A Marriage of Notoriety

by Diane Gaston

  He noticed she made a show of eating, pushing her food around the plate without actually consuming it. No wonder she was getting thin.

  He very much wished they could regain at least a piece of their friendship. Perhaps be cordial to each other. He searched his mind for something to say to her that would serve that purpose.

  He remembered the sheets of music she’d left at the Masquerade Club. ‘I have your music, Phillipa,’ he told her. ‘Forgive me for not returning it to you. I will have it brought to you tomorrow, if you desire it.’ Perhaps he would deliver it himself.

  ‘There is no need.’ She stared at her plate.

  ‘No need?’ He did not understand.

  ‘I do not play music any more,’ she said.

  Not play music? ‘Why not, Phillipa? What about your pianoforte?’

  ‘I no longer have a pianoforte.’ She faced him directly and her eyes seemed like walls, closing her off from him. ‘Mama had the pianoforte removed.’

  ‘Removed?’ He could not believe his ears.

  She resumed toying with her food. ‘Mama has this notion that, if she makes my life miserable, I will somehow bend to her will.’

  ‘She took away your pianoforte.’ This was cruelty in the extreme. ‘Because you refused my proposal?’

  Her voice trembled. ‘She said she is done indulging me.’

  Xavier lost his appetite as well.

  * * *

  Phillipa speared the piece of lobster with her fork and brought it to her mouth, not for wanting it, but to have a reason not to say more to Xavier. She’d not meant to tell him about her pianoforte, about her music.

  It had been difficult to see him, especially during the ceremony, listening to words that might have been spoken between them.

  If her mother had got her way.

  Her mother was still furious at her for refusing Xavier. Taking away the pianoforte had been done in a fit of temper, but her mother would not back down from that decision. To be deprived of music was like being starved of sustenance. Hearing the trio play had been more gratifying than witnessing the marriages of her brothers. She devoured every note.

  Now the musicians had packed up their instruments and departed, and again she was empty inside.

  No one spoke to her about music. The servants certainly would not mention it. Her brothers seemed to have forgotten about it. Initially they had argued with their mother on her behalf, insisting she return the pianoforte to Phillipa, but her mother sold it. Phillipa would never get it back. After a few days, Ned and Hugh became involved in other matters and that was the end of her music.

  Captain Henson stood with glass raised. ‘I propose a toast. To the happiness of these two fortunate couples.’

  Phillipa’s mother joined in. ‘To their happiness!’

  Phillipa dutifully drank, but anger bubbled up inside her. Logic told her that her mother deserved a man who truly cared for her, but at the same time Phillipa resented that her mother possessed what never could be hers—a man who loved her.

  Phillipa always felt the vision pushing forwards when the general spoke. Or when he came to dinner. Or arrived to take her mother to some social event.

  Xavier spoke to her. ‘I cannot decide if he is encroaching or merely greatly attached to your mother.’

  She longed to talk about it with him. He was the only one who knew everything.

  Her throat tightened. She pretended to keep eating.

  She’d not been wrong to refuse him, she told herself again. A man so perfect could only be unhappy with an imperfect wife.

  When the breakfast was over, Phillipa slipped away while the couples were busy saying their goodbyes. She was certain no one would notice. She returned to her bedchamber and tried to play in her head the music she’d heard that day.

  And erase the image of Xavier Campion from her mind.

  Chapter Twelve

  Two days later the house was so quiet Phillipa thought she would go mad. If she’d had her pianoforte she would have loved such a day. She would have filled the air with music.

  Her mother now spent all her spare time with General Henson. Ned and Adele were on their honeymoon trip, and Hugh had gone to the country, to Westleigh House, to oversee the harvest. Phillipa had begged her mother to allow her to go with him—there was a pianoforte there—but her mother refused and Hugh would not counter their mother’s wishes.

  Phillipa was alone with no way to fill the days.

  Out of desperation she turned to needlework. And to winding her music box over and over.

  Higgley knocked upon her door. ‘A gentleman to see you, Lady Phillipa.’

  Her spirits drooped lower. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Mr Campion.’

  She knew even before he spoke the name. What other gentleman would call upon her? ‘I will see him in the drawing room.’

  She looked at herself in the mirror. She wore an old dress and an old cap and looked her very worst. She changed nothing.

  Instead she wound the music box once more and closed her eyes as it played. Unfortunately the tune it played was ‘Plaisir D’amour’.

  * * *

  The pleasures of love lasts only a moment.

  The pain of love lasts a lifetime.

  She closed the box and left the room.

  The door to the drawing room was open and she paused for a moment.

  He stood at the window. Even in profile, he could take her breath away. His coat and pantaloons were superbly cut, fitting him well, as did all his clothing. His dark hair was slightly longer than fashionable and untamed.

  She stepped in to the room. ‘Xavier?’

  He turned to her and did not speak for a moment. ‘Good day, Phillipa.’ He seemed to scrutinise her. ‘Are you in good health?’

  That was a way of saying she looked so dreadful she must be at death’s door.

  She waved a hand and crossed the room to a chair. ‘I am well enough. Why are you here?’

