I hope you will stand up with me, although I believe I mu
st open the dancing with my fiancée.”

  As he spoke, his eyes moved to his betrothed, whose fingers appeared to be entwined with his brother’s, although there was also, he noticed, a length of black silk between them.

  Lord Archibald looked up and grinned. “Letitia thought I should try to manage without a sling,” he explained.

  “An excellent notion. Have you much feeling in the hand now?”

  “Not much but some. I’m hoping to have enough to lead a lady out to dance without her mistaking it for a dead fish.”

  “It is quite warm,” Letty said, touching it. “Can you grasp my fingers?”

  “More or less,” he replied, curling them loosely around hers. “Would such a limp clasp make you scream and run out of the room?”

  “No, I don’t think so. In any event, I suppose you will be wearing gloves.”

  “Just so – a dead fish disguised by a glove. I’m not sure I will be able to hold it out with the sort of winning movement that a gentleman likes to extend to a lady he is inviting to stand up with him.”

  “Put it in your pocket,” the Earl suggested.

  “Won’t they think that uncivil?”

  “No, not if you explain the circumstances; in any event you will be obliged to lead them out with your left hand. Really, Archibald, you are making a piece of work out of something that is unlikely to trouble anyone.”

  “That’s why I thought it might be better to have it in a sling for then there would be no question of my using it and everyone would understand without the need for a lengthy explanation.”

  “If you want to put it back in the sling I cannot conceive why we have spent the last ten minutes untying the knot,” Letty said as the silk finally fell apart.

  “I own I found it an amusing diversion,” Archie said with a sideways glance at her. “Now you can roll it up and bestow it somewhere about your person.”

  “Why in the world would she want to do that?” the Earl asked, but he was smiling indulgently.

  Crabb appeared at the door to warn them that the first carriage was passing over the drawbridge and the black silk was forgotten.

  “Come, Letitia, you must stand beside me to receive the guests,” the Earl said, holding out his hand.

  Letty rose and tucked her arm into his although, as they left the room, she whispered, “Should it not be my aunt upon your arm, my lord?”

  He started guiltily, and colour flooded into his gaunt cheeks, but, when he saw that she was smiling, he did too.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Not in the least; I hope you will be very happy.”

  “Thank you. Of course we cannot say anything – or make any plans – until we know what has become of Mr Ripley.”

  “No, indeed, but I’m convinced he must be dead.”

  “It would make matters a great deal simpler if we could find some evidence to support that belief. Otherwise, you see, it’s a question of obtaining an annulment or divorce.”

  She nodded, quite untroubled by the difficulties which she could see the Earl felt as acutely as her aunt. So far as Letty was concerned, she thought that, if they were happy in each other’s company, they should proclaim it without shame. She knew, of course, that the union must be made legal for the sake of their children, particularly to ensure that the first son would be able to take up his inheritance rather than be forced to cede his place to his uncle, but in her view such niceties ought not to be permitted to interfere with their happiness for too long.

  They formed a short line with the Earl at the head and Letty next to him. Lord Archibald took up his place beside her with the Countess on his other side. Aspasia and the soldiers, not being part of the family, melted away to the back of the room.

  The guests were announced by Crabb as they came over the threshold.

  “I did not write your name in the invitation,” Stonegate told Letty as the first couple reached them. “I merely stated that I wished to introduce my betrothed to the neighbourhood.”

  “How exceedingly sensible since, even then, I suppose you were not entirely certain of her identity,” she responded.

  “I wanted to give you the freedom to back out,” he explained.

  “Indeed; it seems that particular freedom can work both ways.”

  “Just so.”

  They were one of the first families to arrive. Not well-versed in the ways of the nobility and desirous of giving a good impression, Colonel and Mrs Mott-Ripley, together with their eldest son and daughter, had set off in good time. Mrs Mott-Ripley was dressed in a rather bilious shade of green and sported several feathers in her headdress, although these were, fortunately, neither taller nor more numerous than the Countess’s. Her daughter, who was, as the Countess had said, extremely pretty, was simply and fetchingly arrayed in white, her dress trimmed with turquoise ribbons, a colour no doubt carefully chosen to match the unusual colour of her eyes.

  The announcement of their arrival prompted the Countess to tut scornfully, “Couldn’t wait to get their feet inside the door.” No doubt she would have found something even more waspish to say if they had arrived late.

  Aspasia, standing beside the Major a few feet away, heard the Dowager’s comment through a buzzing which had begun in her ears the moment she heard the name Ripley.

