Finishing a piece on the pianoforte, she had lifted her eyes inquiringly. “Shall I play another?”
He had put down the glass immediately and said huskily, “No, thank you, my dear. I’ve enjoyed it but the hour is late. We should retire." As he had walked her to the door, his arm possessively about her waist, the strange, impelling light was in his eyes again. “You look charming, Margaret." And suddenly his lips were on hers, demanding, his hands straying about her body. Shocked, she had stood perfectly still, unresponding, and after a moment he had seemed to realize the infelicity of his tactics. He said nothing, but placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her gently. As her panic abated she returned the tender pressure of his lips and found herself released from his hold. His smile was almost sedate as he said, “Good. You change for bed. I’ll be along in a few minutes.”
But he hadn’t been along in a few minutes. There had come a knock at the door and then for a very long time she had heard nothing. She lay rigid with tension, expecting him to come at any moment, bearing a wedding gift for her to assuage his conscience. At last the sound of raised voices in the hall and the banging of the front door reached her where she lay in bed. Her head had begun to ache and her fears to grow in proportion to the duration of her wait. Now she fully expected the silence of the house to be broken by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and the rustlings of her husband changing in his dressing room, but there was nothing. For another ten minutes she waited and then, in desperation, she gave a tentative tug to the bell pull. If no one had answered, she would not have had the courage to do so again, but shortly there was a tap at the hall door.
Mrs. Phipps entered, her face a mask. With a sinking heart, Maggie asked, “Could you tell Lord Greenwood that I... would like a word with him?”
“I’m sorry, my lady. Lord Greenwood has gone out.”
“Out?” In the dim light of the one candle, Maggie could not read the woman's expression. Her aching head was now joined with a sickness to her stomach. “In that case, Mrs. Phipps, would you bring me a few drops of laudanum in water?”
“Right away, my lady.”
When Maggie had downed the draught, she calmly bid the housekeeper good night and snuffed the candle. For a few minutes, before the drug offered her blessed sleep, she stared dry-eyed at the ornamental ceiling.
* * * *
Convinced that he had behaved with great understanding, Adam had returned to the drawing room when Maggie disappeared up the stairs. She was shy, after all, and he had startled her at first, but when he had moderated the eagerness of his caresses, she had accepted them very well. He poured himself another glass of brandy, thinking that he would be wise to give her sufficient time to compose herself in bed. As he mentally ticked off the minutes and sipped at his drink, Adam considered his wife's situation, that is, that she was a total innocent and would need his consideration in being indoctrinated into the rites of love. Not that such a role should prove at all difficult to him. He was a man of the world, experienced, knowledgeable.
From his sixteenth birthday, when he had first indulged a hearty sexual appetite, he had never had the least problem finding women who were more than pleased to give themselves to him. And if they were usually older women, well, that was an indication of his own sexual prowess, his ability to satisfy a sexually mature woman. As a matter of personal honor, Adam had never taken a girl's innocence. The encounter with the parlor maid at Parkhurst that had caused such a fuss would have been no such thing. No virgin would have acted like that hussy!
The knock on the front door that he had been expecting the whole of the evening finally came, and he was too immersed in his meditations even to realize it until the porter showed a harassed Captain Midford into the drawing room. Adam regarded him blankly. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I just got your note, Adam, and I thought it must be some emergency.”
"For God's sake, I told you it was just a matter of buying a present for my wife.”
Stephen threw his hands up in a gesture of disgust. "How was I to know? You wrote in such haste I couldn't make out one word in four. The very fact that you were still in town made me think there must be some problem."
“There isn’t. Go away.”
“Why are you still here? I thought you were going to Combe Lodge.”
“The coachman was drunk. We're going in the morning. Go away.”
Such subtle hints fazed the good captain not one whit. He had come dashing to his friend's aid, at great physical strain to himself, as he had continued celebrating since leaving the wedding reception in Portland Place and he had been in no condition to respond to the summons, only doing so at the promptings of a highly charged sense of friendship. Stephen did not intend to leave until he had gotten to the bottom of the matter.
"Why the hell would you write me about buying a present for your wife?" he asked as he poured himself some brandy in the empty glass Maggie had refused, and sat down.
Adam's brows lowered ominously. "At any other time I would be more than happy to enlighten you on the whole, Stephen, but not now. Go away.”
“Nonsense. You said you were leaving in the morning, and if the matter was urgent when you sent the note, it must be so still." Stephen refilled his glass without asking.
Since it was apparent that the captain had no intention of leaving until the story was unfolded to him, Adam made an effort to still the rising desire to have him tossed out. "Margaret gave me a wedding present, a very handsome pair of driving gloves. The nuisance of it is that I hadn't thought to get her anything,”
"You gave her a ring. I was with you when you chose it."
“Yes,” Adam admitted impatiently, "but that is not the same thing. And besides, the ring didn't fit. She said it was all right, my giving her only the ring, but by then I’d sort of suggested that I’d gotten her something and it just hadn’t arrived yet. So I wrote asking you to find something nice for her and have it sent round." Adam had been carelessly sipping at the brandy, forgetting how far gone he already was.
