The Gilded Web

by Mary Balogh

  “Oh, Dom!” she said.

  He flashed her a grin. “I saw you waltzing with Purnell twice last night,” he said. “Perhaps we can have that double wedding after all, Mad.”

  “What an appalling thought,” she said. “I mean, both weddings. I danced with him a second time only because Mr. Courtney took hold of my hand before the last waltz, placed it in Mr. Purnell’s, and declared that he simply must see us dance together once more. Sometimes his lack of conduct is quite mortifying. I could tell that Mr. Purnell was as delighted as I was. He spoke scarce a word the whole time.”

  “Well,” he said, “you must keep him talking this morning. Will you, Mad? I need some time alone with Miss Purnell.”

  She sighed. “Keep him talking about what?” she asked. “Do you have any ideas, Dom? I used up all of mine long ago.”

  He got to his feet. “Will you be ready soon?” he asked. “It’s not going to take you half an hour to have your hair done or something like that, is it?”

  “Twenty minutes,” she promised. “Go away, Dom. You are interfering with my digestion.”

  But it wasn’t Dominic who was making her toast taste like wood, she thought with a sigh as he left the room. It was the prospect of riding with Mr. Purnell.

  She had been surprised the evening before when he had asked her to waltz with him. She had expected that he would be as relieved as she to find himself free of the necessity of being in close company with her for an evening. She had accepted, but she had refused to have her evening spoiled. Or at least she had tried to refuse. She had smiled up at him as gaily as if he had been one of the officers.

  It had been difficult to keep that smile in place after a few minutes. He had looked directly down at her from those dark, unfathomable eyes of his and not responded to her smile, though he had made some effort at polite conversation.

  She had been suffocatingly aware of him, of his tall lean body, his dark intense eyes, that lock of dark hair that seemed always to find its way across his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back. Madeline usually liked to feel aware of the gentlemen with whom she danced. It made her feel more feminine to be held by an attractive man and to sense the pull of that attraction. She also liked to be kissed and had several times allowed a favored gentleman a taste of her lips. But the excitement of such moments had always been light, flirtatious, exhilarating.

  She felt none of those things with James Purnell. He was very attractive, probably more so than any other man she had ever known. But the attraction she felt was not a pleasant feeling. It was not the sort of feeling that caused her to bubble over with high spirits and excitement. She could not imagine being kissed by him in the harmless way of other gentlemen during brief stolen moments, in an alcove or a shaded place in a garden.

  Indeed, the thought of being kissed by James Purnell made Madeline’s stomach lurch and her knees weaken. But not in pleasurable anticipation. He would not be gentle with a woman, she sensed. He would not be content with mild flirtation. It would be a dangerous game indeed to allow him close to her. And the thought was not exciting in any way. At least not in any pleasurable way.

  She was afraid of Mr. Purnell. He was from an alien world. She would not be able to control him as she had easily been able to control all the gentlemen who had had a part in her life for the past several years.

  “Are you enjoying the dancing?” she had asked brightly. “I think it is quite splendid, even though we have only a small room in which to twirl and only a pianoforte and a violin to supply the music.”

  “And an abundance of men to admire you,” he had said.

  She had laughed. “Do they? How very flattering.”

  “You thrive on it, don’t you?” he had said. “Hearts galore to capture and bruise.”

  “And to break and throw away,” she had said with a gay laugh. “Tomorrow I will find more and begin all over again.”

  “Perhaps someone will return the compliment one of these days,” he had said.

  Something had been burning behind his eyes. And it was only as she had smiled into them that she had realized that he was serious. And it was at the same moment that she had realized just how very afraid of him she was.

  “You are serious,” she had said, her smile frozen in place. “You think me heartless. You think I break hearts?” She had felt anger rise in her. “Name one, sir. One heart I have broken.”

  “Howard Courtney’s,” he had said without hesitation.

  “Howard?” she had said. “Howard was a childhood playmate. He knows that I do not return his regard. Am I to blame if he still sighs over me?”

  “You behave toward him and speak to him as if he were a slightly amusing toy,” he had said. “Is he worth no more merely because he is the son of a tenant farmer of your brother’s and one of your rejected flirts?”

  She had been speechless with anger and with the need to defend herself. But the music had come to an abrupt end and she had been given no opportunity to do so. By the time they were forced into company together for another waltz, the moment had passed. His contempt was hidden behind his usual taciturnity; her anger had turned her to ice. They had said almost nothing to each other. If he looked at her out of his dark eyes, she did not know it. She looked—and smiled—at everyone in the room except her partner.

  And now she must ride with him. Talk with him. Keep him somewhat apart from Dominic and Alexandra. How could she? What could she say? How could she be civil?

  Madeline sighed and pushed back her chair. There was no point in postponing the evil moment, she supposed.

  ALEXANDRA WOULD HAVE KNOWN without having to be told that the gallery was Lord Amberley’s favorite room in the house. There was, of course, the extraordinary beauty of the room. It extended the full width of the south wing, one wall almost entirely consisting of tall windows. The ceiling and frieze were painted with delicate gold-leaf filigreed patterns. Yet there was nothing to distract the mind long from the portraits that hung there.

