“But whatever possessed you?” Gus said. “Taking off like that, and leaving poor Lady Gil to a woman like Bella Dryton. No, Carrbridge, getting angry again is no help. We said no more shouting, remember? I should just like to know what was in his mind, to make him do such a thing.”
“I cannot say,” Gil said, hands spread wide. “I just felt… stifled, somehow. In need of excitement. It is like a madness that comes over me, the way some men need to gamble, and some need to tame brutish horses, like you do, Gus.”
“Yes, but… how could you just leave her, like that? Barely married, uprooted from everything she knew, and—”
“I can see that now!” Gil said, jumping to his feet and then, wincing, sitting down again. “Damn this leg! Honestly Gus, there is no need to go on about it. I can see now that it was not at all the thing, but… I did not know what to do with her. Never been married before, and it was all a bit… sudden. I thought she would just… fit in. But she did not fit in at all, and I had no idea how to manage.”
“But surely—” Gus began, but Monty waved him to silence.
“It is not easy, marrying in that hasty way,” Monty said in his quiet voice, “knowing nothing of one’s wife and tiptoeing around, trying to find out how to go on together. Gil and Lady Gil are not the only ones to be hurtled into matrimony. Being married is a very grown-up state, I have found, and sometimes it seems to me that I am not sufficiently grown-up for it. I was very willing to marry Melissa, even knowing nothing about her, but I will confess that it has not been easy for me. Consider how much worse it must be for Gil, when he was forced into marriage, and with someone very ill-prepared for the position she is expected to occupy. Think how much easier it would have been with someone from our own level of society, who would know how to go on. And very likely, when Gil proposed taking off to Essex, she would simply have given him a piece of her mind over it.”
“And quite right too,” Carrbridge muttered. “Monty, you are too generous. You always see the best of everyone, even Gil. Abandoning a lady in that way is not the work of a gentleman, and that is an end to it. But she is a generous soul, and is willing to see you. Come for dinner tonight, Gil, and then you may see Lady Gil for a short time afterwards. But do not distress her, mind! Treat her very gently, for God’s sake.”
“I will, and thank you, Carrbridge. I cannot express my gratitude—”
“Yes, yes, but there is no need. Thank Dr Hay, if you must thank anyone, for this is due to his intercession. Tomorrow, I must trouble you to come up to Drummoor again, for we have our first meeting with the lawyers at noon to discuss the Ben Gartmore business.”
“This is really happening, then? You will truly lose everything?” Gil said, horrified.
“Tomorrow is just about explaining the implications, and the possible next steps,” Carrbridge said. “Who knows what will happen thereafter? But Merton has been advising me. Lady Carrbridge’s settlement is secure, and you are all safe, financially, so that is a weight off my mind. Harriet has her own house and income, so she is safe too, and I have made over the full value of Dr Hay’s hospital into a secure fund, so that may go ahead whatever happens.”
Gil’s spirits plummeted. “Then you believe you will lose it all?” he whispered.
Carrbridge sighed. “We must be prepared for the worst, I fear,” he said bleakly.
~~~~~
The Mertons were also dining at Drummoor, and since their carriage was to be called out anyway, Gil felt no shame in riding with them. It was no more than a ten minute walk from Lake Cottage to Drummoor, but he virtuously rested his leg for the almost half hour journey by road. He put on his uniform for the first time since leaving Dover.
“How very dashing you look, Captain Marford,” Mrs Merton said, smiling at him.
He did not feel dashing. He felt like a naughty schoolboy summoned by the headmaster to be reprimanded. But Carrbridge had finished scolding him, and greeted him with apparent pleasure.
“Do not stand about, if your leg bothers you,” he said to Gil. “Sit, and let everyone come to you for once.”
“I am not quite that much of an invalid.”
“No, but… do not overtire yourself. Lady Carrbridge is worried about you.”
“Connie is all goodness,” Gil said. “Pray reassure her that I am being very sensible, for a change.”
