Susan Carroll

by The Painted Veil

  Anne wished she deserved the praise. But she did not feel very sensible with Mandell so near. He set down the coffee cup. Bending over her, he started to reach for her hand, but like herself, he was forced to remember they were not alone. He drew back as several ladies bustled up, clamoring for tea.

  After Anne had served them and they had drifted away again, Mandell complained, “Is it necessary for you to attend to this? The countess has enough servants milling about doing nothing. I would like you to walk out with me onto the terrace.”

  Anne stole a glance toward the French doors and thought of losing herself with Mandell in the whispering darkness of Lily's garden. She steeled herself to resist the temptation.

  “It would be too chilly.”

  “It is a deal warmer than the first night you allowed me to lure you into the gardens.”

  “I fear a night as warm as that one will never come again, my lord.”

  Mandell vented an impatient sigh. “Then at least take a turn about the room with me. I need to speak to you, Anne.”

  Before she could protest further, he summoned one of the footmen to take Anne's place behind the tea urn. Most of the other guests were gathering about the pianoforte where Lady Mortlake swept back her train with a flourish and sat down to delight the company with a few selections.

  The dowager played competently enough, but without Mandell's soul and fire. As he escorted Anne away from the tea table, she saw him flinch. He led her to the far end of the drawing room, to the shadowed recess of one of the tall curtained windows. Anne affected to admire the view of Lily's gardens, but all she saw was Mandell hovering behind her, his reflection shimmering phantomlike in the night-darkened panes.

  He sought again to apologize for his conduct. “I am astonished you can forgive me for my surly behavior, abandoning you like that at the park.”

  “You will have more to do to appease Norrie,” Anne said. “She was disappointed when you left so soon. She has grown to be very fond of you.”

  “You must convey to her my deepest regrets.”

  “You do not intend to come and see her again yourself?” Anne asked, although she already knew the answer.

  “No, I think it best that I do not.” Although he smiled, the lines about his mouth were deep, carved with weariness and resignation. “We appear to have reached an impasse in our relationship, my dear. You do not make me a very conformable mistress and it is obvious I will never make you a worthy husband.”

  “I think you could make a worthy husband someday,” Anne said wistfully. “If only you would learn to set more value upon your heart than your estate and title.”

  “And to think I once said you demanded too little, Sorrow. You ask far too much.”

  “No, Mandell. I never expected that our time together would last forever.”

  “You told me you were seeking only a few memories. Have I given you that much, milady?”

  “Oh, yes! I spent so much of my life being afraid of the dark. I will always remember you as the man who taught me to love the power and beauty of night.”

  If only she had not also learned to love the man himself, difficult, forever distant, locked away behind that wall of reserve she doubted he would ever permit anyone to breach. Those brief moments she had spent in the park with his grandfather had served to clarify for her the enigma that was Mandell. She could see it all now, how it must have been for the frightened child who had endured the horror of his mother's death and the pain of his father's defection, only to be thrust into a strange land, placed in the care of a stern and embittered old man. The duke of Windermere had obviously taken great pains with his grandson's education, fashioning a sensitive boy into the haughty marquis, the cynical nobleman who believed in nothing, not even himself.

  It was ironic, Anne thought. Never had she been able to understand Mandell so well as she did at this moment and never had they been further apart. Fearful lest her face betray her thoughts, she moved closer to the window. She sensed a movement of his hands as though he meant to rest them upon her shoulders. But his touch never came.

  “You will take care of yourself and young Eleanor?” he said.

  Anne nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  “If you should ever need me for anything, you know you have only to send for me. If Lucien should return to torment you—”

  “I don't believe that he will.”

  “But if he should— Norrie made an odd remark to me in the park today. She said she thought she saw her uncle peering at her from the window of his house.”

  “She told me that, too, and I sent one of the footmen to check. The house is all closed up. There is no one there.” Anne felt composed enough to face him again. “You must not worry about any more danger from Lucien, my lord.”

