by Louise Allen
‘Stop it! You do not need a title, you have a perfectly good one of your own! If you want to take an interest in the army, then I am sure that would be very acceptable. What is the matter with you? Do you not want to marry me? Is there someone else after all?’ He had never said those words, she realised, cold sweat beginning to trickle down her spine. She loved him, had hoped, when she asked him to marry her, that he would confess that he loved her, but had not felt able to say so. It seemed she had made a terrible misjudgement…
‘No. There is no one else.’ Jack took two strides, came up against the corner of the room and turned again, frustrated by the confining space. ‘Don’t you think, ma’am, that I might prefer to do the asking? Does it not occur to you that I have a life—two, actually—in this country? Marriages into Royal families happen for dynastic reasons, for heirs—there is one already; for international allegiance—I cannot bring that; for wealth—I am sure my resources are paltry in comparison to yours. What they are not intended for is so that the lady in question can enjoy the attentions of her lover without causing a scandal.’
‘But that isn’t why—I told you, I need you!’ Eva got to her feet, her head spinning. This was not how it was supposed to go. She had told him how she felt, she made an offer that was the honourable one, fitting for both of them, and he threw it back in her face. Anger was beginning to stir under the misery.
‘That is extremely flattering, ma’am. But as you know, I already have an occupation and being transplanted to virtually the Alps so I can service the sexual needs of a lady—however alluring and charming—does not fit in with my plans for my life.’
He did not even try to avoid it as she slapped him, hard across the cheek. Shaking her stinging fingers, Eva stared aghast at the scarlet mark of her hand branded across his livid face. She had hit so hard it would probably bruise.
‘It is so much more than sex,’ she whispered. ‘So much more. I thought you felt the same. I was wrong. I am sorry, so sorry I spoke. I will go.’
‘Eva.’ Jack took her arms, holding fast as she tried to twist away. All she wanted now was to escape this humiliating heartbreak. ‘Eva, What I feel for you went far beyond what happened just now in this room. You have been lonely, frightened, left to do your duty at whatever cost to yourself. I came along and gave you excitement and freedom and affection. It is not me you want now, and I cannot give you what you need. I am English, Eva, I live here, this is my home. I have purpose, identity, independence. I cannot give that up to find myself in a country not my own, where I have no role, where my life is bounded by the constraints of who I have married.’
‘If you loved me, you would not say that,’ she flung at him.
The silence between them seemed to fill the room. The music faded, the loud voices that had roared like the sound of the sea beyond the door became a whisper. ‘If I loved you, my answer would be the same,’ Jack said steadily. ‘I cannot be caged into the life you offer me and, if you tried, I would finish by hurting you. I think you need to go back to Maubourg, Eva. Take Freddie, it is safe to travel now with the escort the Foreign Office will arrange for you. Go now, and forget me.’
Her hands were shaking so much that Eva could hardly unlock the door. She managed it at last, turning as she opened it for one last look at him. ‘How can I forget?’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’ It was safe to say it, he could not have heard her, the orchestra was just drawing a particularly noisy country dance to a triumphant conclusion amidst enthusiastic clapping. The dancers coming off the floor engulfed her, swept her away from the door as the Rhône had carried her, dizzy, weak, unable to fight her way to the edge of the room.
‘Eva!’ It was Bel, tugging her arm. That hurt; she remembered vaguely Jack gripping her just there, a hundred years ago. ‘Come and sit down.’ She steered Eva to a chair in an alcove. ‘What happened?’
Eva could only shake her head, dumbly. Words seemed to have deserted her. ‘You need a drink.’ Bel looked around her. ‘Why is there never a waiter when you need one? Theo! Yes, I know it is you, no one else in London is that tall with auburn hair, you numbskull. I need two glasses of champagne, at once. And a glass of brandy. Shoo!’ She pushed the indignant young man off into the throng. ‘My scapegrace cousin Theo,’ she explained. ‘Did he say no?’
