Her eyes fluttered shut, but with great effort she managed to open them and look at him.
“You do that very well.” She managed a smile. “Perhaps you’ve had practice.”
There was a teasing light in his eyes. “If I say I had, would I sentence myself in your eyes?”
“No.” She yawned. “You will merely confirm what I already thought to be true. A man such as you will have ... known ... many women.”
He touched her lips with his finger. “Tonight I see only one woman, and she is little more than a girl. Have I done wrong in marrying you?”
She somehow wanted to throw her arms around him, to have him hold her close. She wanted to be beautiful for him, and to have him say he loved her. “Only time will tell if our union was a mistake, your grace.”
“Raile,” he corrected her. “And my little duchess, you have the worst of a good bargain. But, as a husband, I shall try to be as little trial to you as possible.” He stood up and tucked the covers about her neck. “You should sleep now.”
“Will you stay here tonight?” “No. Not for a year—have you forgotten?” For the first time, he saw her eyes soften with laughter.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
Raile bent his head and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “Recover soon, my little duchess. One year will pass before you are aware of it, and then I shall come and claim what is mine.” “Will I see you before then?” “Of course, every time I come to London.” She could no longer hold her eyes open. “Within a year you will forget all about me.” She touched his hand. “I want to thank you for having Arrian brought back to me.”
Raile smiled. “I’m glad to have her back, too.” With a soft laugh, he moved out of the bedroom and down the hallway.
Kassidy drifted off to sleep with the vision of her dark, handsome husband moving through her dreams. For tonight she would have none of the nightmares that had plagued her. Instead, she would now dream of the man she had sworn before God, to love and honor.
* * *
Raile’s coachman held the door for him. After he climbed aboard the carriage, it moved sprightly down the well-lit boulevard. He drew in a deep breath, thinking he had at last righted a great wrong. His family honor had been restored.
A light rain began to fall, and he restlessly watched how the wet streets glistened beneath the street lamps.
Raile considered having his coachman drive him to Action Street, where Gabrielle Candeur lived, but he quickly discarded that notion. He didn’t relish a confrontation with Gabrielle tonight. Of late she had become clinging and demanding, two traits he did not admire in a woman. He would have to inform her of his marriage and break with her, but he would wait until his next visit to London. After all, he reasoned, it would be a year before he was a real husband.
Leaning back, he felt contented. Now that he had taken care of Kassidy’s future, he decided he would leave London at first light.
With both his new wife and his mistress forgotten, Raile turned his thoughts to Ravenworth—his real love.
Gabrielle Candeur had a beautiful voice and had once been the rage in France. She was now enjoying great success on the London stage. But Gabrielle considered her greatest triumph to have been when she had caught the eye of the elusive duke of Ravenworth.
It had been no chance meeting that had thrown them together. Gabrielle had deliberately set out to entrap him. She had learned about his favorite foods, his passion for fine horseflesh, and what he liked in a woman.
It had not been an easy conquest. And it had been made even more difficult because he rarely left his country estate. She had bribed the downstairs maid at Raile’s town house to inform her whenever he would arrive in London.
Gabrielle’s plans had gone even further than that. It had cost her a diamond necklace, her ruby ring, and a month’s wages to buy the gray Arabian horse with an impeccable lineage.
On the day the duke’s maid had informed Gabrielle that her employer was in London and that he would be spending the morning at Ascot, Gabrielle had been ecstatic. She had set her plans in motion. She had dressed with great care. Wearing a bright red riding habit and mounted on her Arabian, she prayed for success. How easy it had been to pay a startled stable boy to loosen her horse’s shoe.
Once at Ascot, Gabrielle had dismounted where Raile had been talking with several other ladies and gentlemen. She had pretended distress when she had approached him, beseeching his help.
How admirably Raile had come to her rescue that day. His groom had tended to her horse, and Raile had given her a ride back to town in his phaeton. By the time they reached London, he had asked her to dine, and later he had attended her evening performance.
In no time at all, Gabrielle was installed in a house on Action Street. All her bills were sent to Raile, who had proven to be generous indeed.
She had been the mistress of an Italian count and of one of Napoleon’s generals, but for the first time in her life, she was in love. When Raile was not with her, she was in the depths of despair. She was jealous of every hour he spent away from her and she feared he would one day tire of her and cast her aside.
Gabrielle first heard the rumor that Raile was married from one of the actors at Covent Garden, but she refused to believe him. Surely Raile wouldn’t take a wife without first telling her.
When Gabrielle heard the knock on the front door, and her maid’s voice as she greeted a visitor, she was annoyed because the caller was a woman. She had hoped it would be Raile. He hadn’t been to see her in over four weeks. She tapped beautifully shaped fingernails in rhythmic motion against the top of her dressing table. She would tell Louise she wasn’t receiving visitors today. She didn’t want to face anyone who might come to gloat if the news of Raile’s marriage was true.
The maid came bustling into the room. “Pardon, mademoiselle, but there is a Mrs. DeWinter calling. I thought you would want to see her.”
Gabrielle looked at her maid in astonishment. “Did you say Mrs. DeWinter?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Gabrielle hurried to her sitting room, her thin pink robe flying out behind her. The only Mrs. DeWinter she knew of was Raile’s stepmother. But what would the woman want with her?
