by Mary Nichols
‘Oh, yes, please,’ she said, her spirits soaring. ‘It will be pleasant to see some life, go to social gatherings, perhaps a ball. Do you think we might be invited to a ball, Roland?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, thinking of Susan’s letter. That was one ball Margaret must not attend.
‘We will both be better for a little recreation and it will lift your low spirits.’
‘I am not in low spirits, my dear.’
‘Indeed you are. Come, admit you would like a little amusement. I know I should.’
‘Perhaps.’ He turned her stool back to the mirror and began brushing her hair again, long, sensuous strokes that roused him to a passion which could not be denied. The brush fell from his hand and he knelt at her feet to take her in his arms. She slipped from the stool, to sit on his thighs, laughing as he drew her underdress over her head and threw it carelessly across the room. Her skin was smooth and lustrous, glowing in the firelight, her figure so perfect, her senses so finely tuned to his, that it was as if they moved as one. She was his wife and he could no more leave her behind than he could have stopped breathing, even though he knew he was being utterly reckless.
They set off in the travelling-chaise at the beginning of May, a week after the wagon which had been sent ahead with several servants and a mountain of luggage. The roads had recovered from the soaking they had had earlier in the year, and were now baked hard into deep ruts. But the pastures were lush and the cattle on them thriving. Wheat and barley, coleseed and turnips were growing strongly in the strips of cultivated fields, where farm labourers hoed between the rows. Pink and white candles of blossom clothed the chestnut trees and the scent of may-blossom filled the air. Margaret breathed deeply of the balmy air, her contentment marred only by Roland’s silence.
The further they went, the more taciturn he became. She had been so sure that the oppressive atmosphere of the Fens, coupled with the death of his grandmother, was contributing to his depression, and that whatever was troubling him might be seen in clearer perspective once they were in London. What they both needed was a little gaiety. Had she been mistaken?
Pargeter House was a three-storeyed residence in Mayfair, with a short gravel drive at the front and round the side, gardens at the rear and stabling and kitchens in separate wings. Its front door was reached by a flight of steps, heavily studded and lighted on either side by flambeaus in brackets. Its evenly spaced windows had green-painted shutters. Inside it was richly decorated and furnished, with a great deal of mahogany and walnut, inlaid in fine detail with satinwood and rosewood. The chairs were covered in tapestry and damask and there were valuable paintings and mirrors on the walls. The ceilings were plastered and gilded and the floors covered in rich carpets. The servants had been hard at work for the last two weeks and everything sparkled.
As soon as they arrived, Roland went to his room and changed from his dusty travelling-clothes into a blue satin full-skirted coat with a high standing collar, double-breasted striped waistcoat and darker blue breeches, then went in search of his wife. ‘Do not wait dinner for me,’ he said. ‘I may dine at my club.’ He knew he had disappointed her by leaving so soon, but she could occupy herself with unpacking and exploring the house, and he would be back again in no time. And then he meant to make amends. He was going to try to expunge his guilt.
He found a chair to take him to Sir Godfrey’s town house in Mount Street. It was a modest establishment but well-maintained, and he was admitted by a footman, who took his hat and conducted him to the drawing-room where Sir Godfrey and Lady Chalfont were listening to their daughter playing the harpsicord. She was dressed in a brocade gown with wide panniers and a very low neckline. Her naturally fair hair was covered by a white wig. As soon as Roland was announced, she left off playing and ran towards him, both hands outstretched.
‘Roland, you bad boy,’ she cried as he bent over her hands. ‘Why have you taken so long? You said you would be in town in April. Have you been ill again? Does your wound trouble you?’ She prattled on, giving him no time, reminding him what a chatterbox she was and how difficult to deny. ‘Come and pay your respects to Mama and Papa, and then you shall come to the Duchess of Devonshire’s rout with us. I am sure she will invite you an we ask her.’
He allowed her to drag him over to her parents, where he made his bows and enquired how they did.
‘Very well,’ Sir Godfrey said. ‘Now tell us what you have been up to.’
