Mesalliance

by Riley, Stella

  The blind eyes were troubled.

  ‘And is that what you’re looking for? A duchess?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied his Grace urbanely. ‘What else?’

  *

  Later that night after Rosalind had retired, the two gentlemen sat down to a hand of picquet and a companiable glass of port. For a time, the conversation roamed desultorily over a number of different topics and then the Duke said, ‘Have you made any progress in your search for a doctor who can help Rosalind?’

  ‘No. Or, at least, nothing I’d care to rely on.’ Amberley laid his cards face down on the table and sat back, eyeing his friend bleakly. ‘You have no idea, Rock, just how many quacks, charlatans and tricksters there are in the world. They all claim to know a cure that can’t fail to work but no two of them agree on what that cure is. All they really have in common is a desire to prise as much money out of me as possible.’

  ‘That is not particularly surprising, is it?’ His Grace also tossed his cards down, clearly abandoning the game. ‘They must know you can afford it – and also what such a cure would be worth to you. You’re their golden goose, Dominic.’

  ‘You think I don’t know it? And the truth is that I’d give the man who could restore Rosalind’s sight every penny I have. But I won’t be fleeced. Not because of the money – that’s hardly important. But I can’t have her living with false hope. Or myself, either, come to that.’

  ‘She still doesn’t know what you’ve been doing, then?’

  ‘No – and she’s not going to. Not unless I can be sure there’s a point to it.’

  Rockliffe toyed idly with his wine-glass for a moment and then said, ‘There must be some honest doctors, surely?’

  ‘There are. They’re the ones who listen very carefully and absorb the fact that – aside from a blow to the head when she was nine years old – there is no discernible cause for Rosalind’s blindness; no illness, no infection, no gradual loss of vision. And that’s when they shake their heads regretfully and say that it’s unlikely anything can be done to reverse it.’ The Marquis paused and then said, ‘There’s a professor in Germany who might know something … but I can’t do anything about that now. Not until well after the baby is born, anyway.’

  Something in Amberley’s eyes told Rockliffe that here was a new source of torment. He said quietly, ‘What is it, Dominic?’

  For a moment, he did not think he was going to receive a reply. Then, running a distracted hand through his hair and speaking as thought the words were being wrenched out of him, Amberley said, ‘She never mentions it and never complains or appears to worry. But she’s going to have a child she’ll never see and I don’t know how she’ll bear it. Christ – I don’t know how I’ll bear it. The mere thought of it is crucifying me. But I can’t tell her that because, hearing it, would only make it harder for her and she hates being pitied. But this isn’t pity, Rock. It’s my personal bloody nightmare. And you are the only one I can talk to about it.’

  Seconds ticked by in silence. Then, finally, the Duke said simply, ‘I wish I could do more than listen. But, for that, I am entirely at your disposal whenever you feel the need.’

  ‘I know – and I’m grateful.’

  ‘Now you’re being insulting. There is no question of gratitude between us.’

  ‘I know that, too.’ The Marquis managed a faintly crooked smile and then changed the subject. ‘We’ll be staying here at Amberley through the autumn – possibly even until Christmas. Failing Lucilla and Aunt Augusta, have you any idea what you’re going to do about Nell?’

  Rockliffe shrugged. ‘I’ll take her down to the Priors for the summer. As for her debut, if no other solution presents itself, I’ll ask Serena Delahaye. She and Charles will be presenting their eldest – so having Nell in tow shouldn’t be too much of an inconvenience.’

  Amberley agreed that Lady Delahaye would be an ideal choice … and the conversation moved on to other shared acquaintances. The Duke asked whether Rosalind’s brother and his new bride had yet visited them and the Marquis replied that they were to come for a week or two the following month.

  ‘And how is Philip?’ asked Rockliffe. ‘No longer anxious to put a bullet through you, I assume?’

  Amberley grinned. ‘No. And he did apologise for that. Repeatedly.’

  ‘Ah. Well, no doubt that completely made up for any discomfort.’

  ‘Not entirely, perhaps – but you can’t expect me to bear a grudge against my brother-in-law, can you?’

