by Anne Ashley
Not even by the slight raising of one of those haughty dark brows did the Marquis betray the least emotion as he took the letter from Slocombe, broke the seal and ran his eyes over the few lines written in a beautifully flowing hand.
‘One moment, Slocombe,’ he said, arresting his butler’s progress across to the door. ‘When was this delivered?’
‘It was not sent, my lord. Her ladyship called here herself yesterday, in the late afternoon.’ He stared solemnly across at the desk. ‘She penned the letter in this very room, sir.’
There was just a faint hardening about the Marquis’s square, powerful jaw, but his voice when he spoke was as cool and controlled as ever, devoid of the faintest hint of emotion. ‘Are you quite certain that it was she?’
The butler raised grave eyes to his master’s. ‘Oh, yes, my lord. Very certain. Her ladyship has…changed somewhat, but not so much that I did not recognise her at once.’
His lordship dismissed the butler with the faintest nod of his head, before easing his tall frame off the desk and moving across to the window to stare sightlessly across the Square.
‘Not bad news, I trust?’ Mr Dent ventured.
‘I’m not quite sure whether it is or not,’ the Marquis responded, after a further moment’s thoughtful silence. ‘It would seem my wife has taken it into her head to reappear in the world.’
‘Eh?’ Mr Dent wasn’t perfectly certain that he could have heard correctly, and found himself saying, ‘Jenny, do you mean?’
‘My memory can be a little hazy on occasions, but I believe I’ve only ever had one wife.’ His lordship gestured towards the desk where he had left the short missive. ‘Read it for yourself.’
Theodore hesitated, but only for a moment, and reached the desk remarkably quickly for a man of his size. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ he muttered, not quite able to believe the evidence of his own eyes. ‘Can it be true, do you suppose? Poor little soul…and after all this time.’
‘So, you too assumed that she was dead?’ There was an unmistakably sardonic note in the Marquis’s attractive deep voice now, one which his friend had detected far more frequently in recent years.
‘Well, yes…I suppose I did,’ he reluctantly admitted. ‘After all, Julian, you were never able to find any trace of her. But I never supposed for a moment that you had had anything whatsoever to do with her disappearance.’
‘Some most certainly did.’
‘Not any of your friends, Wroxam, not those who know you well,’ Theodore assured him, before glancing down once more at the letter still clasped in his large hand, and frowning as a thought suddenly occurred to him. ‘Can you be sure that this was in fact penned by Jenny? Do you recognise the handwriting?’
‘No, I cannot say that I do. I never read but one of the letters she wrote to me shortly before her disappearance.’
Theodore wasn’t perfectly certain, but he suspected that there had been just an element of regret in his lordship’s voice. ‘So, it might all be a hoax?’
‘No, I do not think so. You heard yourself what Slocombe said. He had no difficulty in recognising her.’ His lordship returned to the desk and relieved Theodore of the missive. ‘I cannot recall that she possessed such a stylish hand. Vastly superior to darling Deborah’s childish scrawl, I must admit.’
‘Well, what do you expect? Jennifer’s certainly no—’ Mr Dent caught himself up abruptly when he detected the mocking glint in his lordship’s grey eyes. He shook his head, his own expression suddenly grave. ‘Do you know, Julian, I still find it hard to believe that Jennifer would ever do what you said she did. I’ve never been able to understand it… She worshipped the ground you walked on.’
‘Do you imagine I lied to you?’
There was no trace of mockery now in his lordship’s eyes, and Mr Dent found himself lowering his own. ‘Of course not, Wroxam.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘You’ll go and see her, though, won’t you?’
‘Perhaps.’
Mr Dent was quite unable to contain his bewilderment at this seeming lack of interest on the Marquis’s part. ‘But surely you’re just a little curious to discover where she has been hiding herself all this time, interested to see just how much she has changed?’