  And it was clearly these portraits that were the center of his home. They represented Lord Amberley’s family, and his family obviously was very central to his life. Alexandra felt almost like an intruder as she listened to the pride and affection in his voice and looked at the painted faces of strangers.

  This was the family of which she was to become a part. It was strange, she thought, that when one became betrothed to someone, one imagined that only two people were concerned in the contract. And then one became aware that many other people were also involved: the immediate families, aunts and uncles, neighbors. And even the dead. She would become part of this family when she wed Lord Amberley. Part of this rich heritage.

  Why was it that she had always been almost unaware of her own heritage? Her parents had never talked about their ancestors. She had never known any family members beyond them and James, except for Aunt Deirdre and Albert and Caroline. Family, tradition, the past, had seemed not to matter in her home. Only the Bible and the moral laws. Only doing what was right and avoiding what was evil.

  “These are my grandparents,” Lord Amberley said, pausing before two life-size portraits. “They are very like, though both were considerably older when I knew them.”

  The grandmother who had loved him as a child and aided and abetted him when he played truant from the nursery! Alexandra looked with curiosity at the stern, handsome lady in her tall powdered wig and ball gown with the wide padded hips.

  If only she had had someone like that in her life. Would it have made a difference? Would Papa have allowed a grandmother to help her break the rules of the house? She had never known her own grandparents. Her mother’s parents had lived for many years after her birth, but their home had been in Berkshire, and they had never traveled the distance to Dunstable Hall.

  “Come to the windows,” Lord Amberley said quietly from behind her. “Perhaps I have bored you with all my talk of people you have never known, Alex. But the view outside is splendid at least.”

 
It was only then that Alexandra realized that she had said almost nothing since they had entered the gallery. Her thoughts had been intensely private and rather painful. She had still been caught up in that private world that her music had taken her into, despite the embarrassment she had felt at being questioned by Lord Amberley and at knowing that she had been overheard.

  “Oh,” she said, turning to him, “my silence does not indicate boredom. I like this room, Edmund. And I am fighting the urge to say it is lovely.” She flashed him a smile. “I like to paint portraits. I am always fascinated by other people’s attempts.”

  He smiled as they crossed to the windows. “You can see where you rode two days ago,” he said. “Not quite to the sea but a long way down the valley. I always like the view of the hills from here. They seem to point to eternity. It always seems an appropriate setting for a family gallery.”

  “That is the chapel?” she asked, pointing to a small building close to the house but a little higher up the hill.

  “Yes,” he said. “I don’t think there is time to go there now, Alex, but I would like you to see it. It is very small and utterly peaceful. Is it not strange that some buildings can be filled with the presence of God?”

  “Is it used?” she asked.

  “It was every morning during my grandfather’s and my father’s time,” he said. “The servants were required to drop whatever they were doing when the bell rang and assemble there for devotions. I dropped the custom two years after I succeeded to the title.”

  “Why?” she asked. “Do you not feel a responsibility for the spiritual welfare of your servants?”

  “No,” he said. “One’s spiritual welfare is a personal matter. I could force my servants to come to chapel and behave devoutly. Would I be bringing them closer to God? I think it unlikely. I have made it known that anyone may use the chapel at any time, from myself on down to the lowliest scullery maid. I have on occasion encountered a servant at prayer there.”

  “Papa would not agree with you,” she said.

  “And you?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “For all my religious devotions and all the importance of religion to my life, I do not believe I have ever felt close to God. Or really wished to be. I can never be worthy of God.”

  “But of course not,” he said. “He does not expect us to be. You must go into the chapel, Alex. Go alone. If there is daylight outside, you will see that you are among the hills. If not, then you can remind yourself that you are. You will feel incredibly close to God. And you will realize that he is not a God of censure and vengeance. Those qualities are for men who habitually misunderstand God. God is love. Nothing else. Just simply that.”

  “It would not work,” she said. “Love alone would not work. There would be chaos.”

  “Yes,” he said. “There was the crucifixion. A chaotic end for a messiah. But there was also the resurrection. Love triumphant, you see.”

  It was a sweet, seductive theory. But far too simple to represent an absolute truth. Alexandra smiled ruefully and turned away from the window.

  “Madeline and Lord Eden and James will be waiting for me,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said. “I must not keep you from your ride. The sea will look splendid from the cliffs this morning in the sunlight.”

  He led her back to the marble hall, where the three riders were indeed awaiting her. Talking to them were Howard Courtney and his sister.

  Howard bowed and looked awkward when he saw the earl.

  “Howard has business here with Spiller, Edmund,” Lord Eden said. “Susan was sent by Mrs. Courtney to satisfy herself that the ladies have taken no harm from their exertions of last evening. We have prevailed upon her to come riding with us. I have already sent to the stables to have a horse saddled. Do you not envy Purnell and me? We are to have three ladies between the two of us. That is what I call fair odds.” He grinned and looked thoroughly pleased with himself.

  “I could not possibly allow you such a triumph, Dom,” his brother said with a laugh. “Give me ten minutes and I shall make a sixth. The village will not run away if I postpone my visit for one day or even perhaps half a day.” He smiled down at Alexandra.