“I was told you wanted to see me, Mrs. DeWinter?”
“Yes, Miss Candeur,” Lavinia said. “I saw you perform once, and you were magnificent.”
“You are too kind,” Gabrielle said, noticing the woman was well dressed and had an air of superiority about her. She instantly took a dislike to her. “May I ask why you are here, Mrs. DeWinter? I have a performance tonight and must rest my throat if I am to be at my best.”
Lavinia resented the woman’s attitude. She was nothing but an actress, after all. “I came because I believe you and I have something in common.”
“I can’t think what that would be, madame.”
“How about Raile?”
“I believe you would be his stepmother. I have heard it said you and Raile are not. . . shall we say ... fond of one another.”
“Did Raile tell you that?”
“No. Raile never discusses his family with me.”
Lavinia’s eyes turned catlike. “I suppose you heard he was married.”
Gabrielle was well trained in masking her feelings, but this was too painful to hide. “I don’t believe it!”
Lavinia smiled as the color drained from Gabrielle’s face. In coming here today, she hoped to make Raile’s life miserable. If she couldn’t torture him through his new wife, she would torture him through his mistress.
“It’s true, I can assure you. He is indeed married.”
“Raile would have told me if he were going to marry. He owes me that much.”
“My stepson does not always do the kind thing. It would seem he told neither you, nor his family.”
Gabrielle pouted, her eyes flashing with jealousy. “Who is the woman he married?”
“I don’t know her. She’s from the country. I thought you might
be able to tell me about her.”
“I wonder why you thought that, madame? You and I are not confidantes.”
Lavinia pulled on her white kid gloves and picked up her parasol. “As I said, we have something in common, Miss Candeur. Like you, I don’t want to see Raile married. You, of course, have more to lose than I.”
“What would you lose to his wife, madame? I have heard it said that he no longer speaks to you.”
Lavinia moved to the door. “Mistresses are often forgotten when a man marries.” She smiled sweetly. “You might want to remember that.” She flung open the door. “Perhaps you have already been forgotten.”
22
Anger and jealousy burned within Gabrielle’s heart as she descended the steps of her private coach to sweep into Madame Estelle’s establishment, with her footman trailing two steps behind her.
Since Madame Estelle and Gabrielle were both from France, they had formed an immediate friendship. At one time the dressmaker had designed gowns for Josephine, but it was not popular to disclose such a fact to the British. Madame Estelle now dressed many of the aristocracy, and she was always well-informed on the latest gossip.
Gabrielle knew this was the place she would learn the truth about Raile’s wife.
Madame Estelle was trim and elegant in her black gown as she rushed forward to embrace Gabrielle. “Oh, my poor Gabby,” madame cooed in heavily accented English. “It’s no wonder we have not seen you in so long. I was sure you were devastated by the duke’s marriage.”
Before she answered, Gabrielle glanced around and was satisfied that they were alone, except for the two seamstresses who were on the other side of the room concentrating on their stitchery.
She removed her red leather gloves and dropped down on the pink settee, while her footman placed a stool under her extended feet.
“So it’s true. Raile is married.” She ached with fury, and her eyes flashed with burning jealousy. “Tell me everything you know about the woman.”
Madame Estelle picked up a straw bonnet and busily poked blue flowers around the brim. “It is so strange, cheri. No one seems to know much about her. Nor have 1 met anyone who was invited to the wedding. When such an important man is married, you would expect no less than the Prince of Wales to attend the wedding, would you not?”
Seeing the stricken look on Gabrielle’s face, the little woman paused at her task. “Of course, his grace having a wife has little to do with love, Gabby. Does the duke not continue to pay your expenses?” Without allowing Gabrielle time to answer, the dressmaker continued. “After he has tired of this woman, he will return to you more and more—you will see.”
Gabrielle would not admit to her friend that Raile had not visited her in a month. She had always known he would one day take a wife, but he could have told her and not let her find out through others.
“He will never return to me, Estelle,” she said dramatically. “I have always known that there was a part of Raile that I could never reach. He held himself apart from me, never allowing me to touch his inner mind, to really know him.”
“He has always been generous with you,” Madame Estelle reminded her. “That buys a lot of comfort—if not for him, certainly for you.”
“Yes, but he never spoke of love. And he never discussed his personal life with me. I always wanted to be invited to Ravenworth Castle.”
“Cheri, you know that will never happen. A man does not take his mistress to his family home.”
Sudden anger boiled inside Gabrielle. “I will never allow him to push me aside for a mere wife. I’ll make myself so necessary to him he will want to keep returning. What could a wife offer him that I cannot?”
“That’s the way I like to hear you talk, Gabby,” the dressmaker said with passion. “Fight for him!”
“Estelle, tell me all you have heard about this woman. What are people saying about her?”
Madame studied the straw bonnet before picking up a bright blue ribbon and tying it around the brim. “As I told you, I know very little of her. Of course, there is much speculation from my patrons, but oddly, no one seems to know her personally.” She held out the bonnet and inspected her handiwork and nodded in satisfaction.
