The Gilded Web

by Mary Balogh

  “Edmund will be disturbed by this accident,” Lady Amberley had said. “He always takes anything to do with his workers very personally, almost as if he is solely responsible for every sickness or accident that happens. He has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. But you will love him for it, dear, as I do. It is always better to be that way than to be careless and insensitive, is it not?”

  Lady Amberley had sat at the table drinking tea while Alexandra ate. Alexandra had forced herself to swallow the food that was set in front of her, though she did so with difficulty. “And I had to be from home!” Lord Amberley had said. They would have been at home if she had not suggested descending the cliff path. Lord Eden, it seemed, had arrived back and left again to take Susan Courtney home before news of the accident had arrived. And Lord Amberley would have been at the village if she had only agreed the day before to accompany him there.

  “It was unfortunate that his lordship was from home when Mr. Spiller came looking for him,” Alexandra said now to her mother without looking up.

  “That is not the point,” Lady Beckworth said. “I daresay the bailiff could have taken care of the matter himself. That is what he is employed for, I take it. But for you to be so long alone with his lordship is disgraceful, Alexandra.”

  Alexandra looked up in surprise. “Yesterday you said it was quite unexceptionable to go riding with him, Mama,” she said.

  “And so it was,” her mother said, “for one occasion, Alexandra. But that was yesterday afternoon, and already this morning you have been alone with him again for upward of an hour. What will Lady Amberley think of your morals? I dread to think what your father would have to say to you and to me if he were here now.”

  Alexandra looked down at her hands, which were spread in her lap. “We walked down close to the ocean,” she said.

  “You scrambled down a steep path to the sand,” Lady Beckworth said. “A most unladylike activity, Alexandra. Your father has not raised you to behave in such a hoydenish manner. What is worse, James seems to think that you were the one to suggest such a mad scheme. Is this true?”

  “Yes, Mama,” she said.

  “I cannot understand it,” Lady Beckworth said. “And then to stay on the beach for a whole hour after James and Lady Madeline had come back home. How is anyone to know what you were doing there?”

  “I have told you, Mama,” Alexandra said, “that we walked down to the water.”

  “I am not sure I can trust you to tell the truth,” her mother said. “Your father was never convinced that you did not leave the Easton ballroom to meet a lover, Alexandra. And now your behavior appears quite inexcusably wanton.”

  Alexandra’s hands were clenched into fists in her lap. But she said nothing. What was the use? There had never been any point in arguing with Mama and Papa. Indeed, she had learned that doing so usually brought on its own punishment.

  “Well, you are justly punished,” Lady Beckworth said. “While you were engaged in your immoral behavior on the beach, whatever it was, perhaps that cart driver was dying. And apparently he was asking for his lordship. If he dies, Alexandra, before his lordship can reach him, I believe you will know who has judged you. A far higher authority than I or even your papa, I fear. I expect more decorous and more godly behavior from my daughter.”

  Alexandra was on her feet, panic in her eyes. “Mama,” she said, “the man was not that badly hurt, was he? Oh, please say he was not that badly hurt.”

  “I have no idea how badly injured he was,” her mother said. “Such matters are none of my concern, Alexandra.

  But I believe you know what your father would direct you to do now.”

  Alexandra stared at her wildly for another few moments before turning and fleeing from the room.

  LORD EDEN WAS WHISTLING to himself as he turned the gig from the laneway leading to Courtney’s farm onto the main roadway from the village to Amberley. Susan. He grinned. It was almost worth having missed the scramble down to the beach with the others just in order to have spent an extra hour with her.

  He did not think he had ever encountered anyone quite so timid. She had always been the same. He could remember her as a child insisting on climbing trees with her brothers, but invariably getting stuck in a lower branch, terrified to move until someone went to her rescue. He could remember her once crossing the river in the valley on stepping-stones and having to be almost carried from the loose one in the middle.