  “I would not if you gave me your promise never to receive him again, never to be alone with him. I have felt uneasy ever since I learned of his abrupt departure from London. I found it rather odd coming so soon after the attack on Briggs.”

  “But Lucien had nothing to do with that. Your friend Sir Lancelot was set upon by the Hook, was he not?”

  “Yes, the dread Hook, the brigand so desperate for riches he kills and leaves his victims' gold watches behind. I find something deuced odd about that, Anne, so much so that I wonder if the authorities have been wrong to search for the Hook amongst the alleys and slums of the east side; if they should not be looking in more respectable quarters.”

  “What do you mean?” Anne asked uneasily.

  “I'm damned if I know myself. It is only a parcel of vague suspicions that persist in tormenting me. Just promise me that you will be careful, Anne, and I shall be satisfied. I do not wish to waste our last moments together talking about the Hook.”

  Our last moments.

  Anne bit down upon her lip to prevent its trembling. “I promise,” she said. She held out her hand, adding bravely, “Then this truly is farewell.”

  “I fear that it is.” He raised her fingers to his lips. The kiss he placed there was achingly tender, warm, and lingering. “This time I can honestly wish you every happiness, my dear. I do not believe in love or forever afters, but—”

  He hesitated then added “But, by God, Anne, you make me wish that I did.”

  Mandell had never meant to say anything like that. Having decided that it was right this relationship should end, he had meant to say his good-byes with merciful swiftness. It should not have been this difficult, this painful, bidding her farewell. But nothing with Anne was ever as it should have been.

  Mandell clung to her hand until they were interrupted by the approach of her sister, and he was obliged to release her.

  “Ah, there the two of you are.” The countess raised an arched eyebrow. “My dear Anne, you must not keep Mandell sitting in your pocket all evening. The loose tongues have enough to wag about already.”

  Not giving Anne a chance to reply, Lily turned to Mandell. Rapping him playfully with her fan, she affected a pout of displeasure. “I have a complaint to lodge against you, my lord.”

  “Indeed?” Mandell's voice yet sounded husky and he struggled to regain his composure.

  “I thought we were old friends. How could you keep such a secret from me?”

  Mandell saw a telltale flush mount in Anne's cheeks and he moved instinctively to shield her.

  “I don't know what you mean,” he said.

  “There is no use pretending anymore. How is your grandfather taking the tidings of the connection? Not well, I daresay.”

  Mandell had hoped that no one save himself and Anne knew of that grim scene in the park.

  “Well, I—” he began hesitantly.

  “His Grace could not have been more stunned than I was,” Lily rattled on. “I am certain we all thought your cousin would end a crusty old bachelor. Drummond never seemed the sort to do anything so wildly romantic as elope.”

  “Drummond?” Mandell echoed. Lily's conversation had often made him feel as though he were trying
to swim upstream. He had his first inkling that the countess was not speaking of the thing that he had feared, the affair between him and Anne. But what she did seem to be talking about was equally confounding.

  “Nick. Elope?” he said scornfully. “My dear countess, wherever did you hear such nonsensical gossip?”

  “The proof, my lord, stands yonder. When I invited Drummond tonight, I never expected him to come with a new bride in tow. I gather he wed her just yesterday morning by special license, this mysterious beauty no one knows. You must tell me all about her, Mandell, who her family is, where she is from. Then perhaps I shall forgive you.”

  With a sweeping gesture, Lily nodded toward the cluster of people near the door. Mandell had been so absorbed with Anne these past minutes, the drawing room had faded to insignificance. They might well have been alone. But now he became aware of the excited hubbub of voices, of Drummond's brightly garbed figure surrounded by Lily's guests, his hand being pumped in earnest congratulations. The other newcomer was less visible except for the elegant train of her gown. All view of her face was blocked by the waving fans and headdresses of the other females.