“Well, do you want me to do it or not? I should think the poor little thing would be rather hurt that you didn't think enough of her to get her something."
“She didn’t act the least offended, but I felt a fool. I never thought of it, Stephen. This whole marriage has been a ramshackle affair from start to finish. First I forgot about a wedding trip, and now forgetting a gift on top of it, I really thought I ought to do something about it." He finished the brandy in his glass and Stephen poured him another one.
"It's too late to get her something tonight. I can look around in the morning and send what I find off to you at the Lodge. What sort of thing did you have in mind?”’
“Jewelry, I suppose. A necklace or a bracelet or something.”
"But you’ve already given her a ring."
"Yes, but ladies like expensive trinkets."
“The ring cost you a fortune, and besides, you don't want to show up her gift. Gloves would look shabby against some costly bauble." Stephen rested his chin in his hand, since it had become difficult to think with his head buzzing so. “You know, Adam, that was very thoughtful of her. Could have given you a stickpin or a snuffbox, but she gave you something you'd use."
“I know it was thoughtful of her. That's why I'm so anxious to get her a gift she’ll like.” Adam’s eyes were becoming a little blurry and his speech was not altogether clear.
"Tell you what, old fellow. Shouldn’t give her jewelry. Give her something personal."
"Like what, for God’s sake? She’s just acquired a new wardrobe and I haven’t the slightest idea what she’d think was special.”
The two men sat silent for some time, sipping at their brandy and making a pretense of hard concentration on the problem at hand. They were both very drunk by now and suggestions of candlesticks and vases were offered only by way of breaking the oppressive silence.
Adam had long since forgotten that his wife was awaiting him in his bed; th
e urgency of getting her a gift that had gripped him earlier in the day once again had the ascendancy. After another glass of brandy, he had an inspiration.
"Canaries!"
Stephen looked at him sadly. “You’ve lost your way, old man."
“No, listen. I was talking with her one day and I distinctly remember her telling me she liked canaries. It's just the thing, Stephen. Special, don’t you see. It would show I'd given a lot of thought to her present.”
“It would show you’d lost your reason,” his friend responded pungently.
“No, why? I’ll have them in a little golden cage, like Mrs. Harland does.”
“Mrs. Harland says they’re a goddamn nuisance and she wishes she’d never laid eyes on them."
A glow of pure delight sparkled in Adam’s eyes. "Really? Do you think she’d like to be rid of them?"
“Definitely.”
Adam lurched to his feet. “Then we’ll go there directly and I shall bring them back for Margaret.”
“You can’t go there at this time of night!” the captain protested.
“Why not?” Adam waved a slightly unsteady hand. "It's an emergency. Mrs. Harland has a heart of pure gold. I've heard Dunn say so.”
“I don’t think that’s what he means, and she probably won't be home.”
“We’ll wait for her." Once determined on a course of action. Adam was not to be so lightly dissuaded. “She holds her card parties several times a week. What day is this?”
“Tuesday.”
“There, you see! I’m sure Tuesday is one of her days.”
Stephen was struck with the coincidence of this and struggled to his feet. “Well, then, what are we waiting for? You can have the canaries back here within the hour.”
Mrs. Harland kept a discreet gaming house in Arlington Street that was frequented by gentlemen of the ton and frowned upon by the magistrates, but the latter had as yet made no move to close it down, though there were rumblings from that direction. The company was always select, and cards were sent to announce on which days she would receive company to her little “parties.” Adam and Stephen had been there on any number of occasions, dropping a little of the ready but never enough to cause suspicion of unfair play. Mrs. Harland was a shrewd woman, and she knew that echoes of large losses would more surely than anything else bring down the arm of the law upon her profitable premises.
On this particular evening she had allowed herself to be entreated into a game of piquet tête-à-tête with Sir Nicholas Dyrham, and when the two bosky gentlemen arrived at her establishment they were admitted readily enough (no one was more likely to lose money at a game of chance than a man in his cups), but they were not allowed to approach and interrupt her game in the far corner of the room. Instead they were directed to a table of rouge et noir to await an audience with her where, it was to be hoped, they would lay out a substantial sum in the meantime. Because his attention was directed toward the corner and grasping the first opportunity to speak with his hostess, Adam made only a desultory attempt to pay heed to the game, consequently finding himself twenty pounds the poorer within minutes. Not that this distressed him, for he had caught sight of the gold cage with its two canaries standing near the windows, and he was relieved to see that Mrs. Harland had not disposed of them already, if she truly detested them as much as the captain had intimated.
The instant Adam saw Mrs. Harland arise from her seat, he abandoned the rouge et noire table and appeared at her side, begging for a moment of her time. If she was surprised, she gave no indication, merely commenting with a teasing smile, “You know your credit is always good here, Greenwood.”
“It’s not that! I don’t need to write a chit. I want to buy the canaries.”
“My dear little pets? Whatever would you do with a couple of canaries, Greenwood?”
