The Gilded Web

by Mary Balogh

  He looked somewhat taken aback. “You are more kind than I deserve,” he said. “I have come to make things right if I can. I know that you cannot possibly wish to marry me. You must wish me at the bottom of the deepest ocean. I have heard that you have had an understanding with the Duke of Peterleigh. I cannot begin to compete with him in consequence. And you must have rather a poor opinion of the stability of my character. But you may be assured that as your husband I would spend the rest of my life trying to make up to you what I have taken from you.”

  Alexandra’s eyes had widened. “Oh,” she said, “you have come to offer for me too? It is quite unnecessary, my lord, as I told Lord Amberley yesterday. I am grateful that you have come to apologize, even though I had already forgiven you. But really you need do no more.”

  He looked with boyish earnestness into her eyes. “But you must marry me, Miss Purnell,” he said. “I have severely compromised you. I am sorry from my heart that you have no choice, but really I do not think you have.”

  “No one need even know what happened,” she said. “It was all rather silly nonsense anyway. I believe you refine altogether too much on it, my lord.”

  He reached for her hand and held it in a firm grip. Alexandra looked down at their clasped hands, embarrassed and not knowing if she should snatch her own away. He seemed not to be conscious of what he had done.

  “The whole thing is already common knowledge,” he said. “Did you not know? I did not think you could have escaped doing so. Servants, it seems, are not quite as discreet as we might hope. Amberley has already dismissed the footman responsible, but it is too late to repair the damage. I am afraid your reputation has been badly compromised.”

  “Oh, nonsense!” Alexandra turned away from him, using the movement as an excuse to withdraw her hand from his. “I was not in any way to blame for what happened. Everyone will realize that. And you made a mistake. Everyone will know that too. The whole matter will doubtless become a joke over which everyone will laugh heartily. I shall be horribly embarrassed to be seen in public for the next two or three days. But a little laughter never hurt anyone. I will be none the worse for it.”

  Lord Eden passed his fingers through his hair, leaving it considerably more disheveled than even the current fashion would allow. “Far be it from me to contradict a lady,” he said, “but do you know much about the ways of society, ma’am?”

  “I have lived my whole life on my father’s estate,” she said, “but I do assure you, Lord Eden, that I was brought up to know the difference between right and wrong. And I expect everyone who can lay claim to the name of lady or gentleman to know the same. I expect the same people to have a good deal of sense.”

  “Oh, Lord!” he said.

  “So you see,” she continued, folding her hands before her again and injecting a note of finality into her voice, “your concern is not really necessary, my lord. But I thank you for your visit and your offer. I will wish you good day. My father said ten minutes, and he does not take kindly to disobedience.”

  “Miss Purnell!” He strode impulsively toward her again and reached out both hands for hers. He did not wait for her to respond. He took her clasped hands and separated them with his own. “I beg you to reconsider. You do not know what is facing you when you leave this house. I cannot bear the thought that I have brought that on you. Marry me. I will not be a hard master, I promise you. I will treat you with the utmost respect and affection. I owe you that, though I do believe that I would offer the same to any wife. Please marry me. Allow me to protect you.”

  Alexandra was touched despite her embarrassment over his proximity and his hands clasping hers. She only just stopped herself from returning the pressure of his hands.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I truly thank you. But I am to marry His Grace of Peterleigh. There has been an understanding between us since I was in my infancy. I must leave now, my lord. My father will be very angry if I do not.”

  Then she did return the pressure of his hands before she realized what she was doing, pulled her own away, and made her way from the room before he had a chance to detain her further. She ran up the stairs to her mother’s sitting room, thankful that at last the whole ridiculous and humiliating episode was at an end.

  LORD AMBERLEY SAT IN Mrs. Eunice Borden’s drawing room listening to her talk. Or rather not listening. She was telling him about a book of poems her latest protégé had presented her with the previous evening. He was smiling and watching her, not deliberately inattentive, but not listening even so.

