06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection)

by Cartland, Barbara

  “Why must I meet her? I am sure it is unnecessary!”

  “Really, Periquine, you cannot be so cowardly as to leave me alone with your chère amie who will doubtless be incensed at the thought that you have escaped her. If you are not there, after she arrives, I swear to you I will tell her the truth, and then you can handle the situation by yourself.”

  “You are blackmailing me! “ Lord Corbury said accusingly.

  “It may be blackmail,” Fenella answered, “but I promise you I am not joking.”

  “All right,” he capitulated, “I will do as you wish. But for God’s sake get rid of her as quickly as possible, in case Hetty comes over and finds her here!”

  “Hetty is not likely to call this afternoon if she is coming to dinner this evening. Of course, if you like, we can ask Madame D’Arbley to make us six — five is an uneven number.”

  There was a mischievous twinkle in Fenella’s eye as she spoke. Lord Corbury picked up one of the cushions and threw it at her.

  She turned aside so that it missed her head but struck the wall with some force. The old faded silk split open and a quantity of white goose feathers fell out on to the floor.

  “Really, Periquine, you are impossible!” Fenella cried. “How can you make such a mess when there is so much to do?”

  “It is entirely your fault,” Lord Corbury retorted. “You deliberately provoked me, and if it is a punishment to pick up all those feathers, it is one you undoubtedly deserve.”

  Fenella stuffed as many of the goose-feathers back into the cushion as she could and opening a drawer of an ancient oak chest, pushed it inside.

  “I will mend that later,” she said. “I had best go upstairs and tidy myself, just in case Madame D’Arbley arrives before we are ready for her.”

  She turned towards the door. Then she paused.

  “Would it be very remiss of me, Periquine,” she said in a somewhat embarrassed voice, “if I suggested that I should wear one of your Mama’s gowns?”

  For a moment Lord Corbury looked surprised, and then he glanced at what Fenella was wearing and realised, as if for the first time, how old and faded her frock was and how she had, in fact, grown out of it. It was too tight over her breasts and too narrow across the shoulders.

  She saw he was staring at her and the colour rose in her cheeks.

  “I would not ask such a — thing,” she said uncomfortably, “if I did not feel Madame D’Arbley would think it very mean of you to economise so obviously on your wife’s attire.”

  “I had no idea Mama’s clothes were still here,” Lord Corbury said, “but of course take what you want. I am quite certain she would approve if she knew you were getting me out of trouble.”

  As he spoke he gave Fenella his most irresistible smile and without speaking again she turned and left the Salon.

  ‘He never notices what I wear,’ she told herself as she went up the old oak staircase. ‘But perhaps if I dressed like Hetty, he might even admire me.’

  It was a fascinating thought, but at the same time she knew that never was she likely to possess even one gown to equal the expensive, elaborate creations of which Hetty had an apparently inexhaustible supply.

  ‘It is hard for men to realise how much clothes mean to a woman,’ Fenella told herself sensibly.

  At the same time she could not help wishing that her Father would be more understanding, and that it was not so hurtful to realise that Periquine never really looked at her.

  He accepted her, he knew when she was there, he found her useful. He obviously liked being with her, but until this moment, when she drew attention to herself, he had never noticed her.

  She doubted, if he were asked, if he would be able to tell the colour of her eyes.

  All Lady Corbury’s clothes had been moved upstairs to the room on the second floor which had been used by her lady’s-maid. On every wall there were huge wardrobes, but the dust was thick on the floor and Fenella knew that no one had entered the room for years.

  She pulled back the curtains over the windows and opened one of the wardrobes. Inside there were riding habits, cloaks, driving-coats, but no gowns.

  She tried another and was greeted by a kaleidoscope of brocades, velvets and gauzes. These she realised were the evening-gowns.

  But the third wardrobe was more productive. This contained Lady Corbury’s day-clothes. There were quite a number of elegant dresses which Fenella realised were not too ludicrously out of date.

