‘I believe it is.’
‘How do you know that?’ Alexander smiled at her. She narrowed her eyes. And how did you know that these are all my favourite dishes?’
‘I didn’t, but I consulted someone who did.’
‘Phoebe!’
‘And Estelle. I told you, I wanted to make this day memorable, so I wrote to the oracles. They were very forthcoming.’
Eloise ate an oyster, closing her eyes as the salty fresh taste of the sea washed over her. ‘I can’t believe it. This is just lovely, and so thoughtful, and such a surprise. Thank you.’
‘Oh, I was only acting under orders.’ Alexander poured them both a glass of cold white wine and removed the oyster shells. ‘Your sisters were eager to have a say in proceedings, to make up for their absence at the ceremony, and so more than happy to advise me.’ He pushed the serving dish of Dover sole towards her.
‘Please don’t tell me they suggested that I bathe in asses’ milk.’
‘Like Cleopatra?’ He laughed. ‘Why on earth would they suggest such a thing?’
‘Because they possess a singular sense of humour.’
‘You wouldn’t relish a visit to the silk warehouse, then?’
‘A silk warehouse? Really?’
‘So you don’t want me to cancel that? What about the appointment with Madame LeClerc in Bond Street? It was rather presumptuous of me, I know, since you prefer to make all your own gowns, but if you could select the silk and come up with the designs for your trousseau...’
‘Was that my sisters’ idea too?’
‘Well, no, that was mine. I have no idea how long it takes to make one gown, let alone a wardrobe full of them...’
‘I don’t need a wardrobe full.’
‘I’m afraid that you probably will. If we are to establish ourselves as the Earl and Countess of Fearnoch, we’re going to have to do a fair bit of socialising. I’m told that Madame LeClerc, though running one of the oldest establishments on Bond Street, is still one of the most fashionable, but if you have a preference for another modiste...’
‘No, I don’t. I have no idea—how do you know who is in fashion?’
‘I asked the wife of a colleague here at the Admiralty.’
‘You must mix with some very senior colleagues,’ Eloise said, ‘if they mix in the kind of society that an earl and a countess—I’m sorry, that sounds very insulting, only I thought that your work—to be honest, I have no idea what your work really is, or who you mix with, though I did have the impression that it was not the sort of people you’d be expected to mix with now. As the Earl of Fearnoch, I mean. Though actually, what I mean is thank you. For taking the trouble to obtain a recommendation. However you obtained it. May I help you to some of the duck?’
‘Thank you, yes. And some of the asparagus too.’
She cast him a sidelong glance. ‘You’re laughing at me.’
Alexander smiled, shaking his head. ‘I’m endeared.’
The candlelight accentuated the sharp planes of his cheeks. The high starched collar of his shirt accentuated the decisive line of his jaw. It was the strangeness of it all that was making her breathless. She was married to this man, and as well as being the most handsome man she’d ever met he had been extremely thoughtful, not only consulting her sisters, but the wife of his mysterious ‘friend’ who sounded as if he must be rather high up in the Admiralty, which made her wonder where, in the echelons, a Victualling Commissioner sat. High enough to commandeer his commander’s house for the evening!
‘Now, just when I’d like you to be articulating your thoughts, you are keeping them very much to yourself.’
‘My duck is getting cold.’ Eloise picked up her fork.
‘For the record,’ Alexander said, following suit, ‘you’re a very unconvincing prevaricator.’
‘For the record, my duck was actually getting cold, and it is delicious. Does Fearnoch House come with a cook?’
‘I believe so.’
‘When will the notice of our nuptials be in the press?’
‘I’ve left it with Robertson. We thought it best to inform my mother first, and to let her have the terms of the settlement too. But let’s not talk about business tonight. Would you like some cheese? Your sisters told me that you don’t have a sweet tooth.’
‘I don’t, and I do love cheese, but I’ve had far too much already.’ Eloise happily filed away her questions about how, precisely, the Dowager Lady Fearnoch had been informed of her only remaining child’s nuptials for another day, and pushed her plate aside. ‘Thank you, Alexander. That was a truly lovely meal.’ She got up, and automatically began to stack the dishes.
‘Leave that.’ Alexander removed a plate from her hand and set it down. ‘I’ll have them come to clear up,’ he added, pushing the bell.
‘I didn’t think. At home, we take turns.’
‘You will have a new home tomorrow, and an army of servants to clear up after you. Appease your conscience with the knowledge that you will be keeping several scullery maids in respectable work.’
* * *
The dishes were cleared with silent efficiency. The fire was banked up. They were alone again, and Alexander poured the last of the champagne into their glasses. ‘It is probably flat.’
‘I am not sophisticated enough to care.’
Eloise raised her glass to him and took a sip before settling down on the sofa, curling her legs up under her. Alexander pulled a chair nearer. If he was alone, he’d have long ago discarded his coat and waistcoat. If he was alone, he’d be sitting by the fireside now in his dressing gown. ‘Do you mind if I loosen my neckcloth?’