  “It is unusual for you to visit during the afternoon, Amberley,” she said finally, breaking off quite abruptly what she was saying.

  “What?” he said. “Oh, yes, I suppose it is. Do you mind, Eunice? Am I keeping you from something more important?”

  “Not at all,” she said. “I had planned to spend the afternoon reading, but I would just as soon spend it conversing with you. Something is the matter?”

  He shook his head and smiled at her. “No, no,” he said. “I merely felt the need of your good sense.”

  She looked at him closely for a few moments. “If you wish,” she said, “we may remove to my bedchamber. Daylight does not seem quite appropriate to such activity, but that is no matter if it will content you.”

  He continued to smile at her. “Would it embarrass you, Eunice,” he asked, “to be made love to during the daytime?”

  “I believe it would,” she said frankly. “Though it is quite absurd to feel so when the same thing happens, after all, whether the room is light or dark. Come along, Amberley, I can see it is what you wish.”

  He rose to his feet and looked down at her apologetically. “You are good to me, Eunice,” he said. “You can read me like a book, can you not?”

  “I can see that something is troubling you,” she said, “and that somehow you are in need of me. Perhaps afterwards you will feel like talking about it. But only if you wish. I shall not pry into your affairs.”

  And she was as good as her word, Lord Amberley found. If she was embarrassed, she did not show it, but allowed him to take his pleasure beneath the bedsheets rather more lingeringly than was his habit with her and to sink into blissful unconsciousness beside her afterward. When he awoke, she was lying as usual on her back, her legs neatly side by side, her hands clasped loosely over the blanket, her eyes open. He felt a momentary regret that he had never been able to give her pleasure in their couplings. She seemed not to want it and had told him quite matter-of-factly on the only occasion when his hands had strayed that it was quite unnecessary for him to caress her.

  He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with one knuckle. “Thank you, Eunice,” he said.

  “I am always happy to give you pleasure,” she said.

  “Have you heard of the scandal?” he asked.

  “I very much doubt it,” she said. “I do not meet a great number of people outside my salon, Amberley, and quite frankly, I do not derive any pleasure from listening to gossip. Most of it is untrue anyway.”

  “This is all too real, I am afraid,” he said. “Dominic took it into his head two evenings ago to kidnap Madeline in order to save her from an elopement that she had teased him into believing possible. He had some corkbrained friends of his take her to my house, tie her to the bedpost so that she would not run away, and gag her so that she would not disturb the servants’ sleep. The scheme worked beautifully well except that the girl was not Madeline.”

  “And I can guess the rest of the story,” she said. “The girl has been compromised and must be married. Lord Eden is too young to be faced with such a responsibility, so you are to wed her. It is quite what I would expect of you, Amberley. You have some misgivings about the girl?”

  “She will not have me,” he said, “or Dominic.”

  “She must be very new to London and society, then,” Mrs. Borden said, “or of very firm character. Has she not yet found out what will happen to her?”

  “I am afraid she must soon,”
he said. “The scandal broke yesterday when a new footman of mine gossiped.”

  “Then you must go back to her and renew your offer,” she said.

  Lord Amberley turned onto his side and raised himself on his elbow. “Yes, I am afraid I must, Eunice,” he said.

  She turned her head and looked at him. “It is making a decision that is hard, Amberley,” she said. “Once the decision is made, then there is nothing more to worry about. You have decided to do what is right. Did you wish me to reassure you? Is that why you came? You are right. Of course you are.”

  “Oh, yes, I know that, Eunice,” he said, the same smile on his face as he had worn downstairs earlier. “But I wanted to marry you, dear.”

  “You only think you do, Amberley,” she said, “because you are comfortable with me and we share a friendship. But friendship is not sufficient for a good marriage. At least, for you it is not. You need more. You need passion, and you cannot get passion from me. Only comfort and companionship. We are only an episode, you know. We would have ended sooner or later. It is as well to end our association now when we still like each other a great deal.”