  The fashion vogue had changed very little during the war and although Hetty’s gowns were beginning to show signs of a waist and they were wider than those of six years previously when Lady Corbury had died, the difference was not startling.

  It was true however that dresses were now far more elaborate, with frills, lace-ruchings, bows and braid, but such details were, Fenella thought, immaterial.

  After inspecting a number of gowns in the wardrobe she chose one which she knew would make her look older. It was of dark green crepe and trimmed with satin ribbons and a small amount of lace round the décolletage.

  Carrying it carefully over her arm so it should not touch the dusty floor, Fenella took it next door into what had been the maid’s bedroom.

  Here there were all the other boxes, objets d’art, brushes, combs and toilet accessories which bad been brought upstairs from Lady Corbury’s bedroom.

  It was not difficult to find her Ladyship’s jewel-case standing on the dressing table. Fenella expected it to be empty, as she was well aware that any jewels which Lady Corbury left had been sold during her husband’s long illness after she herself had died.

  But in one of the small compartments there was what she was seeking for - a gold wedding-ring.

  That had not been sold, neither had a necklace of jet beads and two small earrings to match. As they were valueless, they had been left behind.

  Fenella picked up the ring and looked at it for a moment before she slipped it on her finger.

  She had the uncomfortable feeling that she was doing something wrong, but she knew that any woman in Madame D’Arbley’s position would be suspicious if she noticed Lord Corbury’s wife was not wearing a wedding ring.

  She felt the ring encircle the third finger on her left hand.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said, as if she were speaking to Perequine’s mother. ‘But I have to help your son — he does not wish to be involved with this — woman and I do not suppose anyway — that you would wish her to be your — daughter-in-law. I must save him — he is so — hopeless at looking after — himself.’

  The little prayer seemed to bring Fenella a sense of peace, and the uncomfortable feeling of guilt disappeared.

  She did not ask herself whether Periquine would mind her wearing his mother’s wedding-ring, because she was certain that unless she drew attention to it, he would not even notice it on her finger !

  Then shutting the jewel-case, and carrying the jet jewellery in her hand, Fenella went downstairs to one of the less dusty rooms to change.

  The gown was rather big for her round the waist, and somewhat too long but otherwise it fitted comparatively well and, as she had hoped, made her look more mature.

  She arranged her hair in curls high on the top of her head, pinning it securely and thinking with a smile it gave her both height and dignity. With the jet necklace round her neck and wearing the earrings she went downstairs.

  There was no sign of Lord Corbury and finally she ran him to earth in the Gun-room.

  “I shall be able to hear the Post-Chaise coming up the drive from here,” he said quickly as she entered, as if he expected her to complain that he was not nearer the Hall.

  He was polishing the barrel of one of his guns and he did not look up as he spoke.

  “I am ready,” Fenella said.

  He raised his head. Then he gave an exclamation of surprise.

  “I should not have recognised you!” he said, “you look so - respectable!”

  His eyes were twinkling as he spoke, and Fen
ella replied,

  “One more word, Periquine, and I will refuse to be the staid wife you would undoubtedly have chosen as your bride.”

  Lord Corbury did not answer. He was still looking at her and after a moment he said,

  “I did not know you had such a white skin, Fenella. You should wear green more often.”

  “Your compliments overwhelm me,” Fenella replied. “Do you think them up before you spring them on your ladyloves, or do they just come naturally?”

  “You little vixen!” Lord Corbury exclaimed.

  He stepped towards her as though he would shake her as he had done before when she had provoked him, but at that moment they heard the sound of wheels coming down the drive.

  “She is coming — she is coming!” Fenella cried. “Now, Periquine, do not forget to hold the Post-Chaise, and I only pray she believes the moonshine I am about to relate.”

  The sound of the Chaise drew nearer and now Fenella, picking up her green skirt, ran down the passage from the Gun-room into the Hall.

  She had only just reached it when the horses drew up outside the front door and she stood striving to get her breath, conscious that Lord Corbury who had been running behind her, had stopped too.

