Yet Louisa often found him watching her covertly, and, on turning her head suddenly, she would see in his eyes a speculative, waiting expression, an expression of inexplicable patience that she did not understand.
When Constance was four months old, it was Sophie who suddenly brought matters to a head between them, in a way neither of them expected or welcomed. Louisa had been so preoccupied with the baby and her own personal troubles of late that she had failed to notice how changed her sister-in-law had become. On reflection, she realised that there had been moments when Sophie seemed to be distracted by some secret, intimate thought, when her attention would wander and her gaze would become fixed and unseeing on some dim and distant object, her eyes aglow and her lips soft and quivering. A cold dread settled on Louisa’s heart, and she hoped and prayed that the reason for this change in Sophie wasn’t that she had formed a friendship with Sir Charles Meredith, despite the promise she had made to avoid him.
Her suspicions were confirmed one day when Louisa received a friendly visit from a neighbour, Mrs Ruskin, whose daughter Cecily was a good friend of Sophie. The two girls were supposed to be spending the afternoon together at Cecily’s home. Louisa mentioned this to Mrs Ruskin and asked if Sophie had arrived safely, at which Mrs Ruskin innocently revealed that Sophie had indeed called on Cecily, and that they were both attending a garden party at Furstam Manor in Wyndham, under the chaperonage of Cecily’s elder, married sister, of course.
All Louisa could do was stare at Mrs Ruskin for several moments, knowing perfectly well that Furstam Manor was the home of Sir Charles Meredith. She knew from listening to the servants’ gossip that he had not returned to London, and that he had been at home for several months now.
Immediately she became alarmed, all her old fears and suspicions resurrected. By the time Sophie returned home she had worked herself up to fever pitch, heightened by the thunderstorm which had broken, bringing with it torrential rain, and causing her to worry about Alistair, who had ridden over to Rotherfield several miles away, where he had gone to visit an acquaintance.
“Where have you been?” she asked Sophie sternly, the moment she walked through the door. Casting her a look of sharp suspicion, Louisa saw that there was a heightened sensitivity about her, a kind of illicit excitement, shimmering like sunlight on silk. Immediately she took her into her sitting room, where they would not be overheard by the servants, before facing her angrily. “You told me you were going to spend the afternoon with Cecily.”
“I did,” she replied, her face carrying a look of innocence, but Louisa was not deceived.
“But not at her home.”
Sophie had the grace to look abashed, ashamed at having been caught out in an act of subterfuge. “How do you know that?”
“Cecily’s mother called to see me, and, when I asked her if you had arrived at her home, I was told that you had both gone to a garden party at Furstam Manor.” Louisa moved closer. “Sophie, please tell me I am wrong when I say that I believe you have been with Charles Meredith. And do not tell me that you did not know he was still at home in Wyndham—that he would be present at the garden party—because I will not believe you.”
“Why—I—I don’t know what you mean, Louisa.” She flushed, and not, Louisa thought, with embarrassment, but with guilt.
Louisa peered sharply into her face. “Yes, you do. Don’t look so innocent, because of late I have noticed that your behaviour has been questionable, giving rise to suspicion. Have you been seeing him?” she demanded harshly. “Has he made any improper suggestions to you?”
Sophie’s expression became prim and she drew in a scan-dalised breath. “Louisa! No. Of course he hasn’t. Sir Charles is a gentleman. He would not compromise a lady.”
“Sophie! You are just seventeen years old. Hardly more than a child.”
“I am not a child,” she flared suddenly, insulted as only a young woman could be who believed she was fully grown and in control of her own mind. “I shall be eighteen in four months.”
“Eighteen still does not qualify you for a man of Sir Charles’s experience. Why—he is almost twice your age. You knew he would be at Furstam Manor today, didn’t you?” she demanded.
Sophie thrust her chin out in defiance. “Yes, if you must know, I did. Cecily told me. Her sister is a good friend of Sir Charles’s sister. When Lady Meredith issued her with an invitation to attend the garden party she was told it included Cecily and myself.”
Seeing the obdurate look on Sophie’s face, Louisa sighed, her instinct telling her that Sir Charles had prompted his mother to invite Sophie in this roundabout way. “Sophie, please tell me how friendly you and Sir Charles have become?” she pleaded. “Alistair will be furious if he discovers you have been seeing him.”
Sophie tossed her head, reckless and defiant, which was uncharacteristic of her. “But I haven’t been seeing him—at least, not in the way you mean. We have met on occasion at some of my friends’ houses, but that is all. And why Alistair should be angry baffles me. I cannot for the life of me understand what he has against Sir Charles. He is so charming.”
“It is not for me to say. Let it be enough when I tell you that they have had their differences in the past—differences that can never be reconciled.”
“What differences, Louisa? Why won’t you tell me? And why are you so cross? I haven’t done anything.”
“I am not saying that you have,” Louisa said on a gentler note. “But Sir Charles is a man of ill repute. He is a thoroughly bad character.”
“And you know, do you, Louisa?” Sophie argued, challenging her to say more.