  “I will miss you,” he said. “I notice that you are assuming that our affair must end if I marry Miss Purnell.”

  “Well, of course it must,” she said. “I know you well enough, Amberley, to realize that you could not be unfaithful to a wife. And I believe you know me well enough to understand that I would not receive another woman’s husband. We need feel no guilt over this afternoon. You are not yet betrothed, and I did not know of your obligation. But this is the end now. You must not return.”

  “No,” he said. His smile was a little twisted. “I must not.”

  “Just tell me one thing,” she said. “Will you be able to make a marriage of it, Amberley? Is there the chance that you will find with this Miss Purnell the passion you will need?”

  “I think not,” he said. “But I will make a marriage of it, Eunice. I will owe her that. She is quite blameless in all this, you know. A total innocent. I must spend my life making her a good husband. She was to marry Peterleigh.”

  “Then she is a very fortunate lady,” Mrs. Borden said. “Peterleigh is humorless and egotistical. No woman could be happy with him. I would say that her misadventure was most fortunate.”

  He grinned unexpectedly. “Thank you, Eunice,” he said. “I must get dressed and leave you now. I must try to find Miss Purnell tonight. If she has the courage or the rashness to go out, she will probably be at either Lady Sharp’s soiree or the Higgins’ rout. If she is wise, she will stay at home and I shall pay my call tomorrow morning.”

  It was impossible to know, Lord Amberley thought a few minutes later as he bent to kiss her cheek, whether Eunice was sorry to see him go or somewhat relieved that she no longer needed to render him a service that she did not enjoy.

  LADY MADELINE RAINE WAS ENJOYING herself at Lady Sharp’s soiree. There were advantages to being two-and-twenty and still neither betrothed nor married, she was discovering with pleased surprise. She had been rather fearful that this year she would be just too old to attract the female friendships and male admiration that had always come her way so easily. She had half-expected to find herself relegated to spinster status.

  But it was not so. The younger girls seemed eager to be seen with her and to copy her fashions. And the gentlemen appeared to find her no less attractive for all her declining years. Indeed, they seemed to vie for her attention more than ever. There were three of them now conversing with her and Lady Pamela Paisley.

  And one of them was Sir Derek Peignton, the adorable blond giant whom she had not encountered during all her previous Seasons, although he must be close to Edmund in age. She was quite in love with him. She had danced with him twice at the Easton ball and had allowed him to drive her in the park the afternoon before. He had touched his hat and bowed to her on Bond Street that morning when she had deigned to nod and smile at him.

  She hoped it was real love. There was something to be said for having had five Seasons in a row and having been free to enjoy them to the full while she saw around her the girls with whom she had made her come-out seasoned matrons already, some of them with more than one child. But there was still that eternal female longing to belong to one man, to have the security of his name. She wanted to be married.

  The only trouble was that she also wanted to be in love. And she had an annoying habit of falling in love with the wrong gentlemen or of falling out of love again just when she was thoroughly convinced that she was in forever. She had been in love with Sir Hedley Fairhaven at the start of the Season, though she could not now imagine why. The man was clearly nothing but a fortune hunter. She had probably imagined herself in love merely to assert her independence over Dominic, who had frowned his disapproval the very first time he had seen her dance with Sir Hedley.

  Thank goodness at least Edmund did not interfere quite so openly. He had told her during her very first Season that she might choose her own husband, within reason. Those last two words, of course, had more meaning than had at first appeared. She had accused him of going back on his word when he had discovered a note from Lieutenant Harris giving details of their elopement plans and had told her quite plainly that it would not do and that he would not consent to the marriage even if he had to confine her to her room for a year.

  But she had admitted long ago that on that occasion he had been quite right. She would not have been happy following the drum and she certainly would not have remained long in love with a man who was well known for his recklessness at cards and for his capacity to outdrink all companions. He had seemed dashing only because he wore a uniform and had a devil-may-care approach to life.