  “Do not let the Chaise drive away, whatever you do,” she whispered, and with a composure she was far from feeling she moved towards the front door.

  It was opened to the summer sunshine and even as she reached it a vision of elegance came up the stone steps. Madame D’Arbley was dark and extremely alluring. She had eyes that slanted up at the corners and a red mouth which curved invitingly.

  She was not beautiful in the accepted sense, but Fenella realised that she had never before in her life seen a woman’s face which was so fascinating.

  She was dressed in black with touches of white. But her gown was sophisticated, elegant, Parisienne black, which had nothing in common with the sombre, dull mourning assumed by a British widow.

  Drawing in a deep breath, Fenella moved forward and dropped a curtsey.

  “You must be Madame D’Arbley,” she smiled, “I am delighted to welcome you to the Priory.”

  “Enchantèe, Madame,” Madame D’Arbley replied. “Has Lord Corbury received my letter?”

  She spoke with a pronounced accent which made her words sound extremely attractive.

  “Yes, indeed, Madame,” Fenella answered. “Will you not come into the Salon?”

  She led the way across the Hall, opened the door into the Salon, and invited the French woman to precede her. As she did so she glanced towards the passage and saw that Lord Corbury was waiting there ready to hurry out to the Post Chaise.

  Fenella went into the Salon and shut the door quickly.

  “Pray be seated, Madame,” she said. “I am afraid you have had a long journey. My husband and I were not certain what time you would arrive.”

  Madame D’Arbley looked surprised. Then she said,

  “You have not yet told me your name, Madame, although you are aware of mine.”

  There was only the slightest hesitation before Fenella managed to say,

  “I am Lady Corbury, Periquine’s — wife !”

  “His wife!”

  The words were almost a scream and the expression on the French woman’s face changed completely. She no longer looked fascinating or attractive. Her slanting eyes narrowed and her curved lips became a straight line.

  At that moment it was easy to see that she was not an aristocrat but a petite bourgeoisie.

  “Married! C’est impossible! Répétez, s’il vous plait! Did you say married?”

  “It was of course unlikely you would have heard of it in France,” Fenella said in a pleasant conversational tone, “but we did in fact have quite a big wedding, nearly three months ago in London.”

  “Mon Dieu! Are you telling me the truth? My Lord is married to - you?”

  “We have known each other for many years,” Fenella replied demurely.

  The French woman did not speak for a moment, and Fenella realised that she was trembling with rage, but keeping a tight control on herself.

  As Fenella was wondering frantically what to say next. Lord Corbury came into the room.

  He was smiling and appeared at ease, but Fenella, who knew him so well, was aware that he was in fact nervous and, like all men, apprehensive in case he should become involved in a scene.

  At the sight of him, Madame D’Arbley sprang to her feet and moving swiftly towards him placed both her hands in his.

  “Periquine, Mon Cher, what is this I hear? C’est incroyable! How could you do this to me when we have meant so —much to each other?”

  Lord Corbury raised one of her hands to his lips.

  “It is delightful to see you, Amaline,” he said, “and looking more attractive than ever.”

  “Je ne comprends pas!” Madame D’Arbley said in a voice low and vibrant with emotion. “You promised me marriage, you asked me to share my life with you!”

  “I know, my dear,” Lord Corbury answered, “but you were not free. I had no idea that your husband would die so soon.”

  “I told you! I told you that the doctors had not given him long to live!”

  “He might however have lingered on for years.”

  “Mais il est mort. How could you be so cruel, so heartless as to forget me so quickly?”

  Her voice broke dramatically, and Madame D’Arbley bent her head over Lord Corbury’s hand which she now held clasped to her heart.

  Lord Corbury gave Fenella a glance which was a wild plea for help.

  “I think, Periquine, that you should fetch Madame some refreshment,” Fenella said gently. “A glass of Madeira, perhaps? She has been travelling for a long time.”

