The farewells were awkward with Alistair barely unbending enough to offer a stiff bow.
Side by side she and Alistair watched them trot down the drive. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked, since none of the tension she’d felt in him when his brother arrived had dissipated.
‘He was concerned for my health.’ Ice coated Alistair’s voice.
Why would that not please him? She sensed there was more to it, but clearly he did not want to speak of it. ‘A brotherly concern, then...’ She hesitated.
‘Hardly.’
‘What on earth happened between you and your family?’
‘It is not something I wish to discuss.’
He was shutting her out, the way he always did. ‘We are married, Alistair, like it or not. You need to tell me—’
‘I do not need to tell you anything. If you will excuse me, I have an appointment with my steward.’
He strode off in the direction of the estate office.
A feeling of loss welled up in her chest. What on earth had she said now?
The pain in her chest intensified as she walked back to a house where she felt like a guest. It wasn’t good enough. She deserved more. If not love, then at least respect and affection. And she wasn’t talking about what they got up to in the bedroom. She was, after all, for better or for worse, his Duchess.
If only she didn’t suspect it was for worse. Perhaps the news of her barrenness having sunk in, he was after all regretting his choice.
* * *
‘We generally meet here at Parsings,’ Ellie said, emerging from her carriage to join Julia waiting in the lane where her own coach had dropped her a scant two minutes before. ‘Poor Lady Wiltshire and her rheumatism.’ She glanced up at a sky full of threatening clouds. ‘That is not going to help.’
They turned and walked arm in arm up the front path. ‘Thank you for inviting me,’ Julia replied. ‘I have been looking forward to this all week.’
Looking forward to getting away from Sackfield and Alistair. Not that she’d seen much of him since he’d recovered from his accident. He’d been preoccupied, busy with his business affairs in Lewis’s absence.
The butler admitted them and took them straight through the house to the conservatory, where three other ladies were already gathered. Ellie performed the introductions to Mrs Retson, the Vicar’s wife, a pleasantly plump middle-aged woman; Lady Finney, the Squire’s wife, with iron-grey hair and a gimlet eye; and Lady Wiltshire, a fashionable lady in her fifth decade and clearly a widow of means.
‘That is everyone,’ Lady Wiltshire said. ‘Please, ladies, take a seat, let me pour you some tea.’
The butler bowed himself out.
‘Have you thought any more of my suggestion for an assembly?’ Ellie said over the rim of her cup.
‘I think it is a brilliant idea,’ Mrs Retson said, her eyes bright. ‘We haven’t held an assembly since before the war. We are bound to draw quite a crowd with so many of our neighbours here for the summer. Everyone has been bemoaning the lack of a bell at St Agnes’s for three years, I am sure they will be supportive.’
Lady Finney frowned. ‘It will require some organisation. We will need a dedicated committee.’
‘I take it you are in agreement,’ Ellie said, smiling. ‘What do you think, Your Grace?’
‘I have not had the opportunity to help organise such an ambitious event,’ Julia said, ‘but, given the cause, I think it a worthy endeavour. While I do not feel qualified to lead the charge, I would like to offer to help with the decorations.’
Given her title was by far the highest in the room, if she had insisted on running the whole thing, the other women would have accepted it without demur, no matter their private opinions. But she was being honest with them. The only event she had arranged had been her eldest brother’s wedding breakfast.
‘I will take charge of tickets,’ Mrs Retson said, her eyes gleaming.
‘I will speak with Prosser about the catering,’ Lady Finney said. ‘He will want some watching, that one. Finney is sure he waters his ale, the scoundrel.’
‘You will take charge, then, Marchioness?’ Lady Wiltshire asked.
‘Not at all,’ Ellie said, smiling at the older woman. ‘You know all the great families hereabouts. I would defer to your superior knowledge of who can be engaged for what role. I will deal with the music and the dancing.’