  ‘Dominic … I don’t expect you to bear a grudge against anyone,’ sighed Rockliffe. ‘Speaking of which … what did Philip do with his tedious brother-in-law?’

  ‘He bought him a commission.’

  ‘In which unfortunate regiment?’

  Amusement brimmed in the grey-green eyes. ‘The 22nd Foot.’

  ‘An infantry regiment? Dear me!’ Rockliffe smiled slowly and then added meditatively, ‘Of course the 22nd has a long and distinguished history.’

  ‘It did have. Sadly, it now also has Robert Dacre. And a posting to the war in America.’

  Their laughter woke the occupant of the large gilt cage in the corner who opened one beady eye and said clearly, ‘Sod it.’

  ‘I see that bird’s manners haven’t improved,’ remarked Rockliffe lazily.

  ‘No.’ Amberley grinned and, rising, strolled across to the parrot. ‘Sleep, Broody.’

  ‘Bugger!’ said Broody crossly. ‘Buggrit, buggrit, buggrit!’

  ‘Sleep,’ repeated the Marquis firmly, throwing a cloth over the cage.

  ‘Buggrit,’ repeated Broody. And then, in slightly more muffled tones, ‘Merde.’

  Rockliffe sat up. ‘Did he – ?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who taught him … or no. Of course. Your mother?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes,’ sighed Amberley. ‘Who else?’

  And watched as the Duke dissolved into rare, helpless laughter.

  ~ * * * ~

  TWO

  All his very considerable charm having failed to placate Aunt Augusta, Rockliffe set foot in Bath still with no practical plan for the disposal of his sister. A lesser man might have allowed this, combined with the catalogue of misdemeanours that greeted him in Queen’s Square, to dismay him; the Duke, having expected both, was able to accept them philosophically and with no diminution of his customary sang-froid. He merely smiled languidly upon the head-mistress, bestowed a hefty donation upon the school and removed his sister with impressive speed and efficiency.

  It was not until the chaise set forth again that any real conversation passed between them. And then, casting her demure bonnet triumphantly into the corner, Lady Elinor Wynstanton said forcefully, ‘Well! I never thought you’d come for me yourself.’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’ His Grace achieved a mocking bow. ‘And who should I have sent? Who do you suppose there is left who would come?’

  ‘Hercules? Christian? St George?’ Dark eyes, very like his own encompassed him unabashed. ‘But – truly, dearest Rock – if I wasn’t perfectly awful, would I ever see you at all?’

  ‘Dear me! Do I take it that I only have myself to blame? How very flattering. I had no notion that I was worth so much effort to anyone.’

  Nell grinned. ‘It’s no effort, I assure you. But it is true that, for some reason I can’t fathom, I like you best of all our horrid family.’

  ‘Thank you. I am suitably honoured. Tell me … did you indeed burn off one of the Honourable Cecily Garfield’s lustrous tresses with the curling irons?’

  ‘Well, yes. But I didn’t do it on purpose. And it wasn’t lustrous. It was thin and straggly and mud-coloured. You aren’t upset about that, are you?’

  His Grace shaded his eyes with one shapely white hand.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said valiantly. ‘Not at all. Her brother Lewis and I were never on more than what you might describe as nodding terms.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ responded Nell, cheerfully. ‘Cecily says he think
s all we Wynstantons are essentially frivolous. I told her that, if he thinks that, he can’t have met Lucilla.’ She stopped and sat rather still. ‘And, speaking of Lucilla … where are we going?’

  Withdrawing a Sèvres snuff-box from his pocket, the Duke inspected it with gentle admiration. ‘Where do you think?’

  ‘How should I know? I didn’t think either Aunt Augusta or Lucilla would have me again – but Lucilla is a great one for duty and you’re more than capable of talking her round if you set your mind to it.’ She eyed him forebodingly. ‘Have you set your mind to it?’

  ‘And if I have?’

  ‘Then all I can say is that it would do you a lot of good to be obliged to live with her yourself for a week or two!’

  ‘I seem to recall … er … living with her … for rather longer than that.’

