Love's Tangle

by Goddard, Isabelle

  He allowed his words to percolate before continuing, “It will be a business arrangement. You will be coming home, you will live at Allingham Hall where you always should have. Your mother would rightly have been mistress here and now you will reign in her place. As for me, I could not choose a better partner to share the running of the estate.”

  He talked on in this vein for some minutes while Elinor remained silent. She was stunned. The man seemed in earnest. He was offering her a wedding ring! And not just any wedding ring. If she accepted she would be the Duchess of Allingham. It was absurd. She would be mistress of this beautiful property—its gardens, woods, pastures, streams—and that wasn’t quite so absurd. But how could she ever agree to such a ridiculous proposal? He denied he was in any way out of control and his mind was certainly logical—he’d given her some very good reasons why such a marriage might work—but still, he could not really be in earnest. Tomorrow he would return shamefaced asking her to forgive another temporary lapse of good sense.

  Aloud she said, “I will consider your proposition, Gabriel,” she could not bring herself to call it a proposal, “and give you my answer tomorrow.”

  He looked relieved a difficult conversation was over. “With your permission I will wait on you in the morning—at ten o’clock, if that is convenient.”

  “Perfectly,” she said briskly. “Now I must leave you.”

  ****

  She retraced her steps to the Dower House, still unconvinced the duke was truly sincere but with the corners of her mind beginning to flirt very slightly with the idea. It was lucky Celia Frant and her son continued absent for much of the day. They would certainly have noticed something amiss and she had no wish to alert them to what had happened. In case the duke was as good as his word and was tomorrow knocking at her door, she needed time alone to work out what her reply should be. But if, as she suspected, he thought better of his impulse, the Frants need never know she had received any such proposition.

  And what a proposition! Gabriel had presented it as a business arrangement and she could understand why. He was highly attracted to her, she knew, infatuated even, but he did not love her. Except for his brother, he seemed to have loved no one, and when Jonathan died on the battlefield, what love Gabriel possessed had died with him. It made sense, therefore, that he marry without emotion, and sense that by doing so he could recompense an illegitimate child for the slights and privations of the past.

  But did it make sense for her? Her heart sang whenever she saw his strong, tall figure pacing through the courtyard, or sitting carelessly astride his chestnut mare. She loved the smile he could not repress even when he was berating her, and the deep blue eyes, at times so tender. Last night she had craved his touch, wanted to feel forever his warm, hard body, the taste of his lips, the hands which roved in all the right places. Feeling this intensely, was it wise to enter into a marriage of convenience with a man who could stir her so? She doubted she would ever be able to light the same flame in him. She had made him burn last night; he had been fuddled but not so fuddled he hadn’t known what he was doing and not so fuddled he hadn’t enjoyed every second of it. But that was a simple physical connection. What if she wanted more?

  She would be a fool if she did. Long ago she’d recognized she was destined for a single life. Her face and figure might commend her but without a dowry, she was unlikely to attract a serious suitor. Men had always been eager to flirt with her but just as eager to steer clear of commitment. She’d had no illusions about finding a husband and then out of the blue, one had presented himself. And what a husband! If she married Gabriel, she would never worry over finding the next penny, never have to face an unwilling pupil—never have to churn a bowl of milk or pat a block of butter into shape! Instead her life would be one of luxury.

  As her mother’s should have been. If only Charles Claremont had shown courage, he would have defied his father and married where he loved, and Grainne would have been Duchess of Allingham. Was it possible that as the daughter of their tragic union she might assume the title in her mother’s stead? Madame Demelza came dramatically to mind. Is that what she had meant? That she, Elinor, would save the woman the clairvoyant saw, the woman from over the sea, the dark haired woman in distress. She would save her and make all right. By becoming the duchess, by making Allingham her home, would she bring her mother final peace? The thought caught in her throat and would not be dislodged.

