The Gilded Web

by Mary Balogh

  It did Alexandra’s heart good to see him listening gravely to the girl’s prattle, adjusting his stride to her tripping walk, and very often talking to her himself. James so rarely relaxed with anyone but her. But there was hope. She would never lose faith in her belief that there was hope for him.

  And so the day of the ball arrived, and suddenly Amberley Court was a hive of industry, the state apartments being cleaned and prepared, masses of flowers being gathered and arranged under the supervision of Lady Amberley, and those guests who were from some distance away and had been invited to stay overnight beginning to arrive.

  LORD EDEN STOOD JUST INSIDE the grand ballroom looking around him. The room was decked out this year all in pink and white carnations and roses and masses of ferns and other greenery, and smelled more like a garden than a room. The long mirrored wall doubled in number the flowers and the candle-laden chandeliers. The same mirrors multiplied the number of guests, so that the room looked crowded. As it was, it was surprising that an event in the country could draw so many guests. But the Amberley ball had always been a great attraction.

  It had always been Lord Eden’s favorite event of the year, even in those years when he had been too young to attend. He and Madeline had usually succeeded in stealing into the unused minstrel gallery to peer down at all the glittering gowns and waistcoats. He supposed now that his parents and, later, Edmund must have known very well that they were there. But it had added to the excitement to feel that what they were doing was strictly forbidden.

  On this occasion he was not looking forward to the evening with quite as much exuberance as usual. He felt rather as if he had the world on his back. He had talked to both his mother and Madeline that morning about his decision to leave in two days’ time in order to buy his commission in the army.

  Mama had not been bad. She had listened quietly to him, merely drawing herself up to her full height and clasping her hands before her while he talked.

  “Yes, Dominic,” she had said when he was finished, “I have known for a long time that this day was coming. But I have waited, dear, for you to come to me like this to tell me. Not ask me, but tell me. Now I know that your decision is definite, that you have finally grown up. And I see that I must let you go, though it breaks my heart to do so. You must do what you must, and I must suffer what I must. But I will always be proud of you, my son. And there is nothing you could ever do to forfeit my love for you. Remember that.”

  “I have tried, Mama,” he had said, “to put it from my mind, knowing what you have suffered in the past. I have tried to be contented with my life as it is.”

  “Ah, no,” she had said. “It is not in the nature of young people to be contented, Dominic, or to want what their parents want for them. I have had my chance, and now it is your turn. I married your papa. Your grandfather did not want me to do so. It was a brilliant match for me, of course, but I was only seventeen and he thought I should have a Season in London and meet some other young men before making a decision. But I have never been sorry that I defied him. I had twenty wonderful years with Papa. Twenty dreadfully short years. And I have you, dear, and Edmund, and Madeline. I have been well blessed. I can wish no better for you than that your decision will bring you as much happiness.”

  He had not seen his mother cry since that dreadful year following his father’s death. He had held her that morning until she had herself under control again, and then kissed her and left her. He had not been able to think of anything more to say.

  Madeline had been more of a problem. She had thrown every cushion she could lay her hands on at him—he had been thankful that they were not in the library—and refused to accept his decision.

  “And what am I supposed to do when you are killed?” she had asked. And then she had added rather illogically, “But you will not care, will you?”

  He had been unwise enough to grin and admit that, no, he probably would not care under those particular circumstances. He had been witness to a foot-stamping, screaming tantrum after that. But it had all turned out the same way as with Mama—she had ended up sobbing in his arms.

  “I don’t want you to go, Dom,” she had said between hiccups and sobs. “I forbid you to go. I will never talk to you again if you go.”

  “I am going, Mad,” he had said quietly, kissing the top of her head.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she had wailed, so that he had been reminded of the times when they were children and she had been forbidden to join him on some escapade. “I’ll die if you die, Dom.”

  “No you won’t,” he had said. “You will live on, Mad, so that you can tell your children and grandchildren about their brave Uncle Dominic.”