‘Up to?’ he queried. Did they know of his marriage? He turned to Susan, but she was smiling agreeably. She had smiled like that when he was wounded and lying helpless in her father’s house, smiled her siren’s smile and captivated him. Why did he find it less than appealing now? ‘The winter was a hard one and I had much to do on my estates…’
‘But you are here now,’ Susan put in. ‘We will go everywhere and have such a happy season.’ She looked at his clothes almost disparagingly. ‘You have time to go home and change before the Duchess’s rout.’
‘I am afraid I am otherwise engaged.’ Cursing himself for a coward, he rushed on, addressing Sir Godfrey. ‘Since I had the good fortune to be given succour in your house, much has happened.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘I have acquired a wife.’
‘A wife!’ Susan shrieked, and sank into a chair.
‘Yes.’ He tried not to look at Susan, who appeared to be swooning. To go to her now would make it impossible for him to do what he had come to do; he kept his eyes resolutely on her father. ‘My grandmother——’
Sir Godfrey stood up, while his wife comforted their weeping daughter. He was quite a short man and his head hardly came above Roland’s shoulder, but his anger lent him dignity. ‘You have played fast and loose with my darling and that cannot be forgiven. You are a scoundrel, sir, a blackguard, and I shall see that all London knows it.’
Roland turned towards Susan. She was staring at him with red-rimmed eyes, which surprisingly showed more anger than misery. He had a sudden feeling that she could be vindictive if she chose. ‘I never intended to hurt you. It was because I thought so much of you that I could not ask you to be my wife.’
‘How could you?’ she spat. ‘You are not making sense.’
‘I came to explain——’
‘I wish for no explanations,’ Sir Godfrey said. ‘I bid you good-day, sir.’
There was nothing for it but to leave. If only he had been able to speak to Susan alone, he was sure he could have made her understand. Now there would be the devil to pay and he would find himself ostracised. He didn’t mind that for himself, but Margaret would suffer too.
It was easy to understand why he had imagined he loved Susan. He had been ill and in pain, delirious much of the time, and her cool hand on his brow and her soft voice had soothed him. She was beautiful too, like a painted doll, with perfect teeth and hair and a ready smile. He had been more than grateful and, when he had felt better, so anxious to please her that it had been easy to imagine himself in love. He had stayed longer than he should, enjoying her company and growing steadily stronger until he could no longer put off the return to his regiment. Now, seeing her again, he was still grateful, but gratitude was not love.
His love was for his wife. She was beautiful too, but in a quieter way, and she had courage, mountains of it, and a quiet composure which he found restful. She liked his country home and the people on his estate, the fenmen and women, perhaps because she was her mother’s daughter and therefore one of them. They liked her too and that must mean she had qualities over and above beauty. Sir Godfrey’s condemnation was nothing to the castigation he heaped upon himself. He could not go home, could not go back to the reproach in Margaret’s eyes. So he took himself off to White’s and proceeded to become very drunk indeed.
It was to become the pattern of his days. He rose late, went out riding alone and then spent hours in his club playing cards and drinking, leaving Margaret to occupy herself as best she might.
Reluctantly she realised that whatever
had troubled Roland in Winterford was a hundred times worse in London. No one came to call and she could find nothing to do but shopping, accompanied by Penny, or riding in St James’s Park, escorted by one of the grooms who rode a few paces behind her, almost like a gaoler. And then, when she was almost in despair, Kate and Charles arrived and brought light and laughter into her life once more.
Kate had decided she wanted a little entertainment before motherhood made it impossible, and she and Charles were determined to enjoy themselves. They were so happy together that they had a kind of aura which spread to everyone about them. Not even Roland was immune. He pulled himself out of his torpor and made a determined effort to be affable. The invitations which had stood unanswered on the mantelshelf were accepted and they began to go out and about.