Louisa sighed. She wasn’t very good at playing the high-handed sister-in-law. How she wished Julia were here to deal with this and had not returned to London so soon after the birth of Constance. Sophie had an expression on her face that was not just seditious but downright mutinous—so like her brother, she thought wearily—but she was determined to try to make her see sense.
“There are few who have not heard of Sir Charles’s unprincipled behaviour. He is not to be trusted. Oh, he may be a man of good family and act and look like a gentleman, but he is not. He will take advantage of your youth and innocence and disgrace you and your family. You must stay away from him. There are plenty of nice young men for you to meet in—”
“How can I?” Sophie cried petulantly before Louisa could finish. “I might just as well be locked up for all the chance I have of forming any kind of friendship with anyone. But I do not want anyone else—and Sir Charles is none of the things you say he is. His is kind and gentle, Louisa—and—and I love him.”
Looking at the passionate face before her, seeing stricken tears rising and beginning to bead her lashes, Louisa spoke more kindly, her anger draining away as a great sadness entered her heart. “Sophie, if you can see nothing but good in Sir Charles, and if he respects you and his intentions are honourable, then why has he not called on you at Huntswood? Ask yourself that. And why have you not said anything to Alistair? By being so secretive about the affair, you must know he would not approve.”
Sophie dropped her eyes, for what Louisa said was true. Secretly she had been apprehensive about Alistair’s reaction to her friendship with Sir Charles, which had begun several weeks before Alistair had brought Louisa to Huntswood as his wife. She had always been aware of her brother’s dislike for Sir Charles, but not the reason why, which was like some dark and sinister secret. However, she had not expected such strong opposition from Louisa and was surprised by it, having hoped to win her over to her side, to help smooth the path for herself and Sir Charles.
“Yes, I do. But I cannot help myself. His manners and behaviour towards me cannot be faulted, Louisa.”
Louisa continued to reason with her, but so dazzled was Sophie by the man who had eclipsed all else in her life that she would not be persuaded that Sir Charles Meredith was anything other than what he seemed to her—a charming, handsome man, with nothing but good intentions. Because she had been no m
ore than a child and was ignorant of all that had happened during Alistair’s troubled marriage to Marianne—as Louisa was herself, the full story still a mystery to her, apart from being told by Sir Charles that Alistair had married the woman he would have married himself—it would not have entered Sophie’s head that Sir Charles had more than likely set out to meet her by design.
Silly, foolish girl, Louisa thought in frustration, wanting to shake her, to tell her that it was not her Sir Charles wanted, and that he was merely using her to avenge himself on Alistair for marrying Marianne, and that he would discard her without a thought when he had achieved this. But she couldn’t tell her that. There had to be another, less brutal way of shattering her illusions.
Louisa realised that she was in an extremely awkward position, and wished fervently that she had told Alistair of her meeting with Sir Charles before they’d left London—of his threatening manner and his allusion to a friendship he was already working on between himself and Sophie. Regardless of the anger such a disclosure would have been certain to rouse in Alistair at the time, at least he would have been forewarned.
Of one thing she was now certain: she could not allow a relationship to continue and develop further between Sophie and Sir Charles without her husband’s knowledge of it. She had no choice but to tell him, knowing he would be furious, and he must be told before Sir Charles devised some scheme to get Sophie alone and ruin her and bring disgrace upon the whole family.
Louisa waited in a state of nervous agitation for Alistair to come home that night. He didn’t arrive for dinner so she ate alone in her room, wondering where he could be as the hour grew later. He had ridden to Rotherfield that morning, and she wondered if, because of the rain that was lashing down outside, he might have decided to stay overnight.
She allowed Edith to prepare her for bed and then dismissed her, continuing to wait. Eventually, unable to settle, she fastened her robe around her and left her room. She was struck by the heavy, almost brooding silence of the great house as she soundlessly made her way down the oak staircase. On the last step she paused and listened, her slender hand resting on the balustrade.
Everything was dark around her except for the dying glow of the fire in the hall. Her eyes were drawn to a faint light shining from beneath a door to the sitting room, and slowly she moved towards it, pushing it open quietly and stepping inside. The room was in semi-darkness, the warm, left-over embers glowing in the hearth. She looked towards a circled radiance of golden light, where two candles burned on a small table, and she sighed with relief when she saw Alistair on the sofa, his powerful limbs sprawled out and one arm flung above his head. A stray lock of dark hair fell over his brow and his eyes were closed in sleep. He looked exhausted after his long ride from Rotherfield. He had removed his sodden coat, which lay untidily next to his muddied boots on the carpet, and there was a half-empty glass of brandy beside him.
Louisa’s heart turned over when she saw him, for despite his dishevelled appearance he looked remarkably impressive lying there, with his crumpled white shirt half open to reveal the strong muscles of his neck. Slowly and soundlessly she moved towards him, without recognising the temptation that had her in its grip. She stood motionless, letting her eyes feast on him, allowing herself the luxury of studying her husband’s face, feeling the same wonderful, bone-melting excitement stirring inside her that she did whenever she looked at him.
She stood gazing down at his fine-boned face in deep shadow, seeing nothing harsh about his features in repose, nothing of the familiar, authoritative sternness in the straight set of his firm, curling mouth, or the saturnine sweep of his sleek black eyebrows, slanting up from the bridge of his nose to a high arch. There was so much serenity in his face that she forgot the reason that had brought her in search of him.
