Susan Carroll

by The Painted Veil

  Wheeling his horse into the leafy path that led toward the lake, Mandell grimaced at the image of himself visiting the tavern, playing at Bow Street Runner, a piece of pure foolishness that had gained him nothing. He did not know why he had bothered. Briggs was obviously beyond caring whether the Hook was captured or not. It would do little to aide his recovery or even assuage Mandell's guilt to charge about acting like some heroic avenger.

  What he needed to do was to forget the whole sad and frustrating affair and regain his aura of cool detachment, something that he strove to do as he drew back on the reins, checking both his own impatience and the gelding's urge to break into a gallop.

  Mandell focused his thoughts upon the rendezvous he had come to keep, in its own way a folly as great as his efforts to unmask the Hook. These visits to the park were a far sweeter pursuit, but equally as mad.

  Since the weather had turned fine, Anne brought her daughter to St. James's before the park became too crowded with young bucks showing off their flashy phaetons and ladies unfurling their parasols, determined to be seen abroad at the fashionable hour. Mandell had taken to joining Anne and Norrie on their daily walk by the lake.

  It was a strange habit for the cynical marquis of Mandell to have formed, he reflected. Certainly not his usual mode of courting a woman, strolling with her through the sedate walkways of St. James, helping her little girl feed bread to the ducks. No doubt it was the spring air filling his lungs, the breeze upon his cheek as warm and heady as a kiss that made him so eager for these afternoon jaunts.

  As he drew closer to the pond, he caught himself leaning forward in the saddle, straining for his first glimpse of Anne. His mistress.

  The word still seemed wrong to him when applied to Anne, almost unholy. Despite the fact that he had managed to steal her away to his bed twice more since the first night they had made love, he preferred to think of her as his friend. It was a question of semantics, a way perhaps of avoiding the harsh realities of their relationship. But it was the only way he seemed able to continue to meet the innocence of her gaze and that of her daughter.

  As he rounded a bend, the lake stretched out before him, and in the far distance, the stately buildings of the Horse Guard and Downing Street. The water shimmered in the sunlight, smooth as a looking glass, the surface broken only by the wakes of the majestic swans swimming near the embankment. A willow bowed over the embankment, its slender green branches trailing like a maiden's hair to the water's edge.

  It was a scene of enchantment, a fitting setting for the little girl with the fairy-gold curls astride the snow-white pony. The leading reins were grasped firmly in the hands of a sturdy young groom, but Mandell found the picture incomplete.

  He drew up with a frown of surprise when he saw no sign of Anne. She was usually never far from Norrie's side. Mandell had teased Anne about her tendency to hover, assuring her that for all of Norrie's air of fragility, she was a sturdy imp who would doubtless give her mama many uneasy moments when she grew a little older.

  But he was given no time to reflect upon the mystery of Anne's whereabouts, for at that instant, Norrie spied his approach. She whipped her chip straw hat off her head, hailing him with its flowing pink ribbons as he approached. Her small face lit up with a joy and adoring trust that touched a corner of Mandell's heart he was not even aware existed.

  He halted the gelding within yards of her pony, the young groom acknowledging Mandell's arrival with a respectful bow.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Eleanor,” Mandell said with mock gravity as he dismounted. “I see you are out exercising Pegasus this afternoon. But where is your mama?”

  “She walked ahead down that path.” Norrie's bright smile faded as she complained with all the dignity of an injured princess. “We did not think you were coming today. You are dreadfully late, Lord Man. Where have you been?”

  “A thousand pardons, milady,” Mandell said, sweeping the little girl his best leg. His hands encircling Norrie's waist, he lifted her out of the saddle, holding her high in his arms. “1 was detained by a fool's errand.”

  “Who was the fool?”

  “No one of any consequence,” Mandell replied drily.

  “Never mind then.” Norrie patted his cheek in consoling fashion. “I am just very glad you are here now.”