  ****

  The duke presented himself at the Dower House on the dot of ten o’clock the next morning. Summers had again exerted himself and his master was looking precise to a pin in dove grey stirrup trousers, a striped silk waistcoat and a neck cloth tied in a perfect Waterfall. Although Roland had ridden away after breakfast, Celia Frant was at home and looked astonished as her nephew’s fashionable form crossed her threshold.

  “I thought we had agreed you would not venture here until Miss Milford had departed,” she greeted him crossly.

  He ignored his aunt, looking over her head at the figure of Elinor beyond, walking towards him along the carpeted passageway.

  “Well?” he enquired, as she arrived, a slight smile lighting his face. Evidently he had not changed his mind.

  Lady Frant looked from one to the other, baffled.

  Elinor took a deep breath. “I am happy to agree to your proposition,” she said.

  ****

  The ceremony was to take place in the family chapel in a fortnight and only the bride and groom with their two witnesses would be present. Celia had remembered an urgent engagement with a distant friend in East Anglia and Roland had been bullied into accompanying her, to protect the coach should she meet with any stray highwaymen. Both bride and groom were delighted. Gabriel was well aware of his aunt’s ill feeling while Elinor had no wish to stand at the altar with what remained of his family glowering in the pews behind. In the meantime she was left alone at the Dower House with Alice as her chief companion. The duke had been adamant they should not live under the same roof until the knot was tied. He had heard several scurrilous tales already circulating in the neighborhood and wanted to save her as far as possible from further scandal.

  The days leading up to the wedding should have been joyous. Instead she felt miserably fatigued, for at night she was sleeping badly and during the day she found it impossible to settle. She needed always to be on the move and since she wished only for her own company, she kept to the Dower House garden. Every day she walked its winding pathways, hollyhocks still resplendent in their summer colors standing sentinel on either side. Round and round she walked, her mind circling in unison. She could not still the tiresome refrain that played incessantly in her head. Was this a sensible marriage of convenience she was making or a foolish gamble on a pair of deep blue eyes?

  Today as she walked she felt the sun hot on her limbs, an Indian summer in the offing it seemed, and for once she paused to rest. She had reached the bower at the center of the garden and sank gratefully down on its sun-warmed bench. The heavy perfume of roses crowded in on her. In her calmer moments she could pretend she had her emotions under control, that she was marrying for practical reasons or marrying where her mother had failed, but today as she sat, eyelids closed to the warm embrace of sunlight, she finally acknowledged the truth. It wasn’t so. She had fallen entirely under Gabriel’s spell and she was marrying not for her mother’s sake or to find a home. She was marrying because she loved him! She would have liked to shout aloud her confession, shout it from the rooftops—except that he was walking to the altar for a very different reason. She might be marrying with her heart but he was marrying with his head.

  ****

  Two days before the wedding, a footman from the Hall presented himself at the door with one very large box and several smaller packages. Alice called excitedly to her mistress, for she had a strong inkling of what these fascinating parcels might contain.

  “You must come, Miss. There are boxes to open.”

  Elinor walked slowly throug
h the door and stared. “But where have these come from?”

  “Thomas brought them. From the Hall,” the maid added, seeing her mistress’s puzzled expression.

  When Elinor continued to stare at the laden table, she did a little jig of impatience. “Do open ’em, Miss Elinor,” she urged.

  “Why don’t you open them for me?”

  The maid needed no second bidding. In a trice she had ripped apart the smaller packages and drawn forth a shawl of spider gauze, white satin slippers decorated with silver roses, a silver threaded reticule and the wickedest confection of silver net.

  “Is that really a hat?” Elinor’s eyes were wide with amazement.

  “It is, Miss, it is the most beautiful hat I’ve ever seen.” And Alice waltzed around the kitchen holding the fragile construction in both hands as though it were her partner in a dance. “Isn’t it wonderful?” she breathed.