  She had not really been expecting the Colonel to be able to enlighten her as to the whereabouts of her husband but found herself, rather to her surprise, sufficiently agitated by the remote possibility to set off the disconcerting sensation. This nervous effect made her aware that the state of ignorance in which she had lived in relative tranquillity for nearly half her life might finally be dispelled – and that there was a not inconsiderable portion of her heart which quailed before such a development.

  As the Colonel and his lady advanced, she was horrified to discover that her instinctive fear had been justified. Colonel Mott-Ripley looked astonishingly like her husband: he was older, carried a good deal more weight, his complexion was – as the Countess had warned her – a trifle high-coloured, but he was – or had once been – a handsome man and there was something about his self-satisfied expression as he bowed to the Earl that reminded her strikingly of one of Mr Ripley’s less pleasing mannerisms. She was certain they were related.

  Letty had never met Mr Ripley so that, although her aunt had told her he was handsome, she was unable to judge whether the Colonel bore any likeness to her uncle.

  As he approached, he turned ash-pale long before Stonegate spoke.

  “My fiancée, Miss Denton,” the Earl said coolly.

  “Miss Denton?” the Colonel muttered, his eyes bulging and the high colour draining from his face to leave it almost grey beneath the spider’s web of veins which criss-crossed it. “I – I believe I may have met you before – a long time ago.”

  “Oh, no, I am certain you have not,” Letty replied in a clear voice. “Perhaps you have met my aunt – we are very alike, you know.” As she spoke, she gestured towards Aspasia where she stood beside the Major.

  The Colonel transferred his gaze from Miss Denton’s youthful countenance to the aunt’s, a more mature female wearing a gown of pale apricot only a shade or two darker than the jonquil in which the girl was clad. The two women were indeed extraordinarily similar in feature and colouring and, with only twelve years between them, easily confused. His lower lip quivered until his mouth fell open, when its tremulousness seemed to infect his whole body for he began to sway and would surely have fallen had not both Letty and his wife put out restraining hands.

  “Are you quite well, sir?” Letty asked, the clear voice softened with polite concern for an elderly gentleman afflicted with a disquieting degree of infirmity. “Should we – would you like to sit down for a moment?”

  “No – thank you.”

  He made a supreme effort, one which had no doubt served him well on the battlefield, dragged his eyes from the older woman’s countenance, on which they were fixed with an unnervingly glassy stare, focussed them inste
ad upon the younger and essayed a smile, ghastly to behold; so might he have smiled on approaching the scaffold.

  Letty, socially inexperienced but already growing accustomed to men brightening in her presence, was surprised and a little shocked by his reaction.

  “Charming!” he said after an awful moment during which his wife, a couple of steps behind him, poked him in the back and muttered, “Compose yourself, Walter.”

  He obeyed as best he could by taking Letty’s hand and kissing it.

  “He’s not been feeling quite the thing recently,” Mrs Mott-Ripley said by way of explanation. “His last tour was difficult – many losses amongst the men – always upsetting. We live very quietly as a rule when he’s on furlough.” She smiled nervously and Letty, reminded of Lady Macbeth’s fruitless attempt to explain her husband’s peculiar behaviour on being confronted by Banquo’s ghost, warmed to her.

  “It is perfectly all right,” she said gently, stepping apparently effortlessly into the shoes of a well-bred Society hostess. “I will ask someone to show you to a quiet room where you can recover for a few moments.”

  “Bless you!” the woman said, the colour which had risen in her fat cheeks subsiding and a warm smile spreading across her face.

  “Not at all,” Letty replied, a little embarrassed to receive such unwarranted gratitude.

  Crabb, summoned by a look from his master, approached the unfortunate couple and consigned them to the care of a footman.

  As they moved away, Aspasia, grappling with what she had seen and what she remembered, recognised the man’s gait, tottering unsteadily now but still shockingly familiar. How odd, she thought, that she had been momentarily unable to recognise her Mr Ripley until she saw him walking away, supported by his large – and not noticeably comely – wife, a wife he must have had for a number of years because, following the ageing couple, was a young man of a similar age to Letty and a daughter a little younger.

  The Earl, alerted by the Colonel’s demeanour to the likelihood of his having recognised the name Denton, sought Aspasia’s eyes, and saw something of the same shock that had unmanned the Colonel. In the circumstances, it was impossible to speak to her or to offer any sort of comfort other than a glance full of meaning. He received one in return, along with a nod, and realised that the man whom he had met once before, and cordially disliked, was none other than his beloved’s missing husband.