  “Their stupid, foolish, bullheaded, unfeeling Uncle Dominic, you mean,” she had said petulantly.

  “If you like.” He had kissed the top of her head again.

  “I hate you,” she had said, pulling away from him. “I hate you, Dominic. Get out of here. I never want to see you again.”

  He had smiled ruefully and left her. And true to her word, she had not spoken to him all day. There had been a deal of sniffing and head-tossing when she was close to him, but not a word or a look. Sometimes it was not easy to be a twin, he thought.

  He wished that was the sum of all his woes. If it were only a question of leaving Mama and Madeline, he would consider himself blessed indeed. But there was this stupid mess with Miss Purnell to be cleared up. And it was a mess indeed. He had asked her to marry him more than a week before, and he had had the feeling at the time that she might say yes. She must have expected him to bring the matter up again. He was honor-bound to ask her again, since she had not had a chance to give him an answer at that time.

  And yet he had realized in the days since that it was not at all the thing to marry Miss Purnell. He would be hurting Edmund a great deal more if he did that than he had done originally by causing him to feel he must offer for Miss Purnell himself. But he had marched on with his scheme with great crusading zeal and his eyes firmly shut. Madeline had made an apt comparison by likening him to Don Quixote.

  But he could not simply drop the matter quietly. He had already spoken to Miss Purnell and to Edmund. And what if she accepted him now after all? He would have to marry her, of course. What a coil! He must find time to talk to her tonight. He dared not postpone it until the next day, or he might lose his courage altogether. And how dreadful it would be to leave Amberley having begun something so important and not completed it.

  And Susan! No, he would not think of Susan. He dared not. There were only so many burdens a man could bear without collapsing under the load. He must not think of Susan. He must not dance with her tonight. Or talk to her. Or look at her. She just looked so damned pretty in her pink gown that appeared as if it had been made especially to match the ballroom tonight. Pink should look dreadful with auburn hair. Well, on her it didn’t. She looked deuced pretty.

  The orchestra Edmund had hired at great expense were tuning up their instruments. Edmund was preparing to lead Miss Purnell into the opening set. Lord Eden looked about him for the eldest Miss Moffat, whom he had engaged for the first dance. He smiled as he caught her eye across the room. She was looking remarkably pretty too, and blushing most becomingly. He was going to concentrate on her prettiness for the next half-hour.

  Susan was going to dance with Lieutenant Jennings, he could see.

  LORD AMBERLEY LED ALEXANDRA onto the floor to begin the opening set. It should be a wonderfully happy occasion, he thought, gazing down at her. She looked breathtakingly beautiful, dressed as she was in a gown of pale lemon silk with a netted overdress. Nanny Rey must have had a battle royal with her over her hair, he guessed. She wore it in a topknot, with curls trailing along her neck and over her ears and temples.

  Had she been this lovely in London? he wondered. Was it just that he saw her differently now, knowing something of the stubborn, courageous, independent, adorable, and thoroughly muddle-headed character behind the well-disciplined ex
terior? Was it that now he could see the beauty that had been there all the time? Or had she blossomed within the course of a few weeks? Had she really been the almost lifeless shell of a woman she had appeared when he first met her and was not a woman in full and beautiful bloom?

  “You look very lovely, Alex,” he said, holding one of her hands and waiting for the music to start.

  “Thank you,” she said. And then an almost impish look, which he knew he had never seen in London, flashed into her eyes. “And you look very handsome, Edmund.”

  He grinned. And the music began.

  And so he began to enjoy his final evening as her betrothed. Tomorrow he must shock both their families and all their acquaintances and many with whom they were not even acquainted by announcing that he no longer had any intention of marrying her. Wherever would he find another Alexandra Purnell? It was perhaps as well that he had no intention of ever trying, or of finding any other woman, for that matter. He doubted anyway that any lady would be eager to accept his marriage proposal after tomorrow, for all his wealth and position. He was certainly about to forfeit his name of gentleman in perhaps the worst possible manner.