Her heart ached for him, and, for a brief moment, when everything around her stood silent and still, a faint nucleus of warmth within her began to grow and spread all through her. It was like being back at Dunstan House in London again, on the night she had given herself to him in return for James’s IOU—the night she would willingly have given herself to him without a thought to James’s IOU.
Ever since Alistair had brought her to Huntswood she had waited for him to come to her, waited for him to change towards her, as he must, she told herself, some time. They could not live the rest of their lives like this—together, in the same house, and yet strangers to one another, moving in opposite directions. Only her memory of the one night they had shared, the night when their child had been conceived, made her think that if it had been like that once between them, then it could be so again. And so she continued to wait, to want him, while humiliation and pain at his continued rejection smouldered inside her.
Instinctively she bent slightly and reached out and brushed his hair with feather-light fingers from his brow, uttering a faint gasp, her heart gently leaping, when he opened his eyes and caught her hand, looking up at her. The moment was so unexpected for both of them that they looked at each other for the length of several heartbeats, their faces underlit by the candles so that they were a play of golden light and dark shadows. Alistair’s features were less guarded than she had ever seen them, and there was something so tender in his eyes that all she could do was stare.
In the end Louisa broke the silence by saying, simply, “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep.”
“No,” he murmured, reluctant to let go of her hand which he still held. He was content to let his eyes dwell on the softness of her lovely face, to gaze into the depths of her half-closed eyes, to glory in the gentle sweep of her long dark lashes which dusted her cheeks, and seeing the soft candlelight bring a gleam of gold to the hair tumbling about her shoulders, the voluminous flounces of lace and the soft material of her white robe concealing the hidden delights of her body beneath.
Without being conscious of what he was doing, he moved his head closer to hers, overcome by a strong desire to draw her mouth down to his and taste the sweetness of her quivering lips, which he did, succumbing to the impulse that had been tormenting him for months, and the moment he placed his mouth on hers Louisa parted her lips to receive his longed-for kiss, her heart soaring with happiness. He kissed her slowly and deliberately, and Louisa felt a melting sweetness flow through her bones and her heart pour into his, depriving her of strength.
With a deep sigh Alistair drew back and gave her a searching look, his gaze and his crooked smile drenching her in its sexuality.
“There are times, Louisa, when you confound me,” he murmured, placing his warm lips on her hand before he let it go and swung his long legs off the sofa, tiredly brushing his fingers through his tousled hair. “I was just dozing. The ride from Rotherfield took longer than I intended in this rain. The road is like a quagmire.”
Her cheeks aflame, Louisa drew a long, shuddering breath, her whole being bent on recovery, on controlling her trembling legs. “P-perhaps you should have stayed at Rotherfield and ridden back tomorrow,” she said hesitantly.
“I would have, but it wasn’t raining quite so hard when I set off.”
“Have you had something to eat?” It was a commonplace question, but she could think of nothing else to say.
“Yes, I have. Come and sit down,” he said softly, taking her hand and drawing her down beside him, glad of her company and thinking how wonderful she looked. She positively glowed with health. However, he had observed how quiet she had been of late, that she was often subdued, and not at all like the young woman he had first met, and he unconsciously found himself looking for some trace of the glorious, absolutely adorable Miss Divine she had once been to him, with the inviting smile and flirtatious eyes, his unforgettable lady of pleasure—the woman he had fallen in love with, although he had not known it then.
When Marianne had died he had persuaded himself that he would never fall in love again, that he would have the strength of character to withstand such a debilitating emotion, but then he had not met Louisa. He could not re
member when he had come to love her, but he could not deny that he had been unable to get her out of his mind since the moment he had set eyes on her at the Spring Gardens at Vauxhall a year last summer.
Having had time since the birth of Constance to consider their situation seriously, and because of the weeks previous to this that he had spent in London without Louisa, and the pressing matters of work on the estate, which always seemed to build up alarmingly during his absence, he regretted not having had the time to spend with her since their marriage. The situation had not given either of them the chance to get to know each other and to develop a better, closer relationship, which was essential if they were to live together as man and wife in the true sense.
He was impressed by the way she had settled down, and amazed how quickly she had learned to manage Huntswood and its huge contingent of staff, and Mark adored her, which was the biggest blessing of all. But he now considered that enough time had been wasted and he was about to rectify matters without any further delay. Night after night he had fought the desire to go to her and now he could no longer help himself. He wanted her in his life and in his bed, and, if her passionate response to his kiss was an indication of how she felt, she was of the same mind.
“Tell me what it is that keeps you from your bed at this late hour? Can’t you sleep—is that it?” He looked at her with a questioning lift to his brows, his head cocked to one side, a faint smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “You weren’t worried about me, were you, Louisa? Did you think something might have happened to me when I was so late?”
Louisa’s breath caught in her throat and a warmth crept through her veins and stole up her cheeks, when she heard the husky timbre of his voice and saw the unexpected desire in his eyes, which glowed almost black in the dim light.
An Innocent Proposal Page 23
