The Gilded Web

by Mary Balogh

  “He was waiting for a lady to elope with,” Lord Eden said, twirling her as they reached a corner of the ballroom.

  “Really?” Madeline’s eyes sparkled up at him. “Are you sure, Dom? How deliciously scandalous! Who? Do tell me. You did not challenge him to a duel in order to protect the lady’s honor, did you? She wasn’t one of your flirts, was she?”

  She did not hear his mumbled reply.

  “What?” she said, leaning toward him.

  “I thought she was you,” he said.

  “What?” Madeline stopped in the middle of a spin. “You thought I was going to elope with Sir Hedley Fairhaven? Have your wits gone totally begging? If we were not exactly where we are at this moment, Dominic Raine, I would take you on for this. And black both your eyes too.”

  “Hush, Mad!” he said, flushing and glancing uneasily about him. “People will be looking. It was half your fault that I made such an embarrassing mistake, you know. You have been hanging around with Fairhaven all over London for the past month, and you distinctly told me just last week that you would marry him too if you chose to do so, and I was to keep my nose out of your affairs, thank you very much.”

  “And you know me so little,” she said, dancing valiantly on, an empty smile on her face as she waltzed past friends and acquaintances, “that you think I would do anything so very tasteless and so very…stupid? How could you, Dom! To marry Sir Hedley, of all people. And to elope with him!”

  “You must admit that you tried it once before, Mad,” Lord Eden said. “How was I to know that you would not do it again?”

  “Oh! I was eighteen,” she said indignantly, “and fell in love with a uniform. And it is horrid of you to remind me of that youthful indiscretion, Dom. As if I have learned no wisdom and acquired no maturity in four years. Why did you think I was going to elope with Sir Hedley tonight, anyway?”

  “I overheard him,” he said. “I was sitting in one of the alcoves with Miss Pope and he was sitting just the other side of the curtain. I suppose he didn’t know there was anyone there, because we…well, we weren’t talking, anyway.”

  “I cannot imagine what you were doing with Miss Pope if you were not talking with her,” Madeline said caustically. “But whom was he talking to and what did he say?”

  “I don’t know who the other man was,” Lord Eden said. “But Fairhaven was planning to leave with some lady at midnight, and he was giving directions to the other about what to do tomorrow when the cat was out of the bag.”

  “And you assumed I was the one running away with him,” Madeline said.

  “I’m afraid so,” he admitted, giving her a disarming smile.

  “Why have you told me this, Dom?” she asked suspiciously. “It was surely not in order that I might have a good laugh at your stupidity.”

  “No.” He grinned apologetically down at her. “It’s just that at the time I wanted to be able to concentrate my attention and my fists on Fairhaven. I set Faber and Jones to spiriting you off to Edmund’s so that I would know you were safe. I couldn’t find them in the garden after my talk with Fairhaven. They doubtless took themselves off when they did not find you there. But I thought I had better warn you anyway.”

  “You set those two to…to kidnap me!” Madeline’s voice had risen almost to a squeak. “I suppose they were to bind me hand and foot and gag and blindfold me?”

  Her twin looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think all that would have been necessary,” he said. “But you know yourself that you would not have gone willingly, Mad. Especially if you had had your heart set on an elopement. I had to arrange it all hastily in the past hour. I did tell them to, ah, insist that you go with them.”

  “Oh, Dom,” Madeline said, smiling dazzlingly at one of her favorite admirers, who was standing close by, watching her, “you have had a narrow escape, brother mine. I would have had your head on a platter for breakfast if your friends had laid one fingernail on my person. And I would wager that Edmund would have done the ax work for me.”

  “Yes, well,” he said, “I thought I should warn you, Mad, to have an eye open for those two. I needn’t have said anything to you, you know. I could have taken the chance of keeping quiet. This is all pretty embarrassing, as you might imagine.”