‘I’ve always considered curiosity faintly vulgar, my dear Theo. Thankfully I’ve never suffered from a surfeit of it.’ His lordship moved languidly across the room to the decanters to replenish his glass. ‘I have survived all these years without seeing my wife…I’m certain I can continue to do so.’
Mr Dent might have experienced only mild surprise at his friend’s attitude, but the vast majority of polite society swiftly became astounded by the Marquis of Wroxam’s display of seeming indifference to his beautiful young wife’s return.
He continued to behave just as though nothing untoward had occurred: visiting his club, his friends, and attending one or two very select parties in the evenings. The Marchioness, too, was seen about town a good deal, her husband’s return, seemingly, not inducing her to curtail her own pleasurable activities. Since the night of the Chard ball she had attended several parties. However, by accident or design, the Marquis and his lovely wife, frustratingly, never appeared at the same function.
If certain people knew what had induced the Marchioness to disappear all those years ago, they were certainly not divulging their knowledge, and Society could only continue to speculate on what might have caused the break up of the marriage, and wait for events to unfold. Quite naturally, the Marquis of Wroxam’s movements continued to be monitored with immense interest by the majority of the polite world, but it was not until the end of the following week that he was spotted turning his fine bays into Curzon Street, and drawing his curricle to a halt outside a certain house which had been hired for the Season.
The footman who admitted him left him kicking his heels in the hall for a short time only, before showing him into a comfortable room which overlooked the street. The morning sun’s bright rays, streaming through the window, seemed directed on the room’s sole occupant. The bright aureole of light which surrounded the slender figure seated at the desk, busily engaged in writing a letter, enhanced the fiery tones in the beautiful crown of deep auburn curls which had so captured his lordship’s attention all those years ago, when he had caught his first glimpse of her happily frolicking in a field of wild flowers.
Even his closest friends would have been hard pressed to guess precisely what was passing through his lordship’s mind as he came to stand in the centre of the room, for his expression remained as inscrutable as ever. Only the pulsating throb at his temple, and the faint hardening of his firm jaw betrayed the fact that he was not as indifferent as he might wish to appear at this, his first sight of the lady he had not set eyes on for almost nine long years.
‘You may sit down, Wroxam,’ she invited softly, without bothering to raise her head, or pausing in the task of writing her letter.
He chose to remain standing, watching the finely boned white hand moving back and forth across the page. It wasn’t until she had completed her task, and had sanded down the missive, that she finally raised her head, offering him the first clear view of the delicately featured face.
During the past days more than one person had had the effrontery to remark upon his wife’s loveliness. Now he could see for himself that their admiration had been wholly justified. She had been undeniably a very pretty girl, and he was forced silently to concede that the passage of time had been generous to her, enhancing the delicate cheekbones, and the sensual curve of perfectly moulded lips. Only those striking green eyes, clear and sparkling, remained unchanged.
‘Evidently you prefer to remain standing.’ Her pleasantly mellow voice was perfectly controlled and, like her expression, gave no hint of any emotions which she might be experiencing at this their first encounter in a very long time.
His own self-control had always afforded him a deal of gratification. He admired restraint in others too, and yet for some perverse reason he found thi
s peerless display of self-mastery on his wife’s part faintly irritating. Surely she must be experiencing some small sensation at their coming face to face again?
‘No doubt your time is precious,’ she continued, in the same level tone, ‘and mine too is limited, as I plan to leave the capital for a few days.’
There was just a faint hint of amusement playing round her mouth as she rose to her feet, and moved gracefully over to the window, offering him a perfect view of her lovely figure, which remained just as slender as he remembered, but which had developed more feminine curves.
‘I suppose I ought to consider myself honoured that you took the trouble to visit me at all.’
The hint of sarcasm was not wasted on him, and he frowned slightly. ‘In the letter you left for me, you chose not to disclose the reason why you wished for this meeting,’ he reminded her, wondering fleetingly why she was dressed in sombre black.