  ALEXANDRA WAS GOING TO ENJOY THE BALL. She had decided that before it even started, and had even sat unprotesting while Nanny Rey dressed her hair in a style far more frivolous than any she had ever worn. She had chosen her dress with care for its lightness and daring lines. She had not worn it before. She might never again have the chance to attend such an event or to enjoy herself so much. She was going to make the most of her opportunity. There would be time enough tomorrow for the heartache and the regrets.

  She was glad to see that Lord Amberley was in a mood to match her own. He was not looking unduly solemn or tragic or angry. He was smiling for his guests and smiling for her. And she was glad she was seeing his house at its very best. The state dining room had looked splendid indeed set for thirty guests, and the ballroom looked more breathtaking than any she had ever seen. She was glad it was all his. He would never be careless of such a possession.

  “That should warm everyone up,” he said to her with a smile as the vigorous country dance that opened the ball came to an end. “And here comes Dominic to claim your hand for the quadrille. I will wager you will not have a chance to sit down this evening, Alex.”

  She smiled at Lord Eden. How dear he too had become to her in the past couple of weeks. So handsome and boyishly charming, so very popular with the young girls of all classes. Susan Courtney sighed after him, and his cousin Anna and countless of the village maidens. She was going to miss him.

  “Miss Purnell,” he said, “you look quite dazzling. Edmund, Miss Moffat declares that she has no wish to go to St. James’s or Almack’s or any other fashionable assembly room. She declares that nothing could surpass this very ballroom.”

  Lord Amberley grinned. “I am surprised she even noticed her surroundings, Dom,” he said. “She seemed to have eyes for no one but her partner.”

  Lord Eden flushed unexpectedly and reached for Alexandra’s hand. “Shall we take our places, Miss Purnell?” he asked. “The members of the orchestra are very eager. They are almost ready to start again already.”

  She put her hand in his as Lord Amberley went off in search of his next partner.

  “I must talk to you,” Lord Eden said, looking at her with a mixture of eagerness and agitation. “I should have done so sooner and not left it for an occasion like this. May I talk to you later, Miss Purnell, or will you come walking with me now?”

  “Perhaps we should talk now,” she said, looking rather regretfully at the dancers taking their places around them.

  He led her out through the French doors, which stretched the length of the ballroom opposite the mirrored wall. All had been left open against the warmth of the night. The terrace outside was almost deserted. It was too early for there to be many strollers seeking escape from the heat of the ballroom.

  “I have procrastinated, ma’am,” Lord Eden said, his voice now decidedly agitated. “I should have spoken with you privately days ago.”

  “Perhaps,” she said calmly. “The last time we spoke, you asked me to marry you. I did not have a chance to give you my answer. We were interrupted by Anna. The answer was and is no, my lord, though I thank you most sincerely for your offer. You have a kind and generous heart.”

  He was silent for a while as they strolled and the music of the quadrille flowed round them. “I left it too late,” he said. “I should have pressed my claim with more ardor while we were still in London. I have seen that since we have been here. I have seen that it is now impossible to change the situation without another huge scandal. Is that what has prompted your answer, Miss Purnell?”

  “I have been touched by your loyalty to your brother and your concern for me,” she said. “But I do not believe I would have accepted your offer, my lord, even if there had been no chance of further scandal.”

  “But in London,” he said, “if I had known sooner what happened at Lady Sharp’s and if I had returned to Curzon Street before Edmund, you would have accepted me, Miss Purnell? I cannot forgive myself for having been so tardy.”

  “No,” she said, touching his hand lightly with hers for a moment. “Not even then. For you would have come and asked, you see, and my answer would have been the same as it was the first time.”

  “But is not that what Edmund did?” he asked.

  “Not exactly,” she said with a little smile. “By the time your brother came to ask me for the second time, I really had little choice but to accept.”