  “Pamela thought you were coming to ask her to waltz,” she said. “I know she did, Dom. She blushed in that way she has whenever she sees you coming. And she always thinks that you are going to notice her. She really does have a painful tendre for you. You will dance the next set with her?”

  “This is my punishment?” he asked, grinning ruefully down at her.

  “Pamela is my friend,” she said. “I do not consider it punishment for a gentleman to dance with her, Dom. She dotes on you, you know. And you really are very handsome. I see the way all the girls look at you. And so many of them this year are years younger than you and I.”

  “We will have to dust off a spinster cap for you soon,” he said. “You are getting very close to your dotage, Mad. No, don’t look at me like that. The next set it is for Lady Pamela. You see how contrite I am?”

  Lord Eden duly danced with his sister’s friend and unconsciously enslaved her even further with his charm and his sunny smile. There was nothing to keep him at the ball once the set was over. Miss Pope had proved a disappointment, perhaps because his attention had been taken by Fairhaven when he was kissing her. And Miss Carstairs had not appeared at all that evening, having contracted a cold in the head at Vauxhall Gardens a few evenings before. And since he was currently in love with Miss Carstairs, her absence made even the most glittering of social occasions dreary.

  Besides, he was still feeling decidedly foolish over the Fairhaven affair. He had gone out to that carriage all fire and brimstone and brotherly outrage, ready to challenge the man to meet him at dawn on a foggy heath with pistols and seconds. He was fortunate to have got away without being challenged himself, but Fairhaven had appeared to have other matters on his mind, most notably, the little female who was lurking in the shadows obviously waiting for her lover’s visitor to take himself off.

  Lord Eden sallied forth from the ball to one of his clubs in the hope of finding some diversion to take his mind off the night’s faux pas. If he were fortunate, too, perhaps he would run into Faber and Jones and persuade them that it would be as well to keep their mouths shut about the night’s dealings or lack thereof.

  He did not believe Miss Pope would start any awkward gossip. Even if she had heard, Madeline’s name had not been mentioned. But it was doubtful that she had been aware of the scandalous conversation going on behind the curtain in the alcove anyway. He had kissed her with sufficient ardor to distract her as he had listened with all his attention. And she had looked suitably witless when he had finally lifted his mouth from hers. Perhaps that was why he had found her disappointing. It was far more intriguing to kiss a female whose manner left one in some doubt over whether one’s hand would be welcomed or slapped if it chose to wander somewhere where it had no business to be.

  It really was not all his fault that he had jumped to such a conclusion about Madeline and Fairhaven. Madeline really had tried to run off with a half-pay officer less than a week after her eighteenth birthday. Was he to blame if he had assumed that Fairhaven’s traveling companion to Gretna was to be Madeline? She had said less than a week before that she would marry him if she chose. And it was just the sort of thing she would do, too, just to spite him. She never had got over the humiliation of being a full half-hour younger than he. Though to do her justice, she had never shown any indignation over the fact that she had been born female and had not therefore inherited one of their father’s junior titles as he had.

  What a very narrow and fortunate escape he had had that night! Lord Eden handed his hat and cane to the doorman at Boodle’s and prepared to enjoy what remained of the night.

  JAMES PURNELL WAS WATCHING the dancers. He had come from the card room just a few minutes before, where he had watched rather than participate
d. He had danced earlier, with his cousin Caroline and with two other young girls who had been smiling brightly as if they did not mind at all having no partner for the sets that had already begun.

  He felt restless—as usual. He had been glad to leave the country, where he could never feel at home ever again, where his strained relations with his father were more in evidence than they were here, and where he was allowed no hand in the running of the estate. And yet he was not glad to be in London, where the endless social round seemed pointless and silly. It fell upon him to escort his mother and sister to almost all the events of the ton. A quiet soiree or a musical evening might coax his father abroad, but balls and routs and the theater were fitting only for females intent on making a showing with the people who mattered. Lord Beckworth stayed at home with his books and sermons.