And Carrbridge laughed, leaving Gil with the pleasant feeling that he had been, if not forgiven, then at least allowed to let his transgressions fade into the past. The drawing room was full to overflowing, although it was mostly family, gathering protectively around the marquess in his hour of trouble. In one corner, a cluster of unfamiliar faces — the lawyers from London, there for the meeting the following day. And one familiar face — Gil was not pleased to find Bella still in residence.
“What are you doing here still?” he murmured, as he bent over her hand. “And where is Bertie?”
She rolled her eyes in a most unladylike manner. “Eating calves’ head broth in his room. Almost before we arrived, he was struck by an inflammation of the lungs, and has kept to his chambers ever since. I do not believe we will make it to Harrogate at all now.”
“How unfortunate,” Gil said.
“Oh, not for me!” she said, laughing. “Drummoor is far more entertaining than Harrogate would have been. I have been very well taken care of, I do assure you.”
Gil could see at once, by the number of young men clustered around Bella, how that might be. Connie liked to fill the house with guests, and there were numerous cousins, the Whittletons and Marfords, Brants and Marches, for whom Bella Dryton in all her glory was as irresistible as a flower to a bee. And she was very much in all her glory here, her London gowns clinging and cut low, her perfume exotic and her swaying, provocative movements designed to inflame every man who saw them.
For the first time, Gil was shocked by her. In London, in her own saloon and the ballrooms of the ton, she was nothing of note, just one of many women married to an older man and enjoying a certain freedom on the fringes of good society. But here he saw her as she truly was, a corruption amongst the solid goodness at the heart of his family. He disliked it intensely.
He had not seen his family for almost a year, and a great deal had happened in that time. When they had all last met, Reggie was on the point of betrothal, but since then Humphrey, Gus and Monty had all fallen in love and married. Well, in Monty’s case it had been the other way round, for he had married first in an outbreak of generosity and only then, in Monty’s easy-going way, had he fallen in love. Humphrey’s gaming house in York would be opening soon, Gus was running a stud in the north and Monty was a clergyman and had his own living. They were all settled, all happy, and looking to the future with their wives.
And what had Gil done with himself in the past year? He had quarrelled with half his fellow officers, seduced the wives of three of them, got himself shot in a duel and sustained an injury that might end his career as a Hussar before it had properly begun. And if he, too, had married, it was not for love or generosity or even duty, but because he had been pressed into it against his will. There was no happiness to be found there. Somehow, he felt he deserved no better. He had been every kind of fool, and had pushed his luck once too often, and if he was now to be denied his chance of marital happiness, there was a perverse kind of rightness to that.
So he bore patiently with the aunts and uncles, and answered their questions uncomplainingly, as far as he was able, and whenever they became too shrill in their condemnation of his behaviour, one or other of his brothers materialised at his shoulder and bore him away to some other part of the drawing room. When they went in to dinner, he found himself claimed by Lady Humphrey.
“Forgive my presumption, but I have been longing to get to know you properly. It is not often I meet someone who is almost as disreputable as I am.”
That made him laugh. “I have heard one or two tales of you, it must be confessed, but if you hope to best me in outrageousness, I
fear you will be disappointed.”
“Oh, we shall see about that,” she said breezily, and he had to admit that she was entertaining company. On his other side, he had one of Connie’s sisters, who began the meal by spilling her soup, and then, hearing Lady Humphrey’s tales of tigers and elephants, contributed an escapade of her own, when she briefly became a highwayman.
When the ladies had withdrawn, Humphrey slipped into the chair beside him. “Well? What do you think of my delightful wife? Is she not an original?”
“Oh, very, but how much of that is true?”
“All of it, dear brother, every last bit of it.”
“Even the tigers? And the other lady — who does she belong to?”
“Grace? She is Mrs George Graham. Another original, although… I say, Graham, did your wife really hold up a coach and steal the ladies’ jewellery?”
The young man so addressed laughed, and said, “My lips are sealed, my lord. Although… I do not say that it did happen, for it might not have done, you understand, but if it did happen, it was my cousin’s carriage, and she had herself stolen the jewellery from my mother.”