  Mandell's brows drew together in a heavy frown.

  “My dear Mandell, you look positively thunderstruck. Could it be you actually did not know of your cousin's intent to wed, either?” Lily purred in delight. “I fear this will quite put an end to your reputation for uncanny perception. Never mind, sir. It shall be my privilege to be the first to entertain the newlyweds and to introduce you to your own cousin's bride.”

  Lily linked her arm through Mandell's. He glanced back for Anne only to discover she had quietly slipped away. Mandell would have been grateful for the chance to do so as well, but he was too stunned to do other than permit Lily to lead him across the room, chattering as she did so.

  “Actually Drummond's startling news has proved a godsend. This party was getting excessively flat. Mr. Shelley turned out to be such a disappointment. His poetry is depressing enough to make one want to hang oneself. If only he could be more like Lord Byron, so deliciously rude, dark, and brooding. Mr. Shelley is a pleasant young man, but I fear he will never take in society.”

  Mandell scarce heeded one word in ten, his mind still reeling. Drummond elope? Mandell could not credit it. He had never known Nick to spare any female a second glance except for that dour Quakeress he had once admired for starting schools for the poor. But even the flighty countess would hardly describe Miss Abdingham as a mysterious beauty.

  Mandell eased out of Lily's grasp and elbowed some of her guests aside, as both his curiosity and impatience mounted. Drummond glanced up at his approach, his face flushed with a strange mixture of happiness and defiance.

  “Mandell, I hoped you would be here tonight. There is someone I have to present to you.”

  “So I gather,” Mandell said. “What the deuce sort of mischief have you been about, Nick?”

  “None I fear that you will approve.” Nick flashed him a smile. It struck Mandell that Nick's gaiety was forced, so bright as to be almost feverish.

  “My dear come here.” Nick disengaged his bride from the cluster of excited females, dragging her forward.

  For Mandell, all sound, all movement in the room faded to a blur. He could focus on nothing but the face of the dark-haired woman immediately before him, a face of sultry beauty with bright eyes that had ever reflected his own cynicism.

  Sara.

  He inhaled sharply, feeling as though a heavy blow had forced the breath from his lungs. Too shocked to say anything for several seconds, he finally managed to growl, “Is this some sort of a jest?”

  “I would hardly jest about anything that means so much to me.” Nick's hand tightened possessively on Sara's arm as he said, “My love, allow me to introduce you to my cousin, the marquis of Mandell. Mandell, this is my bride, Sara.”

  “I believe the lady and I have already met,” Mandell said through clenched teeth.

  Sara waxed pale, but she was still brazen enough to offer him her hand. “Ah, yes, we were introduced once at Drury Lane Theatre, was it not? How have you been, my lord?'

  She tipped her chin in a challenging manner as though daring him to contradict her, to say anything more. She knew full well that he could not, damn her. Not in front of a roomful of curious eyes, not without shattering Nick completely.

  Mandell had suspected this day might come, when he would meet his former mistress again, Sara triumphant, at last breaching the doors of the society she had always craved, leaning on the arm of some poor fool she had snared to realize her ambition. Mandell had expected to derive great amusement from the moment. But he did not feel in the least like laughing.

  Sara and Nick. How was it possible? How could they even have met? With Nick always so buried in his Parliamentary doings, Sara would have had to have arranged it, have deliberately sought Nick out, knowing him to be Mandell's cousin.

  The silence stretched out. Mandell was aware of Nick's burning gaze upon him. He was forced to take Sara's hand. Bending over it, he murmured for her ears alone.

  “You bitch.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she muttered back, her teeth gritted in a smile. “That was exactly the sort of felicitation I expected from you.”

  Sara slipped her hand from his grasp, only to be swept off by Lily to be introduced to the rest of the pack of cooing females. Mandell seized Nick by the arm and pulled him roughly to one side.

  “You young idiot. What the devil have you done?”