  Purnell watched broodingly the tall, slender young dancer in blue. She was somewhat older than most of the other unmarried girls, but she had all the freshness and glow of youth. He tended to notice her almost wherever he went, though he had never been presented to her or asked to be. Lady Madeline Raine. She was no prettier than a score of other girls in the ballroom. There was nothing particularly unusual about her short dark blond curls or her eyes, which might be blue or green—he had never been close enough to know which. Her figure was good but by no means unusually so.

  He did not know quite what always drew his eyes. The sparkle, perhaps, that was absent from the women in his own family? Alex was perhaps younger than Lady Madeline Raine, but Alex had never been as young. She had never been given the chance.

  Purnell shrugged his shoulders and turned to search the crowds for his mother and his sister. He saw the former sitting in an obscure corner of the room talking to a faded creature, who was doubtless a chaperone. He crossed the room toward them and bowed.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” he said to the faded creature, drawing some color to her cheeks and a surprised smile to her lips. “Have you seen Alex, Mama? I have ordered the carriage to be brought around.”

  “She has gone with Deirdre and Caroline, James,” Lady Beckworth said. “They begged quite insistently that she be allowed to go. Your papa will not like it, will he? But there can be no real harm in her going, can there? Deirdre is his sister, after all.”

  Her son frowned. “I think Alex might be allowed to decide such matters for herself, Mama,” he said. “She is of age, after all. Will you take my arm?”

  He bowed again to the faded chaperone as his mother turned to say good night, and found his eyes straying once more to the dancers. Lady Madeline Raine was still waltzing with her twin, Lord Eden.

  THERE WAS A SUGGESTION OF DAWN IN THE sky already before Edmund Raine, Earl of Amberley, returned home. He had spent most of the night with Mrs. Eunice Borden, his mistress. Indeed, it was becoming more and more his habit to stay with her. He found the relationship comfortable. As he was dressing and preparing to step out into the cold night, he found himself thinking, not for the first time, of suggesting to her that they marry.

  It was difficult to put into words why he was finding the affair so satisfactory. And even more difficult to know why he was contemplating matrimony. Eunice was not a pretty woman. She was not even particularly attractive. She had a short, rather heavyset figure, strong features, and short, dark, very curly hair. Her manner was quite unflirtatious. She spoke in a forthright way that occasionally offended, but never left her listener in any doubt about her true feelings. She had acquired a well-deserved reputation as a literary hostess. Her salon was always worth attending during almost any evening of the week.

  And she was older than he by three years. She was two-and-thirty years old, a widow for the past six years. She had never made any attempt to conceal her age.

  Lord Amberley looked behind him and smiled at Eunice as she lay in bed, the blankets neatly pulled up under her arms, her hands clasped loosely over her stomach. Her legs were stretched out side by side beneath the covers.

  “Thank you, Eunice,” he said, as he always did before leaving her. “You are very good to me, my dear.”

  “I am glad you came, Amberley,” she said. She never called him by any other name. “I can always count on you for interesting and stimulating conversation. Do you think Mr. Denny a serious poet? I found his manner rather irritating tonight, as if he is somewhat in love with the idea of being a poet.”

  “That seems to be rather a failing of poets in general, do you not think?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment. “Yes, you are right of course,” she said. “And one can forgive a measure of eccentricity provided the creative genius is really present. In Mr. Denny’s case, I rather doubt that there is any genius at all. I do not believe I will invite him again. I would not wish to have my salon gain a reputation for mediocrity.”

  “I think that is hardly likely to happen,” Lord Amberley said, sitting down on a chair and pulling on one of his Hessian boots. “Would you consider marrying me, Eunice?”

  She showed no outward sign of surprise or any other emotion. “I don’t believe that would be wise for you, Amberley,” she said. “I am too old to be thinking of giving you heirs. You will need to marry someone younger.”

  “And what if I am not too concerned about heirs?” he said, regarding her with a half-smile. “And what if I am satisfied with a more mature and sensible wife?”