‘I would have thought, Wroxam, that the reason would have been blatantly obvious to a man of your keen intelligence.’ She turned to look at him again, her eyes assessing as they looked him over slowly from head to foot, before finally holding his faintly sardonic gaze without so much as a single blink. ‘I think it is high time that we legally terminated this farcical union of ours. I can appreciate that divorce is not easy, and it might take some time to attain, but I am sure that a man of your standing should not find it impossible to achieve.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed. Reaching into the pocket of his impeccably tailored jacket, he drew out his snuffbox and made use of its contents before closing the delicately painted lid with a flick of one practised finger. ‘Without wishing to appear vulgarly curious, however, might I be permitted to know why, after all these years, you should suddenly wish to end our marriage.’
‘If, by that, you are asking whether I wish to attain my freedom in order to marry someone else…the answer, Wroxam, is no, I do not.’ The sardonic glint in her eyes was no less pronounced than that in his own. ‘My one experience of—er—wedded bliss was more than enough, I assure you.’
His expression darkened, making it abundantly obvious that he was not even faintly amused by this display of flippancy. ‘Might I remind you, madam, that I was the injured party in our union, and not you.’
Although there remained a suspicion of a smile about her mouth, her voice was sombre enough as she said, ‘That is something I am never likely to forget. Nor do I imagine for a moment that you are ever likely to forgive me for making a cuckold of you. Therefore a divorce would be beneficial to us both.’
It would, of course. Yet for some reason he was quite unwilling to commit himself, and found himself asking, ‘Why in all these years did you never once make the least attempt to contact me? Was it, perhaps, to extract some petty form of revenge for my leaving you at Wroxam Park, not responding to your letters and refusing to see you?’
‘Strangely enough, no, it was not.’ Her sigh was clearly audible. ‘If I am honest I would be forced to admit that for many months I did feel bitterly resentful towards you. But you must remember I was very young at the time, more child than woman. As the years passed, however, I began eventually to view things differently. After finding your faithless wife in bed with another man, your behaviour was very understandable. Had our roles been reversed, I most certainly wouldn’t have wished to have had any contact with you.
‘I’ll not bore you with details of how it came about that I was able to make a new life for myself. Suffice it to say that Fate chose to look kindly upon me, and I have been immensely happy during our years apart. I was urged on many occasions to contact you, but I chose not to do so for—for several reasons which I will not go into.’ Again she sighed, and this time it sounded decidedly heartfelt. ‘During recent months, however, something occurred which forced me to reassess my situation. My options were clear—either I could remain the lost and forgotten wife, or enter into the world that I had left so long ago, for a short time at least.’
She turned once more to stare out of the window. ‘You would eventually, I do not doubt, have considered seriously the possibility of remarrying in order to beget an heir. My reappearance at a time when you were endeavouring to take steps to have me legally pronounced dead would, to put it mildly, have been most unwelcome.’ Her chin rose as she turned to look across the room at him again. ‘Well, unfaithful I might have been; vindictive I am not. For both our sakes a divorce is the only option.’
For the second time that morning his lordship discovered himself experiencing sensations he had not felt for a very long time. Anger and bitter resentment over her adulterous behaviour remained, but alongside these lingering emotions tender feelings were beginning to establish themselves.
He was both annoyed and amazed by these unexpected sensations, and for the first time in his life found himself at a loss to know how to proceed. Before he had been granted even a few moments to consider carefully how to respond, the door behind him opened, and he turned to see a young woman, also dressed in sombre black, enter the room.
Registering his presence almost at once, the intruder stopped dead in her tracks. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God!’ she exclaimed. ‘So it’s yourself come at last, is it?’
The Marquis, unaccustomed to being addressed in such a fashion, instinctively felt for his quizzing-glass, and peered through it at the intruder as though she were a creature from another world. More than one member of Society had withered beneath his lordship’s haughtily raised dark brows, but his contemptuous gaze appeared to have little effect on this brazen creature. She stared back at him for several moments, her dark eyes bold and assessing, before turning to his wife.