  She took Mandell by surprise, flinging her small arms about his neck in an impulsive hug. He returned the embrace with an awkward pat on her back. Someone ought to inform Miss Eleanor about the impropriety of young ladies making such affectionate displays in public, but Mandell knew that he was not going to be the one to do so.

  As he set her on her feet, she turned toward the gelding that was cropping at the tender green shoots of grass.

  “You brought your horse today instead of the carriage,” she said. “May I pet him?”

  Mandell could see no reason why not. The gelding was a town-bred animal, selected for its docility in dealing with the chaos of London traffic. All the same, Mandell took a tight grip on the reins as Norrie patted the animal's velvety soft muzzle.

  “What's his name?”

  “Er—well ...” Mandell had never troubled himself to think of sobriquets for his horseflesh. “I don't believe he has one.”

  “Did you forget it?” Norrie asked. “The same as you forget what your mama used to call you?”

  Mandell winced, recollecting their conversation of a few days ago, a discussion of nicknames. Norrie had wanted to know what he had been called when he was a small boy. Like Anne, the child had a habit of asking discomfiting questions.

  To forestall any further mention of the subject, Mandell hastened to say, “I think I do recall the horse's name. It is Nightmare.”

  He was left to reflect on the irony of the first choice that had popped into his head, but Norrie appeared satisfied with it.

  “Nightmare,” she crooned, giggling a little when the gelding nuzzled her hand. “I can hardly wait until my Pegasus grows into a horse as big as you.”

  Mandell laughed. “I am afraid he has a better chance of sprouting wings.”

  “Does he?” Norrie exclaimed.

  Behind the child, Mandell saw the young groom rolling his eyes. Mandell hated to be the one to disillusion her, but he saw no remedy for it. He cleared his throat.

  “What I meant, Miss Eleanor, is that ponies do not grow to be horses. Pegasus is already as big as he will ever be.”

  “Oh.” She looked so crestfallen Mandell was goaded into making a rash promise.

  “When you are old enough, I will get you a horse, a pretty little filly every bit as milky white as your Pegasus.”

  Norrie's eyes sparkled. “Thank you,” she said. “Uncle Lucien gave me my pony, but I know he would never buy me a horse because he does not like me and my mama anymore. When we went past his house, he made mean looks at me this morning.”

  “This morning? But, Norrie, there is no one living at your uncle's house anymore. He has gone away.”

  “That's what Mama says. But I know I saw Uncle Lucien looking out the window, making faces like a hobbedygoblin.” Norrie heaved a deep sigh. “Mama says I have too much imagination.”

  “I fear Mama may be right.” Mandell tweaked one of the child's curls. “And speaking of that wise lady, perhaps it is time we went and looked for her.”

  “She went down the path that way” Norrie said, pointing one stubby finger. “With your grandpapa.”

  “My grandfather?” Mandell echoed. He froze, certain he could not have heard the child properly. “You don't mean His Grace of Windermere?”

  “Norrie nodded solemnly. “He's a duke, you know.”

  “Yes, I know that, babe, but my grandfather rarely ever visits the park.”

  “He came today, taking the air in his carriage and lo and behold!” Norrie spread her hands in an expressive gesture. “There we were. He just chanced upon us.”

  “Did he indeed?” Mandell muttered, knowing full well the duke of Windermere never did anything by chance.
What reason could His Grace have for seeking out Anne? Mandell could not imagine it was a good one, considering the last conversation he had had with his grandfather regarding the lady. A strong sense of foreboding stole over him and he made haste to lift Norrie back onto the pony's saddle.

  Turning the reins of his own mount over to the groom, Mandell said, “I will act as Miss Eleanor's chevalier.”

  “I wish Mama would let me ride the pony by myself sometimes,” Norrie said.

  But Mandell hardly heard the little girl's soft grumbling as he led the pony back along the path. When they turned down the part that forked away from the lake, he could see his grandfather's shiny landau pulled off to one side, the old man's liveried servants standing to attention as they awaited his return.

  His Grace stood with Anne beneath a copse of elm trees. For a moment, Mandell had eyes for nothing but her willowy form. She looked cool and elegant, as ever his proper Anne.