  Even as a child she had always been as wide-eyed in her gratitude for rescue as she was now. She had been very apologetic about keeping him from the cliff path earlier and had valiantly offered to return to Amberley alone if he really wished to go. Yet all the while she had clung with both hands to his arm as if she thought the wind would blow her over the edge if she released her hold. As if he would have left her alone there! And as if he would have allowed any harm to come to her!

  Lord Eden turned his thoughts to Alexandra. He had certainly missed his chance to follow up his advantage of the evening before. Perhaps he would have a chance to talk to her that afternoon. It seemed likely that Edmund would spend his time about estate business, having lost a few hours during the morning.

  Poor Edmund. He had never particularly enjoyed having guests. He had always preferred a quiet life, sometimes even a solitary one. He spent time with his family, of course, because he was familiar with them and comfortable with them. And he always dutifully both issued and accepted social invitations. But he would hate the obligation he now had to be sociable, to take Miss Purnell about, to entertain her. He must long to get off on his own as he so often did when they were all at home.

  But of course courtesy and duty always came first with Edmund. Having spent time after breakfast showing Miss Purnell the gallery, he must have been looking forward to a quiet hour or two in his office or riding around the estate or doing whatever he had planned to do. But then he had discovered that Susan had been invited for the ride too and had felt obliged to join the group in order to even the numbers. Poor Edmund!

  The object of his thoughts hailed him at that moment and came riding up alongside him.

  “You have been into the village?” Lord Eden asked. “You wasted no time, Edmund.”

  “Joel Peterson has just died,” Lord Amberley said. And indeed his face was unusually serious and pale, his brother saw now that he looked at him more closely.

  “Joel?” he said, pulling back on the ribbons so that the horses were scarcely moving. “Whatever happened?”

  “He had a cart loaded with hay,” the earl explained. “He pulled it over to let another vehicle past, it seems, and tipped it. It fell on him.”

  Lord Eden grimaced. “It killed him instantly?” he asked.

  “No.” Lord Amberley was very pale. “He was taken home and was conscious too. He died just a short while before Spiller and I got there. Apparently there was no way of saving him. But I wish I had been there. He was worried, apparently, about what would happen to his wife and sons. But I always look after the widows and orphans of my workers. He knew that. He must have known that, must he not, Dom?”

  “You have never failed,” his brother said, “or Papa or Grandpapa before you. Yes, Edmund, he would have known that they would be cared for.”

  “I wish that I had been there to reassure him all the same,” Lord Amberley said. “If I had arrived just fifteen minutes sooner, I could have done so. Fifteen minutes, Dom. Poor Joel. He was a conscientious worker.”

  “Is anyone with his wife now?” Lord Eden asked.

  “Half the village,” the earl assured him. “And Spiller, of course. He will make all the arrangements for the funeral. I stayed for a while. But my presence put a strain on them, you know. Mrs. Peterson seemed to feel obliged to treat me like an honored guest when obviously she was beside herself with grief. She needed to give way to it but could not do so as long as I was there.” He smiled rather sadly. “We are a race apart, are we not, Dom?”

  They rode on side by side and t
urned through the gates onto the narrow tree-lined driveway leading to the valley road.

  “You saw Susan safely home?” Lord Amberley asked. He did not wait for an answer. “Will you and Madeline entertain Alex this afternoon, Dom? And her brother and mother, of course. I need to be alone for a while.”

  “You know you don’t need even to ask,” Lord Eden said, and eased back on the ribbons as the road began to descend and his brother rode on ahead of him.

  WHEN JAMES PURNELL WENT in search of his sister later in the afternoon, he found her in her bedchamber staring out through the east-facing window.

  “You have been all alone here, Alex?” he said. “Why?”

  “That man,” she said tonelessly, “the one who was hurt. He is dead.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said. “The whole family seems to have taken it rather hard.”

  “I went downstairs,” she said. “When I saw him coming home, I went down to ask him. He scarcely spoke to me. He brushed past me and went upstairs. It was Lord Eden who told me. And when I came back up here, I saw him ride away again.”