  “Wonderful,” Elinor said uncertainly. If the small parcels contained such riches, what would she find in the large box that filled the entire table top? She was not long in discovering for Alice had set upon the parcel with vigor. The lid was off, the tissue crumpled, and two faces peered into its depths.

  “Oh, my goodness,” Elinor said.

  “Oh, my goodness,” her maid echoed, reverently drawing the exquisite gown from its nest and smoothing down its folds as she did.

  Elinor looked at her wedding dress held aloft in Alice’s arms and caught her breath. It was of figured white silk with an overdress of spangled silver gauze and she knew just by looking that it would mold and curve itself around her form to perfection. So much beauty—but so little love! It could have been a moment to weep but instead she said briskly, “We will need to hang it carefully if it is to be without a crease on Friday.”

  ****

  By half past eleven on Friday morning, she was dressed in the finery Gabriel had chosen. Color and fit were perfect and when she looked in the mirror, a fairy princess looked back. But this was not a fairy tale, it was reality; a sensible decision, a rational arrangement between relatives, she told herself sternly. At a quarter to noon, a knock on the door heralded her bridegroom. He came alone and he was beautiful. Light-colored satin breeches, a black coat fitting tightly across his shoulders and a frilled shirt, dazzlingly white, filled her vision. One single diamond held the intricate folds of a pure white linen cravat.

  He offered her his arm and together they began the walk along the broad gravel drive leading to the house. Although they spoke little, he was intent on putting her at her ease and she felt grateful. A short distance and they branched off from the main carriage way and followed a narrower, flagged path to the chapel, moving ever closer to the sound of caroling bells. The church sat within a cluster of delicate silver birch and once they had broached the circle of trees, she could see Mr. Jarvis and Mrs. Lucas awaiting them. The two upper servants came forward to pay their respects and followed them into the dim light of the chapel to kneel before the parson. The ceremony was simple and in ten minutes they were wed.

  An equally simple wedding breakfast followed, shared only by the newly-weds, the parson quick to excuse himself from this unusual ceremony. Elinor picked lightly at her food. She had not eaten that day but was finding it difficult to swallow even the smallest of dainties Chef had created for the occasion. Now that the deed was done, she should surely be able to cast aside the doubts that had plagued her. But new doubts had taken their place; she could not stop herself thinking of what lay ahead that night. They were not the worries of most virgin brides. If Gabriel had loved her, this would be the finest day of her life and she would have longed for darkness to fall and for them to be alone at last. But he did not love her and she must never allow him to see her true feelings. He would expect his bride to be willing, even perhaps passionate, but he would not expect profound emotion. That would challenge their very agreement. And what if she disappointed him in the night ahead? She had no experience other than his stolen kisses, while he had known many women, women who had every trick of lovemaking at their fingertips.

  It was still early in the afternoon when the duke asked for his curricle to be brought to the door. She was glad he had thought to fill the next few hours by tooling his new wife around the estate, occasionally getting down from the carriage to introduce particular tenants. She guessed a good deal of lively gossip had circulated in the neighborhood once the duke’s intention to wed had become known and he would be keen to scotch some of the wilder surmises.

  As they drove, she felt him snatching quick glances at her, seeming unsure whether to speak or not. And when he did, it was to warn of the possible consequences of their hasty wedding. “We are likely to be the subject of much talk for months to come.”

  “I am quite sure you are not a stranger to gossip,” she returned.

  “I am concerned not for myself, but for you.”

  “You are most thoughtful, Gabriel, but I am well able to look after myself.” She sat erect, chin raised proudly.

  “You will hear things that anger you.”

  “That I have not a feather to fly with and am a shameless fortune hunter?”

  “I think that may be an accusation, but also…” he seemed uncertain how to continue.

  “Also…”

  “Also—there will be those who say it must have been necessary for us to marry.”

  She flushed. “I daresay. No doubt my mother provoked similar talk but the gossips will find me in very different case.”