Eva nodded.
‘Why? Why on earth would he say no?’
‘Because he does not love me, I suppose. Because I made a mull of it, because he does not want to end up as an adjunct to his wife in a foreign court.’
‘You told him you love him? No?’ Eva shook her head. A whisper he could not hear did not count. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I thought he realised that was why I was asking him, and then he told me he did not love me, so what was the point?’
‘He told you?’ Bel stared at her. ‘In so many words? He actually said I do not love you?’
‘He had told me he would not marry me and then he said his answer would be the same whether or not he loved me. I think.’ She shook her head, too stunned by the whole experience to trust her memory any more. The young man—Theo, was it?—came back with a waiter at his heels. Bel took a brandy glass, pressed it into Eva’s hands and then scooped the two champagne flutes off the tray. ‘Thank you, Theo.’
She waited until her cousin had retreated, then said, ‘Drink it!’ Eva tossed back the brandy, reckless now for something to take the edge off the pain, while Bel took a reviving drink of champagne, then removed the empty brandy glass and substituted the other flute for it. ‘I will be drunk,’ Eva protested.
‘Good. I’d get tipsy and then go home if I were you, there isn’t any purpose in waiting here for the unmasking, you’ll only be miserable.’ Bel sipped her drink, brooding. ‘He may well think better of it in the morning,’ she offered at length.
‘I doubt it. I hit him.’
‘Good.’
They brooded some more, the brandy and wine burning dully through Eva’s veins. She recalled the last time she had been tipsy—a most infrequent happening in her well-regulated life. That had been with Jack in the inn and she had been utterly indiscreet. She felt more than indiscreet now, she felt desperate for action, to get away, not stay trapped here in this foreign country, miles from home.
‘There’s Lord Gowering,’ Bel observed. ‘See, in the red-sequined mask with one shoulder higher than the other. He directs all the agents in the Foreign Office, though you wouldn’t think he was a spymaster to look at him. I have half a mind to go and tell him he should sack my brother for not taking care of you.’
The tall, stooping man was heading in their direction. ‘Introduce me,’ Eva said suddenly.
Bel shot her a startled glance, but got up and accosted the man. He bowed over Eva’s hand. ‘I had not expected to see you here, your Serene Highness. I understand we have to thank you for some very interesting armament designs. You are none the worse for your journey, I trust?’
‘Perfectly recovered, I thank you, my lord. So much so that I wish to leave immediately for the Continent, with my son. I believe the butler and footmen at my present lodging are your men—I would like to borrow them for the journey.’
‘But, of course, ma’am.’ She gestured to the seat beside her and his lordship took it. ‘There will be no difficulty with papers, naturally, but we had not expected you to wish to return so soon.’
‘I am anxious about my brother-in-law, the Regent,’ Eva explained, hearing her own voice fluently explaining how her son wanted to go home very badly, how she felt quite rested now—all as though there was some ventriloquist behind her speaking these words while she writhed in dumb misery. It must be the brandy. And years of training.
‘Very well, ma’am, I will have papers for the staff sent to you first thing tomorrow. I wish you a safe and speedy return home, and we will hope to see you again in London when travelling conditions are a little less…exciting.’
He bowed himself off, leaving Bel staring at Eva. ‘What am I going to tell
Sebastian?’
‘Nothing,’ said Eva flatly. ‘Nothing at all if you can help it. Bel, thank you for your support, your friendship. I would have loved to have you as my sister.’
‘And I you. Oh, Eva, don’t give up on him.’ Bel took Eva’s hand and squeezed it.
‘I think for my own sanity, I must do so.’ Eva stood up and shook out her skirts. ‘Could you tell our hostess that I have a migraine and had to slip away?’ She hesitated, Bel’s hands in hers. ‘Goodbye, Bel. Look after him for me.’
As she hurried away through the crowd, she caught Bel’s wrathful parting words. ‘Box his ears, more like.’