  But he had no difficulty remembering how different she could be in the welcoming dark, turning into a woman of passion and fire in his arms, her slim white body melting against his, their hearts pounding in unison.

  Mandell had always found that gratification of desire soon lessened his hunger. He was shaken to find that his yearning for Anne grew greater every time he saw her.

  He realized that the moments he spent here in the park with her and Norrie had become precious to him, something to be jealously guarded. The stiff old man standing by Anne's side was an intruder; winter come to blight the first spring Mandell could remember delighting in for a very long time. He did not know what His Grace was saying to Anne to drive the color from her face, but he had a fair idea.

  They were both too absorbed in their conversation to take much notice of Mandell and Norrie's approach. Mandell heard his grandfather's voice carry to him with disastrous clarity.

  “It distresses me to speak so plainly, madam. But I trust I have made my feelings clear regarding your relationship with my grandson.”

  Anne nodded.

  “Perhaps you had best make them clear to me,” Mandell called out.

  Anne looked up, her face coloring with dismay. The duke came about more slowly, leaning heavily upon his walking cane as Mandell closed the distance between them.

  “Ah, Mandell. There you are at last.” The duke's heavy-lidded gaze traveled over Mandell, flicking from where his hand grasped the leading rein to the little girl mounted upon the pony. The sight appeared to afford His Grace no pleasure, for he said, “Something amiss with the child's groom, Mandell?”

  “James is taking care of Nightmare,” Norrie piped up.

  The duke gave her a thin smile. Ignoring his grandfather, Mandell held out his hand to Anne. After a brief hesitation, she slipped her fingers into his grasp. Mandell fought a strong urge to pull her to his side, drawing both her and Norrie into a protective circle that excluded the hard-visaged old man. But he contented himself with carrying Anne's fingers to his lips, smiling into her eyes. He noticed the duke's hand tighten upon the handle of his cane.

  “I am sorry that I am late, my lady,” Mandell said. “I was unavoidably detained.”

  “That is quite all right.” Anne withdrew her hand, looking flustered under the duke's stern frown. “Your grandfather happened by and—and ...”

  “And has endeavored to keep you suitably entertained?” Mandell's voice had an edge to it. He met the duke's gaze with challenge in his own. “You perceive me all agog to hear what His Grace has been saying to you.”

  “I don't think ...” Anne trailed off, casting a significant glance at Norrie. As though sensing the tension amongst the adults, the little girl had fallen silent, burying her hands in the lengths of her pony's mane.

  “It is time that I was on my way,” the duke said. “Perhaps you would care to escort me back to my carriage, Mandell.”

  “It would be my greatest pleasure, sir,” Mandell grated.

  He watched as his grandfather took his leave of Anne, sweeping her a courtly bow. But then the duke was the soul of chivalry. Mandell had no doubt His Grace had exercised the greatest of politeness while shredding Anne's heart and pride to ribbons.

  Mandell pressed the pony's reins into Anne's hand. Her eyes were full of trouble and a deep sorrow that made him long to curse his grandfather. He wished he could offer her some reassurance, but he was not enough in command of himself to do so.

  He strode after his grandfather, the two of them walking in tense silence back to His Grace's carriage. Mandell barely contained his mounting rage until they were out of earshot. Then he rounded upon the old man, saying tersely, “How did you know to come here today? How the devil did you know I would be meeting here with Anne? Have you set spies upon me now?”

  “That would hardly be necessary, Mandell. You and your lady have not exactly been discreet, choosing to hold your lovers' trysts in such a public locale.”

  “Lovers' tryst!” Mandell choked. “With Anne's daughter present?”

  The duke's lip curled. “That makes your conduct all the more distasteful.”

  Mandell clenched his hand. For a moment he almost forgot the duke's advancing years and relation to himself. Taking a cleansing breath to steady himself, he said, “And is this the sort of muck you have been spouting to Anne?”

  “No. I merely took the opportunity to offer her the sort of advice her own father would have done were he still alive.”