  She might as well force him to the point.

  He sat in a chair near her. Too close for her comfort. Surely now he could see the dark circles under her eyes and the lines etching her forehead.

  And her scar.

  ‘It is about your music.’

  Of course. He’d said he would bring her music.

  ‘You should not be without your music.’ He leaned towards her. ‘It is plain to see that you are not doing well without it. I propose to give it back to you.’

  ‘Propose to give it back? Have you not brought it with you? You said you would.’ Although what could she do with it besides hide it from her mother?

  ‘I do not mean your sheet music,’ he said.

  Then what did he mean? ‘Do not say you have purchased a pianoforte. My mother will be rid of it.’

  ‘Your mother will have no say. The music will be all yours.’

  ‘Stop talking in riddles, Xavier.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. Must she get a headache, too?

  ‘Marry me, Phillipa.’ His voice dropped. ‘Reconsider and marry me. Do so and you may work on your music to your heart’s content.’

  His words were stabs of pain. ‘We have been through this before.’

  He held up a hand. ‘No. Not this. When you refused me before you could not think your mother would take away your music. Marriage to me will restore it and more. I promise I will buy you the finest pianoforte to be found in all London.’

  She could not believe her ears. ‘I should marry for a pianoforte?’

  He smiled. ‘Why not? Other women marry for a title or wealth, why not marry for a pianoforte?’ He turned serious again. ‘You can perform at the Masquerade Club, if you wish, and I promise to help you sell your music. I already showed one piece to a music seller. He agreed it w
as good. He gave me a list of music publishers here.’

  Her head whirled. He’d done all that for her?

  He went on. ‘You ought not to be deprived of what you most love. Your music.’

  ‘But that is not your doing.’ She knew where the blame rested. ‘It is mine. And my mother’s.’

  ‘But I have the power to fix it.’ He touched her hand. ‘We can put it in the settlement papers, if you wish. That you will always have any musical instrument you desire. That I will endeavor to sell your music. That the money goes to you.’

  She swept a hand around the room. ‘The weddings that took place here? Those couples had a regard for each other. We do not.’

  His eyes pierced hers. ‘You do not have a regard for me?’

  She glanced away.

  ‘I assure you...’ his eyes bored into hers ‘...I have a regard for you, Phillipa.’

  ‘Do not jest with me.’ She pointed to her scar. ‘Look at me.’

  He pulled her hand away from her face. ‘Your scar has never mattered to me. Listen to me. In your family you will always be dependent—’

  This was no argument. She cut him off. ‘You will make me dependent upon you.’

  ‘No. Because I can give you independence. Money of your own.’ He paused as if thinking of something for the first time. ‘If you prefer, I can simply support you, but I fear that will cause both our families some distress and it will limit you in society.’

  She almost laughed. Think of the gossip. The handsome Xavier Campion taking disfigured Phillipa Westleigh under his protection.

  But the ridicule would be the same if he married her.

  What was she thinking? ‘I cannot do this to you, Xavier. Or to myself. You cannot want me for a wife.’

  His gaze did not waver. ‘I do want you for a wife.’

  ‘Why?’ It made no sense. A man like him wanting to marry her.

  ‘You are being treated shabbily,’ he said. ‘I can fix it.’

  She turned away.

  ‘Think of it, Phillipa,’ he pressed. ‘You may play your music to your heart’s delight. You will run your own household, decide on your own invitations. Your own activities. You will not be dependent upon your mother or brothers.’

  She would only be answerable to him.

  ‘Trust me.’ It was as if he read her mind.

  She stared into a future with her mother. She would be a spinster. As her mother aged she would be called upon to be her companion. When her mother was gone, she’d be shifted from one brother’s home to the other.

  If she married, though, she could live her own life. Was that not what her mother had always done? Her parents had paid little heed to each other’s activities. Would marriage with Xavier be like that?

  Could she endure it?

  There must be something of self-interest in this proposition. ‘What advantage would marrying me provide you?’

  He glanced into her eyes. ‘Would you believe me if I told you I would marry you because I love you?’

  The words pierced her heart. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘I thought as much.’ He smiled, but the sadness did not leave his eyes. ‘Marry me anyway and leave this place.’

  It was as if he’d offered freedom from a dungeon. The question was, could she resist, when she knew it was guilt or obligation or honour or whatever that led him to make this offer?

  She could not.

  He offered her music and that was the one offer she could not resist.

  ‘Very well, Xavier.’ She would marry him.

  He seized her hand. ‘Good, Phillipa. Good.’

  ‘But there is one thing.’

  His brows rose. ‘That is?’

  ‘We must marry quietly. Only you and me.’ She refused to be put on display, not even in front of family.

  He raised her hand to his lips. ‘It will be as you say.’

  * * *

  Xavier released a pent up breath. She’d said yes.

  Music was the key.

  She could not live without music.

  He appearance this morning was even more alarming than the day of the wedding. She wore her hair pulled back into a simple cap that hid all her curls. Her lips were thin and her eyes pained, and she was so pale, the discolouration of her scar became even more prominent. He wanted to see her flushed with pleasure again. He wanted to see her joy at making music.