‘If I may take off my shoes?’ Eloise waited only for his nod to slip her feet out of her satin slippers with a happy sigh. ‘When I was younger, I hated to wear shoes or stockings. In the summer, I’d even wander about outside in my bare feet. Save when Mama and Papa were in residence of course.’
He stared, fascinated, as she flexed her toes inside her stockings. Did she tie her garters below or above the knee? Cursing under his breath, he dragged his eyes away, yanking unnecessarily hard at the knot in his necktie. ‘I forgot to ask what you like for breakfast.’
‘Tea, and lots of it. I should warn you that I am like a bear with a sore head in the morning, until I’ve drunk the full pot.’
‘You promised me, within minutes of our first meeting, that you were extremely even-tempered.’
‘And so I am, provided I am left alone to drink my tea.’
‘What other foibles do you have that I should take account of?’
‘You should have asked that before you married me.’
‘Ah, but then you might not have told me the truth.’ In the muted candlelight, her hair flickered like flames, her eyes gleamed. He could hear the smile in her voice, was acutely conscious of her curled up within touching distance. He had been alone with other women, but this was a form of intimacy he had never experienced, cocooned in the fading light, sharing their thoughts and not their bodies. It was odd, in one sense enjoyable, in another quite unsettling.
‘We haven’t decided how we met yet,’ Eloise said. ‘The story of our whirlwind romance. I must admit, I find the idea that two people could decide to spend the rest of their lives together on the basis of their eyes meeting across a crowded room just a little bit far-fetched.’
‘More than a little. I’ve been thinking,’ Alexander said, ‘that it would be better all round if our romance was long-standing. What if we met some time ago, and were privately engaged before my brother died.’
‘Unrequited love! That would certainly counter any accusations of cupboard love on my part. I presume, since you are looking so pleased with yourself, that you have also worked out how we met, when I have spent the last five years of my life closeted in the country and you have been—wherever it is you have been.’
Eloise angled herself towards him. ‘But how did we first encounter each other?’
‘Why not start with the truth, that I met your uncle abroad, then embellish it so that he asked me to deliver his post on my return to England.’
‘Not his post, how about an artefact of some sort?’
‘A lamp containing a genie? A mummy with a curse attached?’
Her eyes widened. ‘A cursed mummy! I like the sound of that, though it wouldn’t really augur well for our romance, would it?’
‘Perhaps not. What, then?’
‘What about a tribal mask? No, no, wait, I have it, a musical instrument—a set of ceremonial drums, for Estelle’s birthday. What do you think?’
He thought she looked delectable, her eyes gleaming with humour, her cheeks flushed from the firelight, her mouth curved into a soft smile. ‘A set of drums for Estelle, why not. So I brought them to Elmswood Manor—let’s say three years ago—and I met you.’
‘Before you set eyes on my sisters, mind, for no one would believe you could fall in love with me if you’d met them first.’
‘Rubbish. I knew from the moment I set eyes on you that you were the woman for me. You had been reading a book, and when I was announced you jumped up and it fell to the floor, and I picked it up for you. It was Voltaire’s Candide, one of my favourites.’
‘That is the actual book I was reading when you came to Elmswood Manor!’
‘I know, I spotted it on the window seat, lying open. I find that when you’re making up a story, it pays to use as many real details as possible, and to ensure that the details are covered. Because my work keeps me overseas, much of our romance was conducted by letter, though I visited Elmswood Manor every time I was back in England.’
‘An epistolary romance. My favourite kind to read.’
Alexander grinned. ‘Fortuitous. When I visited you in January last year, that is when I proposed, but we kept our engagement a secret.’
‘No doubt for a very good reason?’
‘I could not possibly become engaged without obtaining permission from the head of the Fearnoch family, of course.’
‘Your brother! So you visited him in London?’
‘No, alas, I was summoned abroad at short notice, and planned to inform Walter on my next leave of absence.’
‘But he died before you could return.’
‘And we have kept our attachment a secret until the year of mourning was completed.’
‘That is excellent, Alexander. Are you often required to make up stories? I’d have thought your duties here required you to do the opposite, and document the facts.’
If only she knew! For a brief moment, he positively ached with longing for the thrill of the chase, the intellectual challenge of each mission, the knife-edge of danger and the deep satisfaction of a successful outcome.
But she must never know. For the foreseeable future, he had to embrace a different life, and would face very different challenges with Eloise by his side. He’d thought his convenient wife would be a necessary and boring accessory, but he already knew that life with Eloise would not be boring, because apart from anything else, he wasn’t planning on it lasting long enough for either of them to become bored. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy being married,’ Alexander said.
A long tress of her hair had escaped its pins. Her stockinged feet were peeping out from the hem of her gown. One of them was resting on his thigh. If this were a real wedding night, he’d kiss her toes. Then he’d run his fingers up her calves, her knees, to untie her garters. He’d ease her stockings down slowly, and he’d lean towards her as he did so, kissing her carefully, gently, not wanting to alarm her.