Julia relaxed as the ladies began discussing the merits of one day over another, one nurseryman over another, whether or not waltzing would be permitted and how many tickets should be sold without turning the affair into a terrible squeeze. This was what she had always wanted. To be part of something useful. To make a difference, in some small way.
‘It seems we have our next steps laid out,’ Lady Wiltshire finally declared. ‘We will meet again in two weeks’ time, if that will suit everyone?’
She used her cane to push to her feet and crossed the room to ring for their carriages.
Another woman entered the conservatory and stopped as if startled. Lady Dunstan.
‘Oh,’ the Dowager said. ‘I do beg your pardon, Elmira, I was sure your company must have left by now.’
Lady Wiltshire raised a brow. ‘We are just concluding, Isobel. I believe you know everyone?’ She turned to the room. ‘Lady Dunstan is visiting me for a few days.’
Isobel smiled generally at the company, but her gaze rested longer on Julia’s face. ‘I do indeed know everyone.’ She made a gracious movement with her hand. ‘Please do not let me interrupt your meeting.’
Ellie rose to her feet, her expression polite but not warm. ‘Our business is finished, Lady Dunstan. We were about to leave.’
The Dowager’s warm brown eyes turned from Julia and for a moment her eyes hardened a fraction and her lips stiffened, but then in an instant the warmth was back. ‘Lady Beauworth, how is your family? I gather it is growing apace since I saw you last. Congratulations on your heir and a spare.’
‘Thank you,’ Lady Beauworth said, buttoning her gloves.
Julia offered her hand to her hostess. ‘Thank you for your kind hospitality and your invitation to join your committee.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace,’ the woman said warmly. ‘Your participation is most welcome.’
The other ladies added their farewells, but when Julia made to leave, the Dowager Duchess touched her arm lightly. ‘A word, Your Grace.’
Lady Finney, who had been speaking to her, cast an enquiring look at Julia. Clearly to ignore the woman would be offering a snub that would have the county gossiping for weeks.
Ellie cast her a questioning look and Julia smiled at her. ‘Please, do not wait for me, but tell my coachman I am on my way.’
Lady Wiltshire eyed her guest. ‘If you do not mind, Isobel, I will see the other ladies off.’
‘Please, do not trouble about us,’ Lady Dunstan said. ‘I won’t keep Her Grace but a moment or two.’
The other ladies left the room.
Lady Dunstan gestured for Julia to sit down.
The Dowager gave her a sharp look. ‘I heard the Duke was thrown from his horse. How is he?’
‘He is well.’
The slanting eyes narrowed. ‘Recovered, then?’
‘Completely.’ There was something about the woman’s reaction that gave Julia a sense of unease, made her not want to mention his continuing headaches.
‘Did you speak to him about the dower house?’
‘I mentioned it.’
‘And he refuses his aid.’ She made a dismissive gesture with an elegant hand. ‘It does not surprise me in the least. He has no family feeling at all or he would not have disappeared the way he did. Travelling, he said.’ She made a scornful sound. ‘You can imagine how that made us feel, after leaving us to believe the worst.
My poor husband had an apoplexy when he turned up missing when the peace broke.’ She patted Julia’s hand. ‘Well, well. It is all in the past. I am simply glad to have made your acquaintance even if Alistair would keep us apart. Let us continue our friendship, despite him. Come for tea in a day or so. Elmira will not mind. We will have a long and comfortable coze.’
Discomfort slithered down Julia’s spine. Strange to have such a feeling, when the woman was so friendly. She ought to feel sorry for the woman’s feeling of exclusion instead of uncomfortable. ‘I will send you a note and let you know when it is convenient.’
‘Wonderful. Let me see you to the door.’
The Dowager put her arm through Julia’s and they strolled down the corridor leading to the front door.
A young man walking down the stairs stopped short at the sight of them. ‘Aunt,’ he said, ‘there you are. There is something—Bless me! It is you, Your Grace.’
‘You two know each other?’ Lady Dunstan asked.