  “I never expected any such outing, my lord,” Susan said, looking up at Lord Eden with her large hazel eyes and glancing up under her lashes at James Purnell. “I expected everyone to be still abed. I would have been quite happy to take tea with the housekeeper while Howard was busy with the bailiff.”

  “How glad I am that we had not already left,” Lord Eden said, smiling dazzlingly at her. “I would have been out of all charity with Mrs. Oats if she had had you all to herself for the next hour. Howard, you may return home when your business is done. I shall see that Susan is returned safely to her mama.”

  LORD EDEN QUICKLY FORGOT ANY ANNOYANCE he might have felt at having his plans for a private talk with Alexandra thwarted. It was, after all, a beautiful summer’s day, and he had a pretty girl riding at his side, protesting blushingly that she should have declined joining the outing because she was not properly dressed for it. He was able to assure her in all truth that she made a charming picture on horseback in her light muslin dress and straw bonnet. There was plenty of time to spend with Miss Purnell.

  He and Susan fell a little behind the others as they rode up the tree-shaded roadway on the western side of the valley.

  “Well, Susan,” he said, “you were much in demand last night. I was disappointed to find it impossible to have a second dance with you.”

  “All the gentlemen were most obliging,” she said with a blush.

  “And will you tell me now that I do not have to compete with a uniform?” he asked with a grin. “I thought that Captain Forbes and Lieutenant Jennings would come to blows over who should lead you into the final set.”

  “The lieutenant is Baron Renfrew’s brother,” she said. “I was never more surprised in my life. Do you know him, my lord?”

  “Never heard of him,” he said.

  “He said that I dance more gracefully than all the ladies at Almack’s,” she said. “But I think he was flattering me. That cannot be true.”

  “I have not danced with all the ladies at Almack’s,” Lord Eden said. “But I tell you what, Susan. I have seen all the ladies at Almack’s, and there is none prettier than you.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking at him sidelong beneath her lashes, “you are funning me. I am not a grand lady. My gowns are not as fashionable as Lady Madeline’s or my hair stylish. I am only the daughter of a farmer.”

  “Well,” he said, “all the breeding and dressmakers and hairdressers in the world cannot make a girl lovely, Susan. Nature takes care of that. And I would have to say that nature took very good care of you.”

  She sighed. “How lovely it must be, though,” she said, “to be able to be fashionable, to be able to go to Almack’s and to other assemblies where the really important people go.”

  “They are vastly overrated entertainments, I assure you,” he said. “I found last evening far more amusing than all the other balls I have attended this Season.”

  “Oh,” she said, “I am sure you are just saying that, my lord, in order to be chivalrous.”

  “Not at all,” he said. “You did not attend all those other balls, you see, Susan, but you were at last night’s.” He grinned at her.

  They reached the top of the hill. An area of coarse grass and stones stretched ahead of them, buffeted frequently by the strong salt breezes from the sea. Grazing sheep dotted the landscape for as far as the eye could see. Lord Eden smiled at his companion and urged his horse forward in order to catch up to the others.

  He was very tempted to flirt with Susan. She was all prettiness and big eyes and feminine frailty. It was so easy to flatter her and make her blush. He was intrigued by the changes two years had wrought in her. She had changed from a girl whom he had treated with indulgent condescension into a young woman whom he wanted to treat far differently. He would like to hol
d her in his arms and feel her soft curves against him. He would dearly like to kiss her.

  But he really must not indulge in anything more than the mild, teasing flattery that he had used on his three encounters with her in the past few days. For one thing, being a nobleman and necessarily a gentleman of privilege also limited a man’s freedom. His brother had taken him aside when he was eighteen and had begun to have a roving eye where females were concerned. One must choose with care the females with whom one intended to flirt, Edmund had said. It was cruel and ungentlemanly to set up hopes where one’s intentions were not serious. And it was unthinkable to seduce any virtuous girl, no matter how low her birth. He must never assume that because he had rank and fortune, he had a right to any woman who took his fancy.

  He had always heeded his brother’s advice. And so girls like Susan were beyond his reach. When his need for a woman was strong, he always turned to those who were quite willing to oblige and who had no illusions about his intentions. He always paid handsomely for their services. But he had never set up a mistress. He had always been preoccupied with the latest love of his life and with dreams of marital bliss with her.

  It was a shame about Susan. It would be easy to draw her into a pleasant flirtation, he knew. But there was the other reason why he must not do so. He glanced ahead to where Miss Purnell was riding beside his brother, looking elegant, if not dazzling, in a brown riding habit and hat with a yellow feather.

  He found that he did not feel nearly so reluctant about marrying her as he had when he had first decided that he must relieve Edmund of the responsibility of making her respectable. He rather liked Miss Purnell. She was far different from his usual taste in women, it was true. He was habitually attracted to small, shy, pretty girls who made him feel protective. But Miss Purnell was not ugly. Far from it, in fact. When one really took a good look at her, one had to admit that she was decidedly handsome. She might even be beautiful if she would let herself be.