  ‘Oh – when you were young. That doesn’t count. And you avoid her like the plague now – you know you do! Then, when you can’t, you smile that obnoxious smile you keep for people who bore you and start discussing snuff-boxes.’ The mulish look dissolved into a ripple of laughter. ‘Yes, you abominable creature – just that smile. Only I won’t be diverted, so you might as well confess. Where are we going?’

  His Grace sighed. ‘London.’

  Nell’s eyes widened. ‘Rock! Do you mean it?’

  ‘With reluctance, yes.’ He surveyed her with lurking amusement. ‘But before you become carried away with the prospect of unbridled gaiety, you had best accept the fact that I don’t intend you to make your debut just yet.’

  With a gesture that set her dusky curls dancing, Nell shrugged this aside.

  ‘But I’ll be able to get some clothes made – and you can have no idea how I long for some pretty hats instead of these dreadful things.’ She gave the inoffensive straw bonnet a savage poke. ‘I want you to take me to the most exclusive milliners and modistes in London.’

  ‘And just what,’ enquired her brother gently, ‘makes you suppose that I’m likely to know which they are?’

  ‘Well, if half what’s said of you is true, you must do.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. Several of the girls at school have older sisters and it seems you’re generally held to be a charming but dangerous flirt,’ responded Nell placidly and not without a note of satisfaction. ‘And Cecily Garfield is convinced you’re a rake.’

  ‘Lewis says?’ asked the Duke, not noticeably perturbed.

  ‘Yes.’ She examined him with an air of faintly nonplussed curiosity. ‘It seems very odd to think of you having dozens of – of … well, you know.’

  ‘It must do,’ he agreed, a vagrant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ‘But, much though it pains me to disillusion you, honesty compels me to admit that the word ‘dozens’ is a slight exaggeration.’

  Nell sat back, plainly considering this.

  ‘Does that mean you don’t know a good milliner?’

  And, finally admitting defeat, his Grace gave way to unwilling laughter. ‘No, it doesn’t. Not at all.’

  *

  With an equanimity that surprised him, Rockliffe not only escorted his sister through the discreet portals of Madame Tissot’s expensive hat-shop in Bond Street but also to the equally chic Maison Phanie, London’s leading modiste. And when, with the exception of a scarlet silk ball gown more suited to a courtesan, it became apparent that Nell did not intend to weary him with demands for totally unsuitable attire, he even found a certain pleasure in the exercise.

  It could not be denied that she certainly paid for dressing and he was not particularly surprised at the degree of attention she provoked when he took her driving a few days later. The buttercup dimity carriage dress showed off both her colouring and diminutive figure to advantage and the natural straw with its cream roses and trailing yellow ribbons sat saucily on her curly head. She looked, decided the Duke resignedly, a pretty enough picture to turn any young man’s head.

  It was, of course, too much to expect that Nell should be oblivious to the admiration surrounding her but her reaction to it was less predictable.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said thoughtfully, one evening as they were finishing dinner, ‘that, when you present me, it will be with the purpose of finding me a husband.’

  ‘That is certainly the usual result,’ agreed his Grace, warily. ‘Are you against marriage?’

  ‘No. I just wanted to warn you not to set your heart on a brilliant match for me.’

  Sudden laughter lit his eyes.

  ‘My dear, I wouldn’t presume! If you make one that is merely respectable, I think that’s as much as we can reasonably hope for. Don’t you?’

  ‘No – I’m serious, Rock. Lucilla is a Viscountess and Kitty’s husband is related to all the best families and promises to be a Great Man himself one day. And, since I can’t help knowing I’m not exactly ugly, you could expect to do just as well for me.’

  ‘Possibly. But let us not overlook the fact that Lucilla was … well-behaved … and Kitty was generally held to be irresistible. However, we can rule out Viscounts and the cream of the diplomatic service, if you prefer.’ He rose languidly. ‘Is that all you wished to say on the subject?’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ said Nell flatly. ‘What I wished to say was that I won’t be shuffled off into marriage just to suit everybody’s convenience.’

  ‘Meaning mine?’