Kate took Margaret out shopping for the clothes she had had no inclination to buy before; there had seemed no reason to deck herself in finery to sit at home alone, even though Roland had urged her to do so. Now she found herself buying gowns, petticoats, mantles, shawls, stockings, slippers, and even a new riding-habit with a military coat—all gold braid and frogging. Accompanied by Roland and Charles, the two young wives attended receptions, soirées and routs, and danced the night away at grand balls, and Margaret blessed her sister-in-law for making it possible.
‘Roland never wanted to go out before you came,’ she said one afternoon when Kate came to call on her after a shopping expedition which looked set to impoverish her husband if she repeated it many more times. Her town chariot was loaded with packages, many of them fripperies for her nursery, for the coming child meant everything to her. ‘Do you suppose he was ashamed of me?’
‘Heavens, why? You are beautiful, don’t you know that? And you know how to go on. I am ready to wager you will be the belle of any ball you attend. He would not have married you if he did not think you could hold your own in Society.’
‘But my background is not of the first order, is it?’
‘Pooh to that. He may not like the Capitains, but there is no denying their name is as old and as respected in Society as the Pargeters’. And there is nothing wrong with the Donningtons, is there?’
‘Not that I am aware of.’
‘Perhaps Roly has other troubles weighing on his mind. Shall I ask him?’
‘No, I could not bear him to think I was prying. Perhaps, one day he will tell me what is wrong.’
‘It could be his wound troubling him,’ Kate said thoughtfully. ‘Charles told me it was very severe and he was laid abed for months with it. Do you think it could be that?’
‘Oh, very likely.’ Margaret seized this lifeline and resolved not to dwell on Roland’s ill humours of the past while he was so obviously in excellent spirits now. ‘He would never complain of it, would he?’
They were agreed on that, and Kate went on to talk of the rooms she was making ready at her Huntingdon home for her baby. There was about her a glow, something more than beauty, which shone from her eyes and embraced everyone. ‘If it is a boy we shall name him George, after my father. I had thought of naming him for Roland, but I am sure you will want that for your son, and three Rolands in a family would be just too many.’ She laughed and looked sideways at Margaret. ‘You are not…’
Margaret smiled. ‘Not yet.’ She wanted Roland to be the first to know, and had as yet not found the right moment to impart the news that she was expecting a child. She was not sure how he would view it. He had never rescinded their bargain, never said, now you are my wife in truth, you do not have to go. The news might make him angry. He might even think she had somehow accomplished it on purpose to hold on to him, though how she could have done it without the hand of providence she did not know.
‘There is time,’ Kate said.
‘Yes, all the time in the world,’ Margaret agreed, with a sinking heart. ‘Are you out this evening?’
‘We go to Ranelagh Gardens.’ She seized Margaret’s hand enthusiastically. ‘Say you’ll come too.’
‘I should like to, but I do not know if Roland——’
‘Oh, of course he will. Really, Margaret, you must not be afraid to stand up to him, bully him a little. He will respect you for it.’
Margaret was not so sure, but in the event it was not necessary; Roland agreed to meet Charles and Kate in the pavillion at nine o’clock.
Margaret dressed carefully, wondering if tonight would offer an opportunity to tell Roland her news. Perhaps in the comforting darkness of the gardens they might be alone together and she could whisper it. He might even be pleased.
She wore a panniered gown of rose-coloured silk, over a petticoat of silver net. Its stiffened bodice emphasised a waist that had not yet begun to thicken, and was embroidered with scrolls of leaves and flowers. The low neckline was filled with lace for modesty’s sake. A froth of lace floated from the short sleeves. Her hair was dressed high and wide with elaborate curls down both sides and crowned with a head-dress of feathers and trailing ribbons. A flimsy silver lace shawl was draped over her shoulders to keep off the chill of the evening air. On her feet were satin slippers dyed to match her gown. Thus attired, she picked up her reticule and chicken-skin fan and left her room to await her husband in the drawing-room.