‘We met in Hyde Park,’ the young man said. ‘Percy Hepple, your cousin, Your Grace. You do remember?’
‘I do.’ She held out her hand. ‘How lovely to meet you again, Mr Hepple. What are you doing in Hampshire?’
‘Serving as my escort,’ Lady Dunstan said, her voice dry. ‘Percy is rusticating. As far from his papa as he can get.’ She lowered her voice. ‘In Dun territory, you know.’
‘Aunt,’ Percy said, colouring up, ‘no need to set rumours about. It is a minor setback, is all. I shall come about when next quarter rolls around.’ He winced. ‘I might drop in on His Grace later this week. See if he might be willing to sport a bit of the ready. Put me dibs in tune again.’ His smile was rather forced.
Julia could only imagine Alistair’s response at this young man applying to him for money.
‘Nonsense,’ his aunt answered before she could say anything. ‘You know very well Alistair will only lecture and prose on about budgeting.’ She gave a light laugh with a brittle edge. ‘It is your father you should approach.’
But Percy wasn’t listening. He was looking at Julia with an odd light in his eye. Indeed, his gaze wandered over her, coming to rest briefly in the area of her chest before returning to her face.
‘You know, Coz, I thought it when we were introduced in the park and I think it again now—we have met somewhere before.’
Aghast, Julia froze. He could not have been at Mrs B.’s the night of the auction. Please, no, not that.
‘I do not believe so,’ she said, horrified by the tremble in her voice.
Percy frowned. ‘I am sure of it. I will think of it, you will see.’
She prayed not.
‘Enough of your flirting,’ Lady Dunstan said lightly, but her eyes were fixed on Percy as if she sensed an underlying truth in his words.
She turned her narrowed eyes on Julia. ‘Come, Your Grace, before your coachman frets about his horses. Please give my regards to my dear stepson, will you not? Tell him a call here would be most welcome. For Percy’s sake, if not for mine.’
Julia’s heart sank. She could already hear the ice in Alistair’s reply when she imparted that message. And dare she ask him if Mr Percy Hepple had been anywhere near Mrs B.’s on the night of the auction?
She shuddered.
Chapter Thirteen
Alistair looked up as his wife entered his office. His wife. Why did his mind keep lingering over those two words as if the sound of them now gave him satisfaction? A sense of comfort when everything about their marriage was wrong and was set fair to get worse. Guilt rode him hard.
He frowned. Something was wrong. There were shadows in her eyes.
He got up and came around to lean against the front of his desk, removing at least the physical barrier between them. ‘How was the meeting?’ Even as he asked, his sense of her unease, her anxiety, intensified.
‘Your stepmother was there.’
He hissed in a breath, swallowing a curse. ‘At Beauworth’s?’
Julia wandered the room, touching the spines of books on the shelves, a china dog on the table, a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. Her fingers were long and elegant and the memory of them stroking his flesh made desire a heavy beat in his blood. He desired her too much, but more than that he wanted her happiness. The one thing that it was not in his power to give.
‘The meeting was held at Lady Wiltshire’s house,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It usually is. Did I not say?’
She had not. Nor had he asked where the meeting was to be held, come to think of it. He’d simply assumed it was at Beauworth.
‘Lady Wiltshire is one of my stepmother’s cronies.’ Something Julia would not have known. Not that knowing would have made a jot of difference.
She turned to face him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a way that made him want to bite it, too. ‘Alistair, she is very cordial.’
A black widow spider might seem cordial upon first acquaintance. He shrugged.
‘Your cousin, Percy Hepple, is also visiting Lady Wiltshire,’ she continued. ‘It seems your cousin is hopeful of speaking with you.’
He groaned inwardly. Though harmless, like all family, Percy was a royal pain in the buttocks. ‘Rusticating, is he? Hiding out from his creditors.’
A small smile curved her lips. ‘It would seem so.’ The smile disappeared, replaced by a frown.