  “Yes, yes of course!” Lord Corbury said, disentangling himself from the clinging hands of the French woman.

  “Sit down, Amaline, and I will bring you something to drink. That will make you feel better, I am sure of it.”

  He hurried from the room with the eagerness of a man who was longing to escape from an unpleasant situation.

  Madame D’Arbley sat down in an armchair, and drawing a black-edged handkerchief from her satin reticule, applied it to her eyes.

  “I cannot believe it is happening to me!” she said. “How I have adored that man! I have been everything to him, his - how do you say? - his slave!”

  “I can understand that, Madame,” Fenella said sympathetically, “but all men are the same. They feel lonely without a woman to look after them. Perhaps you were too kind and spoilt him so much when he was at your Chateau, that he found life insupportable when you were not beside him.”

  Fenella hoped such an explanation would salve the pride of the widow. Although Lord Corbury suspected she was interested mainly in his title, Fenella was sure she was also genuinely enamoured of him.

  Madame D’Arbley dabbed her eyes and Fenella could not help thinking how attractive she was and how it might even be advantageous for Periquine to marry someone so wealthy.

  She could understand his being fascinated by her. It would, she thought, have been impossible for him to avoid having a passionate love affair with such a woman when they were together in France and he had little else to do.

  ‘Do all men,’ she wondered, ‘tire so quickly of their loves?’

  At one moment they could find some woman irresistible and the next moment wish only to be rid of her. It was a depressing thought, and because Fenella was sorry for Madame D’Arbley, her voice was soft as she said,

  “I am sure, Madame, you will find real happiness elsewhere. You are young and because you are no longer une jeune fille, you are free to do what you like, and you have the money to be able to go anywhere in the world.”

  “Nom de Dieu!” Madame D’Arbley exclaimed, “but I wished to live here - here in this magnificent Chateau, of which Periquine had talked so often. I saw myself as the Chatelaine, entertaining, being the noble lady of my very handsome, noble husband.”

  “I think perh
aps you would find it very dull living in the country,” Fenella answered. “It is different from London, where there are parties, Balls and Assemblies, but here we are very quiet. Sometimes we go for days without even seeing a neighbour.”

  “My Lord would be there!” Madame D’Arbley murmured, and that, thought Fenella, was unanswerable as an argument.

  Lord Corbury returned, followed by old Barnes carrying a silver salver on which reposed a decanter of Madeira and some wine glasses.

  He set it down on a small table and Lord Corbury poured some Madeira into a glass and carried it to Madame D’Arbley.

  “I thought it best,” he said as he handed her the glass, “to keep your Post-Chaise as I know my - er - w — Fenella has told you that we have an infectious complaint in the house and I would not wish you, Amaline, to run the risk of catching it.”

  Fenella noticed how he stumbled and was unable to utter the words, ‘my wife’, and suddenly she felt a little disgusted at the trick they were playing on the French woman, who after all had every reason to believe that Periquine had spoken the truth when he said he loved her.

  Aware it would annoy him, at the same time feeling that he deserved to suffer a little for his past behaviour, she rose to her feet.

  “I must enquire,” she said, “whether the driver of the Post-Chaise has been offered a glass of ale.”

  And before Lord Corbury could think of an excuse to stop her she went from the room.

  Outside in the hall she put her hands to her temples. She felt a little ashamed, but at the same time relieved. She might censure him, but at the same time she knew that Periquine would not have been really happy with a French wife who had nothing in common with his interests, his background or the life he enjoyed.

  What would Madame D’Arbley know of English sport? Of the demands of a country house and the responsibility of a British nobleman to those who had lived on his estate for generations and whose well-being was as important as his own.

  ‘It would have been an impossible match,’ Fenella told herself, and yet she could not help feeling sorry for Madame D’Arbley if her heart ached as much as hers did.

  How long she stood waiting in the hall she had no idea but it must have been over a quarter of an hour before the door of the Salon opened and Lord Corbury came out with Madame D’Arbley clinging to his arm.