Roland, in his own room, submitted with scant patience to the attentions of his valet, who would not be hurried. His finger nails were burnished, his brows plucked a little, being too thick for Johnson’s liking. He was powdered and painted, and a patch was set below his left eye to cover an old pin-prick of a wound which only the servant could see. Rings were put on his fingers, silk stockings on his muscular calves, pulled up and tucked under the ribbons that tied his white breeches below the knee. A cambric shirt was followed by a satin waistcoat and a cravat neatly tied about his throat. Then came the putting on of the burgundy velvet coat, so well fitting that this could not be accomplished by its wearer alone, and last of all, a wig was set upon his head and a buckle fastened above the ribbon which tied it back. He slipped his feet into his shoes and stood up, surveying himself in the mirror with a quirk of amusement. ‘A veritable fop, Johnson. If the men of Winterford could see me now…’
‘But you are not in Winterford, my lord, you are in town. Would you have me derided for a man who does not know how to dress his master?’
‘No.’ He smiled, and attached a quizzing-glass and a fob to one of his waistcoat buttons. ‘Let us hope it pleases the ladies.’ He meant one lady, as Johnson was well aware. He did not wait for a reply, but picked up his cane and hurried down the stairs to meet her.
‘How charming you look,’ he said, appraising her before taking her hand and bowing over it.
‘And you, my lord, look very modish.’
He smiled, and offered her his arm to escort her to their town chariot which waited at the front door.
They were early and, as Charles and Kate had not yet arrived, they spent the time wandering over the lawns, watching the fireworks, and the musicians preparing for the dancing which would take place in the pavilion when darkness sent everyone indoors. The gardens were crowded; couples walked arm in arm, nodding and swaying to acquaintances, or hurrying off down the many walkways to avoid being recognised; many a reputation had been lost in the gardens. Groups of people laughed and joked and flirted. There were fireworks and dancing bears and coloured lanterns in the trees, casting pale shadows which dipped and plunged as the wind stirred the branches. Margaret, her hand lightly on Roland’s arm, strolled with him along the walkway towards the pavillion and their meeting with Kate and Charles, but she was in no hurry. Now perhaps was the time.
She went so far as to say, ‘Roland, I——’ but got no further. Kate and Charles were just ahead of them, talking to a middle-aged couple and a young lady dressed in the very latest fashion; her panniered dress was at least five feet wide, balanced by the height of her wig. The man laughed at something Charles had said, then turned and caught sight of Roland and Margaret. The laughter died on his face, though his mouth remained
open a second or two longer before he snapped it shut. The others turned, and Margaret found herself subjected to the scrutiny of five pairs of eyes, three of which were decidedly unfriendly. Charles looked uncomfortable and Kate puzzled. The moment seemed to go on a long time before Roland turned on his heel and almost dragged Margaret away down an avenue of trees and out of their sight.
‘What is wrong? Who were those people?’
‘It matters not. Let us stroll a little longer; it is too warm to go indoors.’
‘What will Charles and Kate think of our behaviour? We as good as cut them direct.’
‘They will think I want to be with my wife; what else should they think?’
She wished it were the truth, but she knew it was not, though she dared not anger him by questioning him further. She could feel the tension in him as she took his arm to walk between clipped hedges and come out on to one of the lawns, where a troupe of acrobats was amusing the crowd.
‘Shall we sit?’ she asked, making for one of the seats which were spaced around the perimeter of the lawn. ‘I am feeling a little faint.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He was at once solicitous. ‘Would you like me to fetch you a cordial—ratafia, perhaps?’
‘Please.’
While he was gone, she composed herself to tell him her news, mentally rehearsing how she would begin, imagining his reaction—several reactions, from pleasure to anger. She began to fidget, wanting to have done with it. It was too noisy to talk here; the crowd were laughing and applauding the performers. She rose and walked slowly in the direction Roland had gone, intending to meet him as he came back with her drink. The walkway was dark and there were couples sitting, even lying, in recesses in the hedges. She hurried on, eyes averted, towards some lights she could see a little way off. When she came near she realised that the lights were coloured lanterns swinging above a little pagoda. She had almost reached it when she heard voices and stopped. Not wanting to intrude, she turned to go, but then she recognised Roland’s voice and was rooted to the spot.