Alexander sat up abruptly. ‘It’s late, he said. ‘I think it’s time we went to our hotel.’ Getting to his feet, he helped her up before brushing her fingertips with his lips. He would not allow himself to imagine that his own desires were reflected in her eyes. ‘I’ll ring for the carriage.’
‘Have I done something to offend you?’
‘It’s been a long day, that’s all, and we have an even longer day ahead of us tomorrow.’ He picked up her slippers, handing them to her in order to prevent himself giving in to the impulse to pull her into his arms under the guise of comforting her. ‘Go and fetch your hat and we’ll be on our way.’
Chapter Five
Eloise lay wide awake listening to the unfamiliar sounds of London at night. She had never lived in a city. She hadn’t appreciated it would be noisy, that people would still be afoot at two, three in the morning. And she knew what time it was, because Londoners seemed to find it essential for someone to be employed to wander the streets shouting the hour and informing her that all was well.
She hoped that the disembodied voice knew what he was talking about. She had blown out her candle, but there was a gas streetlamp right outside her window shining flickering light through a gap in the curtains. At home, she slept with the curtains wide open to the night sky. Even on the darkest of nights, when the sky was thick with cloud and there were no traces of moonlight, she could navigate her way around Elmswood Manor without bumping into anything, stubbing her toe on a chair leg or tripping over a rug. She’d spent many nights, in those early days there, stumbling her way in the dark from her own room to the twins’ bedroom, soothing their heartbreaking sobs, or simply watching them sleeping or feigning sleep. She hadn’t cried, but she’d taken to roaming around the house at night, afraid to sleep.
But it wasn’t fear that was keeping her awake tonight, it was excitement. Sitting up, she plumped up two of the mountain of pillows and stared into the gloom. This was her first night as the Countess of Fearnoch. She still didn’t feel in the least bit like a countess, but she did feel different. Was Alexander lying awake too?
Their wedding feast at the Admiralty had been delightful and utterly unexpected. She was deeply touched by his thoughtfulness and determination to make the day both special and memorable. In cahoots with the twins, no less! A man capable of surprising her, not least with his revelations about his loveless childhood. She was vastly relieved that there was no imminent meeting with his mother looming. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted to meet the woman. An emotion more powerful than mere indifference to a second son must have caused her to have willingly exiled Alexander, but what on earth could it possibly be? Did he know? He was an intelligent man, but if he knew the answer, he was keeping it to himself. He had a way of avoiding personal questions, of turning the conversation so that by the time she realised he’d done it, it was far too late to wind it back. The reception they had received at Admiralty House, for example, did not square with a mere weevil counter. There was obviously more to him than met the eye.
Eloise’s lids began to droop. She snuggled down into the big, comfortable bed. When they’d been funning about how they had met, she’d thought he was going to kiss her, but then he hadn’t and he’d been quite brusque when saying goodnight. He hadn’t really wanted to kiss her. He must have realised that she’d wanted to kiss him, and that was what had annoyed him. Why was she suddenly thinking about kissing so much? Why was she so fascinated, wondering what his mouth would feel like on hers, not at all repelled by the idea, but intrigued? It must be her perverse streak, wanting what she couldn’t have. And didn’t want. Not really.
What would it be like to be married? Once they had negotiated the awkward early days, the trials of learning how to live under the same roof, how to act their allotted parts in front of others, what would life be like? Would it ever feel normal? Would carefulness quickly become carelessness? Would familiarity breed contempt? At least it would not breed anger or jealousy. It would not lead to betraya
l. They could not be unfaithful to each other. There was no passion to inflame or to scorch. Living with Alexander wouldn’t be distressing. There would be no shouting and screaming. No threats and no violence. It might prove boring, but...
Eloise smiled to herself. No, not boring. Not even if he did turn out to be exactly who he claimed to be. He was intriguing and thoughtful and honourable and a little bit too perceptive for her own peace of mind. He had a very sardonic sense of humour. He’d said her hair was the colour of fire. He’d said she was lovely. Was that a bland compliment or an admission that he was attracted to her?
Under the bedcovers, her toes curled into the sheets. She shouldn’t be asking herself these questions. But she was attracted to him. It was perfectly acceptable for her to admit that, in the dark, in the privacy of her own chamber, knowing that it had nothing to do with anything. Once she’d accustomed herself to his very, very handsome face and his athletic figure, then this inconvenient and foolish ardour, for want of a better word, would fade.
She was confident of that. She was absolutely confident that she would never, ever, allow herself to be ruled by passion. Passion was a cruel and heartless mistress. Passion made you selfish. It made you vicious. It drove you to heights and it sent you plummeting to depths, and it made you careless of who you took with you. It had always struck her as horribly, painfully ironic, that it was the products of the passion in her parents marriage, herself and her sisters, who had been so thoughtlessly, heedlessly damaged by it.
Her fear of passion was too deep-rooted for her ever to wish to experience it for herself. To marry for love, as her parents had, was a frankly terrifying and repulsive idea. In Ireland, she had vowed never to marry, under any circumstances. Only seeing Kate’s marriage, the antithesis of her parents’, both contented and passion free, had made her think differently. Which is precisely why she was here, married to Alexander.
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