  “Amberley?” he said. “Doubtless he had business to attend to, Alex.”

  “He went up the valley,” she said.

  Purnell frowned and came to stand beside her. “You are upset?” he asked. “You feel abandoned? I think you are becoming attached to him, aren’t you?”

  She looked at him bleakly. “It’s my fault,” she said. “All my fault, James. I am like a blight on everything I touch.”

  His frown deepened. “What is this?” he said. “What are you blaming yourself for, Alex? You were miles away from the accident. You did not even know the man.”

  “I insisted on going down that path,” she said, “just like a child who must have its treat now. We would have been home a couple of hours before if I had not.”

  “Nonsense, Alex!” he said, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to him. “You are developing a conscience like Papa’s. Don’t do it. Of course you are not to blame. You are Amberley’s betrothed, Alex, and a guest in his house—by his invitation.”

  “Last night,” she said, “he asked if I would go to the village with him to meet some of his laborers. I said no. I was feeling spiteful and I said no, I had promised to go riding with Lord Eden.”

  He dropped his hands. “I had hoped that this was going to work for you,” he said. “I thought perhaps you could be happy with Amberley. But there is something between you? Some problem?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, turning from him wearily. “He has been kindness itself. I could not ask for someone more courteous or more willing to please. And now that has become the problem. I feel oppressed with kindness, hemmed in, totally inadequate. And the one time when I might have helped, offered a word of comfort perhaps, done something for the widow and her children, he is behaving as if I do not exist. As if I am of no importance. Do I make sense to you, James? I am afraid I don’t to myself.”

  “Yes, I think so,” he said. “You have never had a relationship with anyone but me, Alex. And we have always sympathized with each other to an amazing degree. Now you are discovering that it is not easy to be a part of someone else’s life.”

  “I don’t think I can make him happy, James,” she said. “How can I? I do not know anything about giving happiness.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “You are the one ray of happiness in my life, Alex. You do not have to try. You can just be. But listen to me. You must not blame yourself for what has happened today. Amberley does not, I am sure. He chose quite freely to go with you this morning, and he seemed not to be regretting the choice the last time I saw him. Tell me you will give up this feeling of guilt.”

  “I will try,” she said. “But, James, he got there fifteen minutes after Mr. Peterson died. Fifteen minutes! And the man had wanted to talk to him.”

  Purnell was tight-lipped as he looked at his sister. “Come on downstairs now,” he said. “Captain Forbes has called and wants Lady Madeline to go walking with him. She wants you and Eden to accompany them. You had better go, Alex. I don’t like to see you brooding like this.”

  “All right,” she said, her tone flat, “I will go walking, James. Are you coming too?”

  “No,” he said. “I had my fill this morning. I am going to play billiards with Sir Cedric.”

  “You do not like Madeline, do you?” she said, fetching a straw bonnet from her dressing room. “I do. She tries her best to be friendly, and I do admire her lighthearted way of facing life.”

  “Her frivolity, you mean,” he said. “No, she and I do not quite see eye to eye, Alex. Are you ready?”

  And yet, James Purnell found, watching the four of them leave on their walk several minutes later, it seemed strange not to be going with them. It was a subdued group that set out, both Lord Eden and his sister seeming genuinely upset by the morning’s fatal accident.

  It was a novel experience, Purnell thought, to see Lady Madeline without some of her customary sparkle. But she looked quite as pretty as usual in her sprigged-muslin dress and chip-straw bonnet. And the captain was certainly appreciative.

  Well, he thought, turning away in the direction of the billiard room, let her flirt. She had a man with her this afternoon who was likely to be willing to accept her flirtation for what it was worth and return its like. She would not be forced into anger this afternoon or be subjected to insults.

  She would be a great deal happier. And so, he thought as he let himself into the billiard room and found the older man already there and waiting for him, would he.