‘He’s a wastrel and a fribble. Pay him no mind.’
The frown did not disappear. ‘Should we perhaps invite them to dine?’
She sounded so hesitant. So unsure.
How could he ever explain that the last thing he ever would want was to spend time with any member of his family and particularly not his stepmother? A woman who seemed cordial. Entertaining her would only serve to encourage her, then lead to accusations, tears and duns for money while she bludgeoned him with what she called his cruelty in going against his father’s wishes.
All because she refused to live within her means. Within the unbelievably generous settlement his father had put in place and that Alistair had struggled to maintain each and every quarter when he first returned to England. And while his cousin Percy was harmless and would be happy with a few guineas in his pocket, Percy’s papa would resent the interference. ‘I will send her a note. Did she say how long she was staying?’
‘No. She invited me to call on her again.’ She flushed. ‘She invited us.’
So that was the crux of the matter. The reason for her hesitation. ‘No.’
Her gaze shot to his face and away again.
‘You disagree?’ he asked, gritting his teeth.
‘I can have no opinion one way or the other, Alistair. She is your family.’
Ice filled his veins. His stepmother was working her wiles again. This time trying to turn his wife against him as she had done with his father. ‘She is no relation at all. It is my most fervent wish that you have no more contact with her or Percy for that matter.’
The anxiety in her eyes increased. ‘As you wish.’
He hated that she sounded so crushed. But he had no intention of starting down the road of confidences, of telling her the reasons for his antipathy, some of them founded on instinct rather than fact. One confidence might lead to another. The idea that she would learn just how badly he had betrayed his family, and her, made him physically ill.
As did the sight of her unhappiness. Hell and damnation. Things had been going along quite well between them these past few days. Why could she not simply accept that he wanted nothing to do with Isobel? If she could do that, then there was a chance this marriage could work reasonably well for them both.
They could even perhaps continue to make love. Surely, if any man could give her only the pleasure of his body, it was he.
* * *
Robins came
in from the dressing room, carrying a tray. ‘I sent down for some warm milk.’ Robins’s voice was full of sympathy. And something else. Sadness? She placed the glass on the bedside table. ‘This will help you sleep. And I have rewarmed the hot water bottle His Grace sent up earlier.’ She tucked it in between the sheets.
‘You are very kind.’ Julia eyed the tumbler with misgivings. Robins had taken delivery of the tray through the servants’ door tucked away in her dressing room. A way of staff coming and going without disturbing their employers. The question was, did it contain laudanum? And did it arrive at the door already laced, or had Robins added it before she brought it in? Whichever it was, the question of why and on whose behalf continued to torture her.
Robins gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Drink your milk while it is warm.’
Unwillingly, Julia picked up the drink and cradled it in her palms. The idea of warm milk was indeed comforting. She lifted the glass and sniffed.
Laudanum. The scent stronger than usual.
She wanted to hurl the glass across the room. Instead she watched Robins gather up her gown and shawl and carry them off to the dressing room. As quick as she could, she disposed of the milk in the chamber pot she had placed beneath the bed. Robins smiled when she returned. ‘Sleep well, Your Grace.’ She carried the glass away, closing the chamber door behind her.
Julia snuggled deeper under the covers. How did one sleep well with the grinding ache of fear in one’s belly and nagging away in one’s brain. A fear that made it almost impossible to eat or drink anything.
Despite her struggle to keep her eyes open, exhaustion claimed her. She felt herself sinking into darkness. A nap. She would nap for a bit.
* * *
It was hard to breathe.
Something was pressing down on her chest. Something soft was covering her face. She tried to sit up. Too heavy. She fought against the weight flailing. Her hands tangled with her attacker’s hair. She tugged.
A screech of pain. The weight shifted. She grabbed a bony wrist and twisted hard. A yell. Something, or someone, landed on the floor.
Panting, she shot out of bed.
Secrets of the Marriage Bed Page 18