Jack stayed where he was after Eva had gone, waiting for his reddened cheek to subside enough to show himself again. The marks of her fingers would probably be there in bruises tomorrow; she had hit with intent to hurt him, and succeeded.
How he had had the strength to do the right thing and turn her down he had no idea. At least she had said nothing about loving him—he did not think he could have coped with that. She was lonely in that great castle, who could blame her? What they had shared had been a revelation for her, but they could not recreate those feelings, not in the humdrum world of court life.
It would be a disaster if they married and he loved her too much to risk it. Jack began to pace, the part of him that was trying to be fair, trying to understand, giving ground again to his pride and his temper. What had possessed her? He should have been the one doing the asking, not her. He should be the one with title and wealth and position to offer, not her. He could not be bought like a toy, and a husband was not something that was easy to throw away when you tired of him, either.
Leave England? Leave the estate that he had inherited from his maternal grandfather? Leave the rolling countryside, the broad river valleys, the green hills for a foreign country where he had no role except to please the first lady? He wanted sons who would be Englishmen, he realised, not exiles in another country where their half-brother had a status wildly different from their own.
Damn it! She should have guessed all that, she should never have asked him. He was an English gentleman, not some foreign gigolo—
‘So you are skulking in here.’ Hell and damnation, it was his interfering sister. Jack glared at Bel and she whipped off her mask and glared back. ‘My goodness, that is going to mark,’ she observed, apparently with some satisfaction, walking up to touch her fingertips to his cheek.
‘Thank you, I do not need a second opinion on that,’ he said tightly. ‘I collect I have you to blame for this idiotic situation.’
‘I suggested the ball and this room,’ Bel said, sitting with some grace on the rumpled chaise. ‘You are entirely to blame for the situation being idiotic.’
‘You consider that I should have accepted her Serene Highness’s flattering offer, do you?’ He had never felt so out of charity with his sister.
‘As you love her, I would have thought that was a logical thing to do.’
‘Who told you I love her?’ He saw the trap the moment he put his foot into it. Bel looked smug. ‘I just did, didn’t I?’
‘I had guessed, that was why I wanted to help you both. Has it not occurred to you, numbskull, that she loves you, too? Or are both of you so determined this is all just about sex—’ Bel went scarlet, but pushed on ‘—that you cannot see what is in front of your faces? Do you really think a woman like that is going to do something as difficult as asking a man to marry her if she did not love him?’
‘She does?’ Jack discovered his legs were feeling decidedly odd. The only place to sit was beside his sister, so he sat on the end of the chaise next to her and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Damn this thing.’ He yanked off the mask and threw it on the floor. Bel just looked at him.
Eva loved him? He loved her, so it was not impossible, just something he had never dared to contemplate. She had wanted his lovemaking, his company, his friendship—was that not all she had wanted? Now his mind brought back the image of her face as she turned to him, her hand on the key of that door. What had she said, her lips moving, but no sound reaching him above the swell of the music?
He had learned to lip read as a useful espionage skill, but it needed a lot of concentration. This was Eva: she deserved that concentration. He closed his eyes, searched for the picture of her moving lips, his own moving as he tried out the words. How can I forget? I love you.
‘Why did she not say so?’ His sister, a woman, might be able to explain this mystery.
‘Because she is shy, because she was afraid you would reject her, because she rather thought her idiot lover might have some inkling without having to be hit over the head with it,’ his loving sister snapped.
‘Oh.’
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’ Bel demanded after they had sat in silence for minutes.
Jack sat staring at the crumpled scrap of black fabric at his feet. ‘Nothing.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘What! Jack, you love her—now you know she loves you and you still say you will do nothing?”
‘Bel, she is a Grand Duchess, for goodness’ sake. I am a younger son.’
‘Of a duke,’ she retorted. ‘Your breeding as a scion of one of England’s oldest houses is as good as anyone’s in this country. You know what you are, Sebastian John Ryder Ravenhurst? You are a snob.’