“What adventurous wives you have, gentlemen,” Gil said.
“Whereas Lady Reggie and Lady Gus are perfect ladies in every respect,” Humphrey said.
“How very dull,” Gil said. “What about Lady Monty?”
“Ah, now, Lady Monty travelled by stagecoach from Hampshire in order to honour a betrothal to the Earl of Deveron,” Humphrey said.
“The Earl of Deveron? Who is a mere three? Four?”
“You exaggerate. He is a well-grown five now. It was a short-lived betrothal, as you may imagine, for all parties agreed they would not suit. And then Lady Monty caught a burglar, which was very pleasing. See how much you have missed, going off into the army, brother dear. And what about Lady Gil, eh? Is she going to be an original or a perfect lady?”
“Hard to say,” Gil said, with perfect truthfulness.
Not long after the gentlemen rejoined the ladies, Connie came to find Gil. “Genista is waiting for you in the morning room.”
He stood up, rather more circumspectly than usual, for his leg was aching, and followed her in silence through the darkened corridors. Now that the moment had come, he was not at all sure what he felt. Oddly nervous, for him, and with the dreadful thought in his head that he might not even recognise her after so long. He had an image of dark blue eyes, and a mass of hair gleaming with gold and copper, but he could not call to mind whether she was short or tall, or the shape of her face, or the way she talked. And beneath it all, he still burned with anger. She was his wife, after all, and it was not right to keep him from her. A man was entitled to be with his wife, surely.
As soon as he saw her, his heart turned over in pity. She was so pale, so thin! Surely she had not looked so… so ill before? She hung her head as he entered the room, and then, with a quick look at him under her lashes, she bobbed him a curtsy before the head dipped again.
“Ten minutes, Gil,” Connie said. “And if Genista becomes distressed, you must leave at once. Belle will stay with you.”
Belle. One of Connie’s endless array of sisters.
“So I am to be chaperoned with my own wife, am I?”
“She has been ill, Gil. I shall be back soon.”
And with a snick of the door, she left and the room settled into silence. The low-burning fire and a few lamps scattered about brought little light to the room. Beneath a candelabra near the fire, Belle settled down with her stitchery, her back to them. In the centre of the room, the worktable was covered with a velvet cloth, with dishes of sweetmeats, a bottle of Madeira and two glasses, and a small candelabra. Two chairs were conveniently placed, but Genista stood behind her chair, head down, looking miserable.
“My lady? Will you sit?”
A quick look at him, then she nodded and quickly sat down. He took his own chair, wondering what on earth they were to say to each other. It was the strangest situation he had ever been in. He had never been tongue-tied with a lady before, but now, with his own wife, he could think of nothing to say.
He licked his lips. “Do you want some wine?” She shook her head, just as he remembered that she never drank red wine. “Some champagne? Lemonade?”
“No, thank you.” The head drooped again.
“How are you?”
“Better, thank you. Much better.” Her voice was a mere thread. A long pause, then, “Your leg?”
“Better too,” he said, with a half smile. “Dr Hay has been using your kind of poultice, and that did the trick.”
“I’m glad. I’m very glad.”
A long pause, then he said, “You have gone very thin.”
She looked up at him suddenly with wide eyes. “I beg your pardon.”
“It was not a criticism,” he said quickly. “Is that a new gown?”
That brought a flash of a smile. “Yes. I bought fabric in London. With Lady Dryton.”
Ah, yes, the visit to the warehouse with Bella. He had forgotten that. “It is a very pretty colour. It suits you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
And then he ran out of conversation altogether. How stupid it was to sit here with his wife, engaged in meaningless chatter about subjects that neither of them cared about. He wanted to share a meal with her, to dally over a game of backgammon, to joke about Marmaduke the pig and watch her tend the leeches and admire the shape of her neck as she bent over the desk, writing her notes. He ached to touch her smooth skin, to unwind that wondrous hair and watch it fall right down her back and run his fingers through it. And her lips — so soft and luscious and enticing. He yearned to lift her into his arms and kiss her and kiss her, until she forgot what a miserable specimen of humanity he was and smiled at him. How he longed to make her smile again. It was almost more than he could bear to sit still, and make mindless conversation and not touch her.