Obviously she didn’t believe him, but assumed some prank was afoot, and he hastened to explain, to this lovely woman with her heart of gold, that he needed them as a wedding gift for his bride.
“I had no idea you’d married.” Mrs. Harland regarded him calculatingly. “Is the Lady Greenwood so very fond of canaries, then?”
“Yes, well, I don’t really know, but I think she may be. Midford said you find them a nuisance and I thought you wouldn’t mind parting with them, since I’m in a bit of a hurry to get her something.”
The canaries in question were perched drowsily on little pegs in the gilded cage, the tasseled cage cover hanging from the stand. Mrs. Harland spoke to them with great affection. “How are my little darlings today? Will you give us a song? It’s all these noisy men and their nasty smoke, isn’t it?” She turned with a sigh to Adam. “I know it’s not the proper setting for them, but I would find it difficult to part with my dear feathered friends. Such a delightful sound, their song. It quite melts the heart.”
Not hers, obviously, Adam thought unhappily. "I would be willing to give you ten pounds for the whole setup, right now," he offered with necessary generosity.
“Ten pounds? For my little carolers? I’m sure I could never part with them for ten pounds. The cage alone must be worth that.”
“Come now, it’s only glided. I could buy the same thing in a shop for a great deal less.”
Mrs. Harland smiled sweetly him. “Then you should do so, my lord.”
“Oh, very well. How much?”
One painted fingernail poked at a fluffed-up canary in an attempt to spark it to some kind of life as a negotiating point, but the bird refused to budge from his perch. "They don’t sing at night. If you were to hear them during the day, you would think twenty pounds a more than reasonable price.”
"Twenty pounds!” Adam yelped. “That’s nonsense! I could get the whole setup at that shop in the Strand for ten."
“I thought you were in rather a hurry, my lord. And you must take into consideration my great affection for dear... Carol and Clyde. I would not so much as contemplate parting with them were it not for your obvious anxiety to have them as a gift for your wife.”
Adam knew he had set the trap for himself, but he was loath to leave without the stupid birds now that be had so nearly accomplished his mission. Still, there was a stubborn streak in his character, and he did not like being taken any more than the next person. “Well, I would go to fifteen. Otherwise I may as well just visit that shop tomorrow and get a brand-new cage and some healthier-looking birds. These seem singularly placid.”
Since Mrs. Harland had hoped for no more than twelve, she smiled benignly on him. “We shall call the difference my little wedding gift to you and your bride, Greenwood."
Her smug countenance did not improve his temper, but Adam thanked her with as little sarcasm as possible, wrapped the cover about the cage, and handed over the necessary sum. He was in the process of gathering up Stephen and lugging the awkward stand with its precariously balanced cage to the door when Viscount Dunn entered. Under the newcomer’s incredulous stare he felt like a schoolboy caught out in some lark.
Chapter Seven
His voice carefully controlled to reach no one but Adam, Dunn asked coldly, “What the devil are you doing here, Greenwood?”
Adam had come of age several years before, and he had a title, position, and wealth of his own, but the force of habit was strong, and he was in the habit of answering to his friend’s brother on certain matters of conduct in which Dunn had proved his mentor after the death of his father. Besides, under the haughty gaze he felt impelled to make some explanation for the ridiculous picture he made.
“I came to buy the birds for Margaret,” seemed the simplest answer.
“Am I to understand that Lady Greenwood sent you to a gambling den in the late hours of the night to procure a couple of canaries?”
“She didn’t send me. I wanted to get her a wedding present and I thought she’d like them for pets.”
Dunn smiled at an acquaintance but joined his arm with Adam’s and walked with him, his brother Stephen nervously following, back through the door and
out into the hall. “Do you mean to tell me,” he asked ominously, “that you have left your bride on your wedding night? Alone? So that you could come out on some harebrained scheme to acquire a cage and birds?”
Usually Dunn was reasonably patient with his brother’s and Adam’s little peccadilloes, tolerance being one of his most notable virtues where they were concerned. Adam had never seen him so blackly angry, and he strove valiantly to exonerate himself. “She gave me some driving gloves, Dunn. I’d forgotten to get her anything, in the rush and all, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.”
“And you thought she wouldn’t be hurt when you told her you were going out?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
For a fraction of a second Adam thought Dunn was going to strike him, so fierce was the light that flared in his eyes, but the viscount never moved a muscle, save one that tightened in his jaw. "Of all the stupid, asinine, childish pranks you have played, none can compare with this. If it weren’t for that poor child you married this morning, I swear I would wash my hands of you forever. How could you be so cruel as to leave her alone on your wedding night? Have you any idea how insulted she must feel? It makes no difference that you were forced to marry her; that was entirely your own idiotic fault. Were you not the least moved by the brave face she put on for a marriage which could be no more agreeable to her than to you? Is there no drop of compassion in you at all, Adam? No, I don’t want to hear about how you are even now on an errand to buy canaries for her,” he said disdainfully. “That is only an example of your own conceit—trying to save face. It would have been more honorable for you to have welshed on your bet with Sir Robert than to treat his daughter as you have tonight.”
The Loving Seasons Page 8