‘A what?’ Jack twisted round on the chaise to stare at her.
‘A snob,’ Bel repeated. ‘An inverted snob. You refuse to justify your own position, to stand up for who and what you are because she has that title. One she married, not one she inherited, mind you. One of these days you could be a duke—your son certainly will be.’
‘Bel!’ She had truly shocked him now.
‘You think I do not understand about our brother and his situation? If he is happy, I am certainly not going to judge him. And you are an English gentleman; the Mauborgians should be grateful to have you as their Grand Duke’s stepfather.’
‘Mauborgeois,’ Jack corrected absently.
‘So, what are you going to do now?’ Bel demanded again, ignoring his interjection.
‘Nothing,’ he repeated.
‘Nothing.’ His sister sprang up and regarded him, hands on hips. ‘Nothing. Because your pride will not accept you having to stand one step behind your wife on state occasions. Because you will not compromise on how you live your life. Because people might talk. I could box your ears, Sebastian Ravenhurst, but a better woman got in first.’
The door slammed behind Bel. Jack stayed where he was, staring at the painted panels, trying to make some sense of his feelings. His head ached, his face ached, his heart…ached was an altogether inadequate word for how that felt. With a groan he flung himself back full length on the chaise cushions and found his nostrils full of the scent of Eva.
Pride, compromise, status, love. It was a word game, a riddle he had no idea how to read.
‘How long may I stay in Maubourg?’ Freddie demanded as the carriage rolled over London Bridge.
‘Until the new term. This is not the end of school, young man, you know your papa wished you to be educated as an English gentleman.’ Eva carried on settling all her things for the journey. Books into door pockets, her travelling chess set on the seat, some petit point in her sewing bag. Freddie’s seat was cluttered with packs of cards, books, something he was whittling out of wood and a box of exercises Herr Hoffmeister insisted he took with him. They were doomed to stay there, Eva suspected—the tutor was taking a holiday, much to Freddie’s well-suppressed glee.
‘Why did Papa not let me come home for holidays?’ Freddie persisted.
‘I think because he wanted you to be thoroughly English,’ Eva explained. ‘Then when you were older you would have all the contacts you needed for diplomacy, and your English would be perfect.’ Which it was. Now, they had slipped back into a mixture of French and the Maubourg dialect; she did not want her son arriving home sounding like a foreigner.
‘I misse
d you.’
‘I missed you, too.’ She suppressed the nagging suspicion that Louis had wanted their son to grow up with less feminine influence, or even that, as Napoleon’s influence grew, he had doubts about having married a half-French bride. Whatever it was, he had never chosen to explain himself to his wife, merely citing her tears as evidence that Fréderic was better off at school. ‘Still, now you are so much older, I am sure Papa would have wanted you to spend your holidays in Maubourg.’
Freddie nodded thoughtfully. ‘And I can study with Uncle Philippe so I will learn how to be a proper Grand Duke.’
‘Yes, my love.’ She smiled at him, tears of pride shimmering across her vision so that he became a blur. Last night, amidst the chaos of the preparations for their sudden departure, she had found no opportunity to shed the tears that filled her heart for Jack until she had reached her bed, and then, alone at last, she had wept for what might have been, but now never could be.
‘Uncle Philippe is a very good Regent, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘But he doesn’t know about things like sport and adventures and things like that, does he?’
‘No, I don’t think those interest him.’ Her brother-in-law was the scholarly one of the family.
‘I do wish you were going to marry Mr Ryder after all,’ Freddie said.
‘Freddie! Whatever makes you think—?’
‘I thought you loved him. You were very sad when he went away and didn’t say goodbye. And the way he looked at you. I may not know much about these things,’ her nine-year-old son said with dignity as she gaped at him, ‘but I can tell when two people like each other a lot. I don’t understand why he didn’t ask you to marry him.’
‘Possibly because I am a Grand Duchess,’ Eva said more sharply than she intended.