“They say,” Estelle continued, “that she’s straight from the country and has never had a London Season. I find it difficult to believe that a woman so unsophisticated could catch a man like your duke.”
“She must be very beautiful, Estelle,” Gabrielle speculated painfully.
“Not necessarily. You know how the nobles are— they marry among their own kind and think nothing about beauty or love.” Her eyes brightened. “When a nobleman does love, it is usually his mistress, and not his wife.”
Gabrielle wanted to believe Estelle, but still doubt nagged at her mind. “You cannot say for sure she is not beautiful because you have not seen Raile’s wife.”
Madame looked Gabrielle over carefully. Although she spent large amounts of money on clothing, her taste was rather garish and ornate. She was beautiful, but her lips were too severe, her gray eyes somehow without warmth. “No, I have not seen her yet—but she will be coming here to be measured for a new wardrobe. She and her aunt, Lady Mary Rindhold, have an appointment at noon tomorrow.”
Gabrielle quickly came to her feet. “1 will be here when they arrive so I can see her for myself. Raile will learn that he cannot treat Gabrielle Candeur without respect. I won’t be put out by some little country mouse.”
Madame Estelle had a dilemma. The duke of Ravenworth had been most generous in paying Gabrielle’s bills. And if she remained his mistress, Estelle would still benefit by that relationship. But she could never allow Gabrielle to meet the duke’s wife—no—it was unthinkable.
“Cheri, we are friends, and I would do anything for you—anything but allow you to be in my shop when the duchess of Ravenworth arrives. You must think of the scandal. Consider how angry his grace would be if he were to learn of such a meeting. I would be ruined.”
“Estelle, Raile’s wife will never suspect who I am. I just want to see her, and then I’ll leave quietly. No one, not even Raile, will ever know that I was here.”
Estelle was only too aware of Gabrielle’s quick temper and doubted she could be trusted not to make a scene. But they were friends, so she agreed reluctantly. “It is not right that the duke did not tell you of his marriage. So, if you promise you will not speak directly to the duchess, I will allow you to be here when she arrives.”
Gabrielle’s gray eyes took on a secretive and cunning light. “You have my oath that I shall not exchange a single word with Raile’s new duchess.”
Kassidy glanced out the window of her aunt’s town coach, noting the dark clouds that were gathering overhead. “It’s sure to rain before we return home, Aunt Mary.”
“Yes, I suspect it will, dear.” Lady Mary studied her niece with a practiced eye. In the month since her marriage, Kassidy had made a miraculous recovery. Her once pale cheeks were rosy with health. Her green eyes shone with vitality. Her hair now curled and shimmered with golden highlights. Of course, she was still too thin, but in time, Lady Mary was certain that Kassidy would gain back the weight she had lost because of her illness.
“You look happy, dearest.”
“I am, Aunt Mary. I’m with you and Uncle George. And I have Arrian. What more could I want?”
Lady Mary thought there should be much more to life for Kassidy than raising her sister’s child. She needed to be with her husband and have children of her own. She had watched Kassidy’s blossoming maturity, and in her, there was a beauty not only of face and body, but also a radiance that came from her soul. Sometimes, however, Lady Mary would catch a wistfulness in Kassidy’s eyes and knew she was thinking about Raile DeWinter.
“Are you not excited at the prospect of buying a new wardrobe today, Kassidy? Lord knows you need one.”
“Truth to tell, it feels most uncomfortable allowing Raile to pay for my clothing. I know I’m his wife, but I don�
��t feel like a wife. I haven’t heard from nor seen him since our wedding.”
“Kassidy,” Lady Mary said for at least the third time, “Raile is your husband, and it’s his responsibility to make certain you are properly clothed. He told me before he left that I was to see that you had everything you required. You haven’t been out because of your illness, but you are going to find that as the duchess of Ravenworth, your presence will be expected at many functions. Already I have turned down dozens of invitations on your behalf.”
Kassidy glanced down at her yellow gown that had been made over from one of her aunt’s old ones. “I suppose I do need new clothes,” she agreed.
“Yes, and just remember that as Raile’s wife, you will want to be appropriately dressed so you can be a credit to your husband and to the title.”
“I suppose there is truth in what you say. But it’s difficult all the same.”
Lady Mary smiled and patted Kassidy’s hand. “We have arrived, dear. You will like the lovely gowns Madame Estelle creates. Even though it isn’t popular to patronize a Frenchwoman, she is very much in vogue and has a devoted clientele.”
Kassidy could only think of the cost. “She must be expensive.”
“Indeed, yes. If she wasn’t, I wouldn’t bring you here.”
Kassidy frowned. She had never had money to spend on clothing. She could not even imagine how much a gown would cost, and her aunt said she needed dozens.
The footman opened the door, and Lady Mary motioned for Kassidy to follow her. “This will be an adventure, dear. Just you wait and see.”
From her vantage point on the pink settee, Gabrielle Candeur watched the two women approach the shop. She recognized Lady Mary Rindhold, a distinguished hostess. She could not see the other woman who walked on the opposite side of Lady Mary.
Song Of The Nightingale (DeWinter's Song 1) Page 17