He found himself quite unable to understand one single word of the ensuing conversation. By the several dark-eyed glances he received, and his wife’s frequently suppressed smiles, it wasn’t too difficult to guess the subject under discussion. What quite amazed him, however, was the fact that his young wife not only appeared to understand Gaelic perfectly, but that she had evidently mastered the barbarous tongue and was able to respond fluently!
‘Well, if you’re certain sure you wouldn’t prefer me to stay, Miss Jenny,’ the intruder remarked, returning to a language that they could all understand, ‘I’ll away and finishing the packing.’
His lordship waited only for the young woman to depart before addressing his wife once more. ‘Might I enquire who that bold-faced creature was?’
‘Her name is Mary Harper. You, sir, would consider her a servant; I look upon her as a friend.’
She had responded swiftly enough, but there had been just a hint of reserve in her manner, as though she resented his prying. He had by this time, of course, detected several changes in her. Only physically did she bear any great resemblance to the female he had married nine years ago. There was little evidence now of that diffident, biddable girl. Undeniably during their years apart she had developed into a young woman who knew her own mind and was more than capable of making her own decisions.
‘At least now I do not need to enquire precisely where you have been hiding yourself,’ he remarked sardonically. ‘Your—er—servant has cleared up that little mystery.’
‘Yes, Wroxam, I have been residing across the sea in Ireland.’ She moved over to the desk, and began to gather together the papers she had left there. ‘And now, if you would excuse me, time is pressing. Perhaps you will be good enough to let me know when you have spoken to your lawyers. I shall be more than happy to agree to your terms and conditions. I require nothing from you except my freedom.’
Anger welled again, though whether this stemmed from pique at being so summarily dismissed, or the fact that she had made it plain that she required no financial assistance from him now or in the future, and he was therefore of no further use to her, he could not say.
‘There is no need to ring for your servant,’ he assured her curtly, when she reached for the bell-pull. ‘I am quite capable of seeing myself out,’ and then did so, without uttering anything furthe
r, not even a word of farewell.
His lordship had informed no one, not even his loyal butler, where he had intended going that morning, but Slocombe had a fairly shrewd idea of precisely whom his lordship had visited that day when the Marquis, grim-faced, his manner more curt than usual, returned to the house late in the afternoon. After issuing instructions that he was not to be disturbed in any circumstances, he took himself into the library, locking the door firmly behind him against any possible intrusion.
Compared to most members of his class, his lordship had always been a man of moderate habits, especially where the consumption of strong liquor was concerned, but this first encounter with his young wife after so long had disturbed him more than he cared to admit, even to himself, and he sought refuge in the contents of a certain crystal vessel.
After collecting both glass and decanter, he lowered his tall frame into his favourite chair by the hearth, his mind’s eye having little difficulty in conjuring up a clear image of the female he had married: slender, graceful, and self-assured, as she had stood by the window, conducting their first meeting with praiseworthy control. Seeing her today, every inch the gracious, impeccably behaved lady, it was difficult to imagine that she had been that unfaithful little strumpet who had dealt such a severe blow to his pride by committing adultery with the young brother of his nearest neighbour. Yes, he mused, finding it impossible to thrust Jennifer’s image from his mind, his good friend Theodore Dent had been so right; it was hard to believe that she was capable of such base behaviour, and if he hadn’t witnessed her infidelity with his own eyes, he for one would never have thought her capable of disgracing herself, or him, in such a fashion.
Reaching for the decanter, which he had placed within easy reach, Julian poured himself a second glass, before leaning back in his chair, clearly recalling the incident which he had tried his best to forget during the past years.
It had been on a day in early September when he had returned from London to discover his young bride had gone out riding with Geoffrey Wilburn. He had thought nothing of it at the time. He had been pleased that Jennifer had been able to make friends so quickly with their closest neighbours. It wasn’t until Geoffrey’s widowed sister, Melissa Royston, had called at the house that he had become a little uneasy over his wife’s safety, for Jennifer and Geoffrey, by all accounts, had ridden out together several hours earlier.