He practically jumped out of his skin when the door opened and Connie appeared.
“That was never ten minutes!” he cried in frustration, jumping to his feet.
“No, it was nearer fifteen. You can see Genista again tomorrow, perhaps.”
Then she led Genista away, with Belle following, and he was left alone. He collapsed back onto his chair, and, with a groan of despair, buried his head in his hands.
13: A Meeting With The Lawyers
Gil had no idea how long he sat, alone, in the morning room, as the fire died down, and, one by one, the candles guttered out. It seemed an apt metaphor for his life, every possibility snuffed out one by one. His schooling interrupted so many times by rustication for some misdemeanour. His time at Oxford abruptly cut short after that incident with the Chancellor’s daughters. His career… what a mess he had made of that! And now Genista, dragged away from her home and dumped here, amongst strangers. She was so unhappy, he could see that. And it was all his fault. If he had only stayed with her—
The door creaked open, followed by a wavering candle. “Gil? Are you all right?”
Carrbridge. Followed by Monty, with another candle.
“Connie said it went well?” Carrbridge said, making it a question more than a statement. Carefully he set the candle down on the table.
“Did she?”
“Is she wrong about that? Here, have a drink.” He pushed a glass of Madeira across the table. “You look as if you need it.”
Gil stared unseeingly at the glass, shaking his head. “I cannot say. We sat, we talked, we said nothing of any note. We were strangers. Dear God, Carrbridge, what have I done? I have ruined her life! I have torn her away from everything safe and familiar, and… and I was so pleased about it. Do you know, when I first knew her, she was mistress of her father’s house. Energetic, competent, composed… nothing upset her. She healed me, she tended the leeches and looked after the surgery, she did the cooking, too, and played the spinet and… we played backgammon, and talked about all manner of things in the easiest way imaginable, and she had the mo
st enchanting sense of humour. I could have stayed there for ever, quite content.
“And then her father came back and she curled up into a little ball like a hedgehog. She said nothing, offered no opinions, became a timid little mouse, while he expounded on the weaknesses of women, both physical and mental. How they should never drink red wine or eat red meat, for it would inflame them to uncontrollable lust, and suchlike nonsense. And she sat there, head bowed, and ran round after him and said nothing at all. And in all the idiocy of our marriage, that was the one good thing, I believed — that I was taking her away from him and his malign influence. Finally, she could blossom and be the wonderful person I knew her to be.
“But tonight — God, Carrbridge, she is like that with me now! She sits with her head down, saying nothing, terrified of me. I cannot reach her! She is trapped inside somewhere, and I want to get her out, to help her fly away like a butterfly, and I have not the least idea how to do it. I thought I was saving her and I have ruined her. Whatever am I to do?”
“Oh Gil, you poor boy!” Carrbridge said. “Surely she will come round in time? She has been ill—”
“Everyone says that! She has been ill, she has been ill! As if that accounts for everything. But this… this way she is with me, it owes nothing to her illness. That is how she is. She was that way with her father, and now she is like it with me.”
“You have taken the place of her father in her mind, I daresay,” Monty said.
“I am nothing like her father!” Gil cried, running his hands through his hair. “She is not stupid, she knows the difference between a father and a husband.”
“I mean only that you are the man who controls her life,” Monty said. “When you were just a patient, she could be her normal self, but now you are the man who rules her life. She feels she must be subservient to you.”
“But I do not want a slave for a wife, I want an equal,” Gil said. “I want her to argue with me, to tell me I am wrong. Because I usually am, God knows.”
Monty laughed. “You are learning humility, as we have all had to.”
Lord Gilbert (Sons of the Marquess Book 5) Page 12