  “Fallen in love and gotten married, Mandell. Some men do, you know.”

  “Not with some—some—”

  “Take care,” Nick warned, his eyes blazing.

  “Some female.” Mandell amended the epithet he had been about to apply to Sara. “Some woman that you cannot have known for very long. Can you possibly have any idea of who she is, what her background might be?”

  “I know Sara far better than you could ever imagine.”

  Did you know she had once been my mistress? Mandell had to bite his tongue. It would be unthinkable to blurt such a thing aloud, unthinkable and cruel. For all his hard defiance, a hint of vulnerability lurked about the corners of Nick's mouth, the trust of an idealistic dreamer. Small wonder that Sara had found him such easy prey.

  “Why, Nick?” he asked. “Why could you not have come and talked to me first before you did anything so rash as to elope?”

  “Oh, yes, cousin, you are just the sort of tenderhearted fellow I would have sought to confide in about Sara. You would have told me to go take a cold bath or—or something worse.” There has been so much I have wanted to discuss with you, but you have never taken me seriously. No one ever has.”

  He gave a shaky laugh. “Now it is too late. Everything seems to have spun out of my control. We just came from calling upon grandfather. He has cut me off completely and I don't give a damn. As if I would ever want anything from him.”

  Nick pronounced these last words with a savage vehemence that astonished Mandell. “I love Sara, Mandell. She is the only thing I have to cling to in a world gone mad. So if you have any insulting remarks to make about her, you had best be prepared to meet me with pistols at dawn. You always did say if we ever fought, it would have to be over a woman.”

  “But not this one,” Mandell said. As he looked deep into Nick's stormy grey eyes, he could see how well and truly Drummond was caught in Sara's toils. He raised his hand in a gesture rife with frustration and hopelessness and started to stalk away. He was stayed by Nick's hand on his sleeve.

  “Damn it, Mandell,” Nick pleaded. “Even if you do not approve, can you not at least wish me well? That is all I am asking.”

  Mandell shook him off.

  “Congratulations,” he muttered. Unable to meet Nick's eyes any longer, Mandell forced his way past the throng of Lily's guests and strode out of the room.

  Huddled on the stone bench in Lily's garden, Anne stared at the lights that blazed in her sister's drawing room. But the
silhouettes that passed before the windows seemed to grow fewer and fewer. Most of Lily's guests must have gone home.

  How long had she been sitting out here? Hours perhaps. Anne was not sure. After Mandell had bidden her good-bye, she had felt the need to escape before she was overcome by her emotions and disgraced them both. Lily's interruption had been fortuitous. While her sister had distracted Mandell, Anne had been able to slip out through the French doors unnoticed.

  Seeking the veil of darkness, the trees whispering about her like sheltering arms, Anne had sunk down upon a stone bench. A moonlit garden was such a perfect place for a stolen kiss or to sit in solitude and allow one's heart to quietly break.

  But strangely, the urge to weep had left her. She remained dry-eyed, her heart numb. The unbearable ache of loss would strike later, but for now she sat perfectly still, feeling nothing but the cool night air upon her cheeks, listening to the rustling of the newly minted spring leaves, the distant clatter of carriages passing in the street beyond the garden wall.

  Lily's flowers had begun to bloom in earnest, but they would not reach their full exotic glory until early June. Lily would have closed up the house by then, preparing to join the fashionable crowd flocking to Brighton. She had invited Anne and Norrie to join her and Anne supposed that they would. Norrie would so love the sea. It would give the child something to look forward to when Anne told her that Mandell would no longer be visiting them.

  No. She could not think about that just now. Anne shifted upon the bench, wrapping her arms more tightly about herself, trying to concentrate on the more distant future. After Brighton, she would retire with Norrie to the country and find some way to resume the placid life Anne had once known. Given enough time, she could surely find a measure of contentment, could she not? After all, she still had her daughter, and Lily, for all her flightiness, was a most affectionate sister.