  He pulled a paper from his coat pocket. ‘I took the liberty of procuring a special licence. We can marry anywhere, any time. We want only witnesses and a clergyman.’ He smiled. ‘We could do it today, if you wish.’

  ‘Today?’ She looked alarmed.

  ‘Tell me when.’ He wanted to assure her the independence he’d promised her. She must decide.

  Her chin rose in determination. ‘Tomorrow, if you can manage it.’

  He reached across the distance between them and touched her cheek. ‘I am determined it should be exactly as you wish. I will send word if I am unable to make the arrangements.’

  Her eyes searched his as if trying to determine whether she should believe him.

  ‘Do not worry,’ he told her. ‘Leave it to me. I will call upon you at eleven o’clock.’ He stood. ‘I should take my leave. I have much to accomplish.’

  She rose as well and walked with him to the drawing-room door.

  He reached for the latch, but her hand stilled his. ‘Are you certain of this, Xavier?’

  He lifted her chin and leaned down to place his lips on hers. ‘I am certain, Phillipa.’

  The butler, who was attending the hall, handed Xavier his hat and gloves and walked to the door to open it for him.

  Xavier turned to the man as he reached for the doorknob. ‘If you have any affection towards Lady Phillipa, sir, perhaps you could refrain from mentioning my visit to Lady Westleigh.’

  The butler’s expression did not change, but he said, ‘If her ladyship does not ask if Lady Phillipa received any callers, I see no reason I should mention it.’

  Xavier smiled. ‘Thank you. That is all I ask.’

  He walked out to the street and turned towards Bond Street. There was much to be accomplished and only one day to accomplish it all.

  Which he was determined to do.

  * * *

  Phillipa’s heart pounded as she watched Xavier leave the house and hurry down the street. Could it really be true? Would she be able to leave this prison her mother had created for her and be free?

  She walked out of the room and made her way to the stairs, feeling as if she were sleepwalking.

  Mason stood in the hall. ‘Is there anything you require, m’lady?’

  She wanted to tell him not to tell her mother about Xavier’s visit, but was he an ally or would he report to her mother?

  No, she must pretend Xavier’s visit was nothing of significance, nothing worthy of mentioning.

  ‘If you would find Lacey and ask her to attend me, I would be grateful.’ She had to risk asking for Lacey’s help. Even more, she needed to tell someone what had happened. And what was going to happen.

  ‘Very good, m’lady.’ He bowed and she started up the stairs. ‘One moment, m’lady,’ he called to her.

  She turned to him.

  He looked up at her. ‘Lady Westleigh never enquires if you have had callers.’

  How odd for him to say. ‘I rarely do have callers.’

  ‘Precisely.’ His voice did not change from its typically formal tone. ‘Which is why Lady Westleigh never asks.’ He paused. ‘And I, therefore, have no reason to answer her.’

  She suddenly understood. ‘Thank you, Mason.’

  He bowed.

  On impulse she rushed down the stairs again and gave him a hug. ‘Wish me happy,’ she wh
ispered in his ear. ‘I am going to be married. Say nothing to my mother or anyone else.’

  He broke into a smile, but just as quickly composed his features. ‘If Lady Westleigh asks me if you are to be married, I shall be compelled to answer.’

  She laughed. ‘If she asks, do tell her!’

  She ran up the stairs to her room. It looked remarkably unchanged. Her needlework lay on the chair by the window. Her music box sat on the table. Her brush and comb remained on the dressing table. She glanced in the mirror.

  Even she did not look changed, even though everything she expected in her life would now be different. She turned a full circle, scanning every corner.

  ‘I’ll not see this room after tomorrow,’ she said aloud. ‘Of that I am immensely glad.’

  A knock sounded at the door and Lacey entered the room. ‘You wished to see me, m’lady? Is there something I may do for you?’

  Lacey felt sorry for her, Phillipa knew, and also very guilt-ridden for telling her family about sneaking out at night.

  Phillipa was about to give her a second chance. ‘I have something to tell you, but you must promise to tell no one.’

  Lacey wrung her hands. ‘Oh, m’lady! I will swear on everything holy. I will say nothing. Not even if they torture me or threaten to sack me.’

  ‘You won’t be sacked, but you may be promoted.’ Phillipa made the girl face her. ‘Do you know that Mr Campion called today?’

  Lacey nodded. ‘One of the maids saw him walk to the door. She and I took a peek at him when he left. He is a sight to see, as you know.’

  Even the maids were not immune to his good looks. ‘Will you tell the maid to say nothing to anyone about seeing him?’

  ‘Yes, m’lady. If you wish it.’

  Phillipa hugged herself. ‘You see, I have agreed to marry him.’

  Lacey squealed. ‘You do not say! Marry him? A man like him? Who would have thought?’

  Even Lacey could not believe a perfect man like Xavier would marry an imperfect woman like herself.

  ‘But you must tell no one.’ Phillipa repeated. ‘No one.’

  ‘Yes, m’lady.’ The girl giggled. ‘No one. I promise. Not even the maids.’