  LORD AMBERLEY WAS LYING ON THE STRAW mattress in the stone hut, his hands clasped behind his head. The door was propped open. The afternoon sun slanted through it, its rays almost touching him.

  His mind had calmed. It had been one of those freak accidents that are so upsetting because they seem so utterly meaningless. He himself was in no way to blame. The equipment had been quite sound. Spiller had assured him that it had been checked only the week before. It was regrettable that he had been unable to talk to Joel before he died, but the man must have known somewhere at the back of his pain and his knowledge that he was about to die that his wife and sons would be well-cared-for.

  Perhaps the most upsetting aspect of any death to those left behind, he thought, was the feeling of terrible helplessness. One always wants to do something, but very rarely is there anything to do. His own sense of frustration had been distressing. He had known that he was not needed at that cottage. Appreciated, yes. But needed, no. His people could not be themselves in his presence. So rather than put a constraint on them when they were already overwrought, he had left.

  He wanted company. For the first time in his memory he wanted someone with whom to share his emotional turmoil. He wanted Alex.

  He turned the idea over in his mind with some surprise. But it was true. He wanted to be with her as he had been that morning—quiet, relaxed, knowing that she shared his mood. And he wanted her with him as she had been the previous afternoon for a brief while. He wanted to make love to her.

  And for the first time he felt sorry that he had not gone to her when he had returned home earlier. He could have talked to her, brought her here with him. Perhaps he would not even have needed to come if he could have walked with her as he had that morning, or sat with her somewhere quiet—the conservatory perhaps. She had been in the hall, had she not, when he went into the house with Dominic? Had he even spoken to her? He could not recall.

  He sighed and pushed himself into a sitting position. He had a great deal to learn about sharing his life with someone else. It was all very well to think of love, to dream of the perfect marriage. But nothing could be accomplished if he retreated to his private world whenever anything happened to ruffle his calm. Love was not just a word, a passive emotion. It was a full-time, lifelong commitment.

  THE MORNING ON THE cliff path and the beach might never have been. There was a tension between Lord Amberley and Alexandra again that both had hop
ed on that morning to ease.

  Alexandra did not turn entirely inward upon herself, but she could not let go of the guilt that had nagged at her after the death of Joel Peterson. Had she gone with her betrothed to the village as he had asked, he would have been there when the injured man was brought in. He would still have died, of course, but Lord Amberley would not have been left with the feeling that he had neglected his duty—playing truant, as he had jokingly put it when they were on the beach.

  She knew that he grieved for Mr. Peterson and felt for his family, but he had said nothing to her. He had shut her out of his innermost feelings with his usual calm, kindly manner. She felt more punished than she ever had by her father. She was being treated as a person who had not taken his life seriously and who would not be invited to take a glimpse into it again.

  When Lord Amberley and his mother visited the cottage in the village the following morning, they seemed genuinely surprised when she asked to accompany them.

  “You really do not need to do this, Alex,” Lord Amberley said, taking her hand in both of his. “Such a visit is painful even when it is clearly one’s duty to make it. It is not your duty.”

  She went anyway, but she felt chastised by his words. Was she to be an ornament in his life, not a participant? She might have used the moment to look into his eyes, to smile, and to explain that if she was to feel any freedom, any meaning in the marriage she must make, then she must become involved in his life. But she looked at his hands that held hers and drew back her shoulders.

  “I would like to express my sympathies to the widow,” she said in a voice she had not meant to sound cold.

  “I think it a splendid idea, Alexandra,” Lady Amberley said. “The people of the village will not forget it, you know, and they will respect you for it as they do Edmund.”

  Nothing improved between them in the following two days. They went to church together on Sunday with the rest of their families, and sat next to each other in Lord Amberley’s pew. They greeted acquaintances together afterward, and Alexandra was presented to other people she had not met before. They took tea at the Carringtons’ in the afternoon. She attended the funeral with Lord Amberley and his family the following day, again insisting on going despite his gentle insistence that she was under no obligation to do so.