  “We have made a mess of your life, Edmund and I between us, have we not?” he said, looking down at her with a frown.

  “Not really,” she said. “Had I not been mistaken for Madeline at the Easton ball, I would now be contemplating a betrothal to and matrimony with the Duke of Peterleigh. I think I have had a fortunate escape.”

  “I have to agree with you there,” he said, looking somewhat cheered. “I would not like to think of you as that man’s property, Miss Purnell. You have far too much character for that kind of life.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “And can you be happy with Edmund?” he asked somewhat wistfully. “You could not ask for a better man, you know. I do not know a better. I have always admired my brother’s steadiness of character and his invariable kindness. He will certainly take care of you.”

  “Yes,” Alexandra said, “he is good at taking care of people and shouldering their burdens.”

  “Isn’t he, though?” Lord Eden said eagerly. “I am glad you have noticed that, Miss Purnell. I have always thought that perhaps one day someone would do the same for Edmund. Look after him, I mean, and help him with the problems of life. It is absurd to think of Edmund needing help, is it not? But sometimes I think perhaps he is more vulnerable than the rest of us put together. We have always come running to him. It is second nature to him now to rush in to help without a care for himself. And he has been doing it for ten years, Miss Purnell. He was only nineteen when Papa died. That seems very young to me now.”

  “Yes,” Alexandra said, “it is.”

  “That is what I wanted to do for him now,” he continued. “Relieve him of a burden, that is. I thought that if I could marry you…” He stopped both talking and walking. His eyes were closed in a grimace when Alexandra looked up at him. “Oh, ma’am, I am so sorry. I did not mean…”

  She laughed. “I know what you meant,” she said. “I know exactly what you meant, my lord. I am not offended.”

  “You are generous,” he said. His face brightened suddenly, and it was the usual boyish, eager Lord Eden who looked down at her. “But I have just had a thought. Perhaps I have done that for him after all. Perhaps I have been responsible for giving him you. If you feel as I do, Miss Purnell, if you want to make Edmund’s life less lonely, less burdensome, then you will be the best thing that has happened to him in ten years. And I will be responsible.”

  “Yes.” Alexandra smiled
up into his eager face. She felt as if she had a lump in her throat. She wanted to turn and run out into the darkness. “Yes, so you would.”

  “Do you care for Edmund?” he asked. “I have watched the two of you together, and sometimes I feel that you do care, both of you. But perhaps I am only seeing what I want to see. Do you care for him?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I care for him.” She turned her face from him. “Very much,” she added almost on a whisper.

  He took her by the upper arms and squeezed them. “I am so glad,” he said. “I am so happy, Miss Purnell. Did you know that I am leaving the day after tomorrow?”

  “No,” she said. “The army?”

  He nodded, his face alight with eagerness. “I hope it will mean Spain,” he said. “I hope I will be sent there as soon as possible. I want my chance for a jab at old Boney. I can scarcely wait.”

  “How does your family feel?” she asked.

  He sobered slightly. “Edmund has been wonderful,” he said. “He has urged me to do what I want to do. There have been tears from the women, of course, though Mama is just as insistent as Edmund that I must do with my life what I feel I must do. Madeline had the hysterics this morning when I told her, and has not talked to me since.”

  “Poor Madeline,” she said. “She loves you very dearly, you know.”

  “I know,” he said. “I have imagined how I would feel if I had to stand by and see her go voluntarily into great danger. I think I might have hysterics too.”

  “She will come to understand,” she said. “She will do as you have done, you see. She will put herself in your place and know how important this is to you.”

  “Miss Purnell…” He looked earnestly down at her. “I must ask a favor of you. If anything happens to me, if I should be killed, will you look after Mad for me? It is a huge favor to ask, is it not, and I have thought of it now only on the spur of the moment. But you see, Mama and Edmund will have their own grief to contend with. But Madeline’s will be different and many times worse. We are twins. Will you help her?”