  “And which is?”

  “To put an end to whatever sort of liaison she has formed with you. Lady Fairhaven has always been noted for her virtue. She is far too good to be your mistress.”

  “But not good enough to be my wife!”

  “I believe we had already settled that point in our last conversation, Mandell. Lady Fairhaven understands the inequities in your situations even if you do not.”

  “Anne is a damn sight too understanding,” Mandell snapped. “What would you say if I told you that I agree we are unequal? I realize more all the time that the lady is quite far above me.”

  “I would say that your passion in this matter alarms me, Mandell. I raised you to have a better awareness of what you owe to the name 1 have given you.”

  “You raised me to be a cold-hearted, unfeeling bastard, just like yourself.”

  Something flickered in the old man's eyes, something that might have been pain in a countenance less icy. He clutched his walking stick, the lines about his mouth deepening as he stalked the rest of the way to his carriage. One of the bewigged footmen sprang forward at once to let down the steps and open the door.

  The duke paused long enough to command, “You will end the connection, Mandell. I endured seeing your mother cast her life away on a mesalliance. I will not tolerate you making the same mistake. I brook no interference with my wishes.”

  “That is but one more way in which we are alike, Your Grace. I tolerate no interference, either.”

  Their eyes locked in one final clash of wills. Then Mandell turned and strode away, without glancing back. He heard the coachman give the signal and the clatter of wheels as the carriage lurched into motion and vanished down the lane, leaving that part of the park silent except for the twittering of some sparrows. But the peace of the afternoon seemed irrevocably shattered.

  Mandell started back to where Anne waited for him beneath the trees. His gelding was tied off to a low-lying branch, but Norrie and her groom were nowhere in sight.

  Anne had watched the entire scene, observing with dismay Mandell's white-hot rage, the old man's rigid disdain. Anne had always known of His Grace of Windermere. One could not help having an awareness of a personage of such rank and such regal dignity, but the duke had always seemed far removed from the sphere of Anne's quiet existence.

  Even as she had grown closer to Mandell, she had not thought about the duke's role as his grandfather. But then, she reflected ruefully, she had not allowed herself to think about much of anything these past weeks. She had learned to measure her life in moments instead of
days, moments of strolling through the park with Mandell, of hearing him delight Norrie with legends of water nymphs and tree dryads, of glances exchanged above the child's head, of smiles both secret and tender. Of moments more private when Mandell played his music just for Anne, notes that conjured a majestic passion trapped within Anne's soul that only Mandell's caress could release. Moments when his eyes appeared darkened with a power beyond desire, when her heart fluttered with foolish, unspoken hopes, moments of a warm, romantic spring that seemed likely to spin on forever.

  But it had taken only a few well-chosen words from His Grace of Windermere to bring the magic to an end. Anne rubbed her arms as though she had taken a sudden chill as she watched the duke's carriage vanish through the trees. Mandell strode back to her across the grass, his face still gaunt with anger.

  “Where's Eleanor?” he demanded.

  “I asked James to take her back to the lake. I thought it best if they gave the pony some exercise.”

  “Very wise of you.” Mandell's eyes were full of such ironic understanding, Anne felt the color rise in her cheeks.

  “Mandell, I never realized that I might be the cause of such discord between you and your grandfather. I am so very sorry.”

  “Damn it. Don't you dare, Anne Fairhaven!”

  Anne retreated an involuntary step before Mandell's blaze of fury. “Don't you even think of apologizing for what is none of your fault simply because that old devil—”

  Mandell spun away from her, pressing one hand to his brow, struggling for command of himself. Anne had never seen the ice-cool Mandell lose such control of his temper. He presented a stark figure set against the soft green of the park, the sunlight dappling between the trees.

  Anne had often perceived him thus, standing so solitary, possessing no close ties to anyone or anything. She realized that was in part what drew her to him, the sense that she might indeed have something to offer a man who always seemed too much alone. She had forgotten that he was also a marquis, an heir to a dukedom.