  “Then you are a fool,” Mrs. Borden said. “It is your duty to beget children of your own, Amberley. Personal inclination is of small consideration when you have an earldom to pass along.”

  “Are you saying no?” he asked. “Or are you open to persuasion?”

  “I do not believe I am willing to give up my independence,” she said. “I am quite satisfied to be your mistress for as long as you wish, Amberley. But your wife? No, I think not. We would not be nearly as comfortable together if we were married. We would begin to wrangle. Take my word for it.”

  Lord Amberley did not argue the point. He leaned over the bed to give his mistress the usual good-night kiss on her cheek—never on her lips—and took his leave of her.

  He walked home, as he generally did, noting the signs of early dawn, the almost imperceptible lightening of the eastern sky. He was glad he had worn his greatcoat when he left the house the evening before, though it had seemed foolish to be doing so in May.

  Eunice was probably right. It was better that they live their separate lives. The funny thing was that he could not remember quite how their affair had started. What exactly had happened to cause them to go to bed with each other that first time? He could not recall. He had never found her particularly attractive. He had enjoyed her salon and her conversation. He had grown into the habit of lingering until her last guest left, and then even beyond that. But when had conversation first given place to physical contact? He had never kissed her on the lips. He had started sleeping with her without any big romantic moment to herald the beginning of the affair. That had been more than a year before.

  He had not had any other woman since. And that in itself was surprising. During the months of each year that he spent on his estate, he always lived a celibate life. But during his months in London he had often indulged himself with several women. He had remained faithful to Eunice, though, resuming their affair this spring after his winter at Amberley Court.

  It was not a passionate affair. Indeed, he was quite sure that Eunice did not derive any pleasure at all from their couplings. She certainly did not participate in them beyond receiving him in a quite matter-of-fact manner, giving what she knew he wanted without either prudishness or coquetry. He often wondered what satisfaction she got out of their liaison. But perhaps it was in her attitude that he found his own satisfaction. In his busy life of responsibility for the happiness of others, it was refreshing to find someone who seemed more intent on giving than receiving.

  He had expected that she would marry him. A desire to be the Countess of Amberley, to live a life of security as his wife, would have explained her w
illingness to submit to his embraces. And yet he was not surprised by her refusal. Eunice was not a woman to whom position and security would be overriding goals. She had been married very young to Mr. Borden and had been left with a comfortable independence eight years later. She did not appear to regret her widowed state.

  Lord Amberley let himself into his town house with his own key. He always insisted that his staff go to bed at midnight whether he and Dominic were at home or not. Why keep a poor footman standing around asleep on his feet for most of the night merely because his master was too busy bedding his mistress to come home at a decent hour?

  He climbed the stairs and walked the length of the upper corridor to his bedchamber. He yawned. Perhaps if the birds did not strike up too enthusiastic a dawn chorus outside his window, he would be able to snatch another few hours of sleep before beginning his day.

  He stopped and listened. Was Madeline home? She did not come very often, as he had bought his mother her own town house four years before, having decided that she would be happier in her own establishment while in London, and naturally enough, her daughter had gone to live with her. But Madeline did come home on occasion, notably when Mama was otherwise engaged. His sister had been at the Easton ball last night, he believed. Dominic had been going to put in an appearance there too. Madeline must have returned with him.

  She must be still awake. She certainly was tossing and turning in her room. He could hear her from where he was. Had something happened to upset her? It seemed unlikely. Madeline had a sunny nature and was not easily upset. Lord Amberley shrugged his shoulders and proceeded on his way.

  And yet, standing fifteen minutes later in his dressing gown at the window of his bedchamber, looking out onto a street that was brightening into a new day, he sipped from a glass of water and wondered about his younger sister. What was she doing at home? Mama had not said anything about going away. They had not quarreled, had they? He frowned and looked toward the door of his room. Should he go and see if she really was still awake? Would she thank him for disturbing her even if she were?