  But no one could say that Sir Derek was ineligible—not Edmund, and not even Dominic, who was much harder to please where her suitors were concerned. Sir Derek was elegant and wealthy and charming and very, very handsome. She wanted to be in love with him. She wanted to be married and settled in life, and it would undoubtedly be very glamorous to be married to someone like him.

  Madeline gazed around the crowded drawing room, well pleased with the evening. She chattered to the whole group and smiled on them all and exchanged special glances with Sir Derek—she was sure that he felt the same attraction she was feeling.

  And she wondered if Miss Purnell was present or about to be. It was rather difficult to look around one for someone one has never seen before, or at least someone one does not remember to have seen before. And how could she possibly ask anyone? Everyone would know perfectly well the reason for her curiosity. It was very probable, of course, that Miss Purnell would not be there. Even if she had planned to come, the scandal would doubtless keep her away.

  But Madeline hoped against hope that she would come and that somehow she would be recognizable. And it was very possible that she would be. She would surely have special treatment if she dared to put in an appearance. Madeline desperately wanted to see her. She wanted to see with her own eyes just what a very narrow escape Dominic and Edmund had had.

  She still found it hard to believe that Miss Purnell had refused both of them. Under the circumstances the girl appeared to have had little choice but to choose one of them. And anyway, to refuse her two brothers! They were surely two of the handsomest and most eligible gentlemen in town. She had felt very grateful to Miss Purnell when she had first heard of the rejections, and inclined to like the girl. It was only after her first relief that perversely she had started to resent the woman who had refused both her brothers, when they had nobly been prepared to sacrifice their own happiness in order to protect her name.

  Madeline was still part of the same group, though standing beside Sir Derek Peignton and in semiprivate conversation with him, when Maisie Baines joined them.

  “Good evening, Lady Madeline, Lady Pamela,” she said. She fluttered her fan at the three gentlemen. “You really would not think she would have the nerve, would you?”

  Mr. Sheldon looked across the ro
om, over Madeline’s shoulder, and raised his quizzing glass to his eye. “One would not expect her to have the courage,” he said in tones that set the color rising in Miss Baines’s cheeks.

  “Grandmama is in the card room,” she said. “But I know she will wish me to remove to the music room now. One cannot be too careful of the company one keeps, Grandmama says.”

  Madeline turned her head to see the new arrivals.

  “I cannot help feeling sorry for Miss Purnell,” Lady Pamela said. “It is most unfortunate that she went walking alone.”

  “Grandmama says that she has come by her just deserts,” Miss Baines said.

  Miss Purnell was tall, Madeline saw, and almost exaggeratedly upright in bearing. Her chin was held high. Her face and manner were quite calm and self-possessed. She had very dark hair. She was not pretty. “Handsome” was perhaps a word that would describe her if everything about her did not look quite so severe. Her green gown was simple and unadorned. She wore no jewelry. And her hair, absent of all plumes or ribbons, was dressed in a plain chignon.

  She had a hand resting on the arm of a man who resembled her to no small degree. He was taller than she, though not of immense height. He looked strong and agile. Indeed, he did not look as if he belonged in a London drawing room at all. His complexion was sun-darkened. His hair, dark, straight, and thick, was cut unfashionably long. One lock was fallen across his forehead. His face was as severe as his sister’s—he must surely be the brother who had gone to fetch her from Edmund’s—his jaw set in a hard line, his eyes watching the occupants of the room intently. Madeline did not remember to have seen either one before.

  She disliked Miss Purnell on sight. She was proud and haughty. Madeline was very glad she had refused Edmund and Dominic. Madeline would not have enjoyed having such a woman as a sister-in-law.

  “Would you like me to conduct you to the music room, Lady Madeline?” Sir Derek asked solicitously.

  “No, thank you.” She smiled up at him and felt a certain breathlessness. His gray eyes seemed very close to hers. His shoulders were very broad.