  He said no more on the subject and they continued to while away the afternoon before a slow return to the great house. As they drove towards the front entrance, she noticed the grass still verdant on either side of the carriage way, but how in the distance the trees were beginning to lose their rich covering. Autumn was around the corner and she felt strangely melancholy.

  “I intended to drive over to Brighton after our wedding,” Gabriel was saying, “and personally break the news of our marriage to the Regent. But I believe George has already abandoned his seaside haunt for Carlton House. We will have no alternative but to visit London and confess!”

  “How will he take your marriage, do you think?”

  “Much like everyone else, I imagine.” He grimaced. “He will think I have finally lost my senses. Then when he is in despair, I shall produce you and he will remember how beautiful you are and see I have been guilty only of exercising the greatest of taste.”

  To know that Gabriel was charmed by her was precious, but she had no wish to visit London and certainly no wish ever to see his erstwhile companions again. Her acquaintance with them was already more than sufficient.

  As though sensing the direction of her thoughts he said, “You must not think I intend to be a great deal in London, unless you wish it. There is much to do at Allingham—I’ve known that ever since I came home—but now I intend to work so hard that Joffey will be hard pressed to keep up with me!”

  The curricle had come to a halt at the great front door and for a moment both its passengers remained motionless, taken aback by what awaited them. Two lines of servants were drawn up facing each other, every one of them dressed in their very best clothes and the women holding small posies of flowers. As Gabriel took his bride’s arm and walked her through the arch of well-wishers, they began a loud clapping.

  Elinor turned pink with pleasure. She was touched by the evident good will and, face glowing, she passed between the two lines, smiling to left and right and accepting the flowers the women offered until Gabriel could hardly see her for bouquets. Mrs. Lucas and a maid relieved her of the tribute and promised the flowers would shortly reappear to decorate her apartments. As a mark of her new status, she had been moved to the blue bedroom, situated over the main entrance, and with her own sitting room attached.

  The housekeeper proudly led her to it. “For you will be wanting a little rest, I’m sure, Your Grace, before dinner.”

  She was startled; the title seemed unreal, but seeing the housekeeper’s enqui
ring face, she managed to inspect the room and smile her approval. “It is quite beautiful, Mrs. Lucas. Thank you for choosing it.”

  “His Grace did that. Only the very best for Miss Milford, he said.”

  Elinor walked through the sitting room into the bedroom, the housekeeper following. The bed was huge and the view over the stately drive and the distant woods splendid. She could have asked for no better.

  “Where does that lead, Mrs. Lucas?” she asked, pointing to a small door built into the far wall.

  “That is His Grace’s bedroom,” the housekeeper answered, her eyes not quite meeting Elinor’s.

  “Of course,” she said, her voice faltering a little.

  “Will that be all, Your Grace?” The housekeeper’s voice was unusually gentle. Elinor wondered if all the servants were aware of the nature of her marriage.

  “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Lucas. The rooms are splendid.”

  ****

  By the time she glided down the stairs that evening, her hair and gown as near perfect as Alice could ensure, the duke was waiting for her in the drawing room. It was still early September but already the nights were closing in and a fire had been lit to ward off the chill. As she walked through the door, he held a glass of wine out to her but then his hand appeared to stop mid-air. He was staring hard and she wondered if it was the emerald gown she wore, cut low across the creamy swell of her bosom, or the glow she felt illuminating every small part of her body. But for an instant he appeared mesmerized, then he was kissing her lightly on the cheek and ushering her towards the fire.

  The dinner Chef had prepared was light and tempting: a consommé followed by turbot with shrimp sauce, then roast fillet of beef and poulets à la rèine served with Lyonnaise potatoes and green beans, and to finish a Parisian meringue and apple soufflé. Each dish was garnished with rose petals and served on fine floral china. But once again both ate sparingly.

  Dinner was over and tea was brought to the drawing room. The servants evidently expected an early bedtime. Conversation became more desultory and at ten o’clock Gabriel said in a bright tone, “I am sure you will wish to retire now. I will join you very shortly.”