  ‘Well – yes.’ She picked up her fork and began to draw patterns on the table-cloth. ‘I realise that having to look after me disrupts your life and makes things … difficult for you. But you can’t really expect me to marry the first man who offers just to – to --’

  ‘But I don’t expect it,’ said Rockliffe gently.

  ‘Oh. You don’t?’ She looked up, searching his face. Apart from a trace of unaccustomed grimness, it looked much as usual. ‘Really?’

  He said, ‘No. In fact, I would much prefer you not to do so. And neither do I intend to steer you into the arms of some noble, wealthy or influential gentleman for no better reason than that he is what the world calls an eligible parti. In fact, unless you choose someone completely unsuitable, you’ll probably find that I won’t interfere with the matter at all.’

  Nell’s mouth quivered. ‘Oh, Rock!’

  ‘I know,’ he smiled. ‘Quite the nicest of our horrid family.’

  He was rewarded with a husky laugh. Then she said slowly, ‘Actually you know – I think you are the one who should be married. I don’t suppose you’ve anyone in mind?’

  ‘No. Why? Did you wish to make a suggestion?’

  ‘No-o. Not that exactly. But I do think you ought to set about it fairly soon. You must be nearly forty, after all.’

  ‘Thirty-six. But I hope you won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You’re being flippant again. Don’t. Just admit that it’s high time you had a wife. Someone pretty and charming and intelligent.’

  ‘You don’t think,’ murmured Rockliffe, ‘that perhaps I’d better just settle for one of those qualities? After all, when one is approaching forty – with an habitually flippant manner and rakish propensities – one shouldn’t expect too much.’

  Nell grinned, decided that it was entirely unnecessary to pander to his vanity and said kindly, ‘Oh I don’t know. But it’s probably just as well that you’re a Duke.’

  *

  At some time between retiring to his bed that night and rising from it next morning, his Grace lost at least an hour of sleep in a manner quite foreign to him. It had never before occurred to him that his sister might conceivably feel herself to be a nuisance but it did so now and aroused a faint feeling of guilt. When their mother had died, Nell had been thirteen and he thirty-two – a large enough margin, it would seem, to enable him to care for her without indulging in pass-the-parcel with Lucilla. Something, he decided wryly, as sleep overcame him, would have to be done.

  The letter lay amongst others beside his plate on the breakfast table and, by the time Nell put in an appearance, he had not only read it but
also drawn certain noble if vaguely depressing conclusions. He therefore watched her heap her plate with scrambled egg and kidneys and then said lightly, ‘Who – or what – is Dianthea? It sounds like a stomach disorder.’

  Nell deposited her plate on the table to stretch out a hand for the sheet of pink note-paper he was scrutinising dispassionately at arm’s length.

  ‘Di and Thea. Diana and Althea – the Franklin twins. If that is for me, may I have it please?’

  ‘With pleasure.’ He passed it to her and dusted his fingers with his napkin. ‘I have never liked Eau de Chypre … but one should always be wary of making rash judgements. They may be charming girls.’

  ‘They are.’ Nell looked up, flushed and expectant. ‘They say their mama has written to you.’

  ‘She has.’ He picked up a second, closely-written sheet. ‘She asks – at some length, you will notice – that I permit you to make one of the small house party she holds each summer.’

  ‘I know. Di promised me she would. What do you think?’

  ‘That my lady’s literary style leaves a lot to be desired.’

  Nell impaled a kidney on her fork with unnecessary force.

  ‘Yes, yes – but can I go? Di and Thea are my very dearest friends. They look almost exactly alike, you know.’

  Rockliffe’s expression remained sceptical.

  ‘What perfume do they use?’

  ‘Oh Rock – stop being trivial!’

  ‘I am never trivial. I am trying to establish a very vital point. Not for anything will I commit myself to spending two weeks in a house reeking of chypre.’ He paused and met her open-mouthed stare with lifted brows. ‘If you intend to eat that shrivelled piece of offal, I wish you would do so.’

  Nell laid her fork carefully back on her plate.

  ‘You won’t spend two weeks …?’