Mesalliance

by Riley, Stella

  Adeline rose slowly and turned, laughter stirring in her eyes.

  ‘I see,’ she said, ‘that you have no difficulty in living with it.’

  ‘No. These things tend to be mutual, don’t you find? If I dislike you, can you like me? I doubt it. And Lucilla, unfortunately, disapproves of almost everyone. Also, her taste is poor.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Yes.’ His smile was inviting. His words caught her unprepared. ‘Tell me about your parents.’

  ‘I can’t.’ She made the required effort and kept her voice level. ‘I don’t remember them. My mother died when I was just over two months old and my father, three years later. Aside from that, I know virtually nothing.’

  ‘Did you never ask?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she replied bitterly. ‘I asked. Repeatedly. And then learned not to do so. Grandfather would tell me nothing, you see. It was from the servants I found out that my mother had succumbed to a fever and my father to brandy.’ She paused and lifted her chin. ‘He was killed, I believe, in a drunken brawl.’

  Strangely, his Grace did not appear in the least discomposed.

  ‘At Hexham,’ he nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Adeline stared at him. ‘You knew?’

  ‘I was told. Eight years ago, in fact. I had no way of knowing if it were true.’

  ‘Well, now you do.’

  ‘You sound defensive.’

  ‘Is that so surprising?’ she asked. ‘How did your father die?’

  ‘In bed.’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Rockliffe, unexpected hilarity sweeping across his face. ‘He was in bed … but what killed him was the exertion involved in pleasing a young and particularly demanding actress. His mistress, at the time.’

  There was a long silence. Then she said uncertainly, ‘You are joking?’

  ‘Ask Lucilla. You may find you’ve something in common after all.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Having been lured into laughter, Adeline found it quite difficult to stop. ‘So much for respectability.’

  He waited for her to recover herself and then said, ‘Respectability is all about sweeping the dust under the carpet and keeping the skeletons securely in the closet – something that families with titles or money or both are extremely good at. So … having established that point, may we now talk about your mother?’

  ‘If you wish. But it’s the same story over again,’ she shrugged. ‘It always seemed to me that there was no love lost between my aunt and my mother. At any rate, Aunt Miriam would say little beyond the fact that my mother was dead and buried – and, she intimated, best forgotten.’ Plucking a spray of leaves from the branch drooping beside her, she twirled it thoughtfully in her fingers. ‘I remember once asking if I might be taken to visit my mother’s grave. A reasonable enough request, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Eminently so. And?’

  ‘She refused point blank. And when I persisted, she … lost her temper. I never asked again.’

  ‘I see.’ A faint frown touched Rockliffe’s eyes. ‘And what of Sir Roland … and your estimable uncle?’

  ‘Richard?’ She smiled derisively. ‘He told me nothing – for no better reason than that I wanted to know. It is his way. It is also his way to drop little innuendos. For example, I tried to run away once and … and was stopped. “Like mother, like daughter,” said Uncle Richard. I didn’t ask what he meant. It wasn’t worth it. I wouldn’t have believed anything that he said anyway.’ She drew a long breath and concentrated on the leaves between her hands. ‘Sir Roland was a different matter. I had the feeling he’d have liked to talk to me but didn’t dare cross my aunt. As it was, he only ever said two things that mattered. He said that my mother had loved me; and that, if I wanted to know how she looked, I should consult my mirror. “You are her image,” he said.’ The aquamarine eyes rose expressionlessly to meet his. ‘And that, I suppose, explains more or less everything.’

  *

  The conversation lingered in Rockliffe’s mind … more, he decided, on account of the things she had left unsaid than anything else. His opinion of Lady Miriam, never very high, plummeted to several points below zero and he wondered what it was about Richard Horton that Adeline was not telling him.

  I tried to run away once …

  With nowhere to go, that had been brave. Brave or desperate. Had it been worse for her, then, than he could guess?

  … and was stopped.

  So much and no more. Just three short words to cover – what? Something, he felt sure. She had schooled her voice but not, for a brief, telling second, her eyes. And what he had seen in them was enough to stop him enquiring further.

  He pondered it for several days before he finally began to realise where his care of her was leading him; and still, when he had the answer, could not quite believe it.

  ~ * * * ~

  TWELVE

  ‘Well,’ said Adeline, turning slowly from the mirror, ‘it seems I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. What do you think?’

  During the six weeks they had spent in the country before returning to St James’ Square, Jeanne had come to know her mistress quite well and to like her. In her opinion, the duchess was easy to serve and – though she demanded no great formality – a born lady. She was also, thankfully, a pleasure to dress.

  It was therefore with no small degree of satisfaction that Jeanne now took in the dark, loosely-piled curls scattered with diamonds, the aquamarine necklace encircling the alabaster throat and, finally, the arresting gown of pale blue silk and silver tissue – the significance of which she was completely unaware. Then she said hopefully, ‘A hint of rouge, perhaps? And just one small patch?’

  ‘Neither. I’ve told you. I’ll hide behind cosmetics when I have to and not before. In the meantime, you’ll just have to possess your soul in patience.’

  ‘It’s not my soul that bothers me, my lady,’ sighed the maid, unsuccessfully smothering a grin. ‘But if you really want to know, you look a treat.’

  And, of course, she did.

  Rockliffe had chosen the gown – just as he had elected to present his bride to the Polite World by holding a vast, extravagant ball at Wynstanton House. Adeline, contemplating the first of these decisions, hoped that the second would prove equally felicitous.

  She descended the great, curved staircase with care, aware of nothing save the fact that he was waiting for her below. Since their return to town, he had taken to wearing his hair powdered again – but not tonight. Tonight, save that it was fastened with a jewelled buckle rather than ribbon, it was innocent of anything except the elusive blue sheen provided by the candlelight. His coat was of sapphire velvet extravagantly laced with gold, over a gold embroidered vest and sapphires winked in his cravat. More than any of that, his gaze turned her bones to water. She hesitated on the last step and said lightly, ‘Well? Is the effect all you’d hoped?’

  The strange smile in his eyes deepened and he continued to look at her for what seemed a very long time. Then, taking her hands, he drew her towards him and, in one smooth unhurried movement, dropped a brief kiss in each palm – followed with a third on her lips.

  ‘All and more, my dear. You are beautiful.’

  Fire licked her skin and she stopped breathing for a second. His face was only inches from her own and his mouth beckoned. Re-inflating her lungs, she reached one tentative hand up to touch his hair and said shyly, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘If you are pleased, that is thanks enough.’ Her other hand was still in his and his fingers tangled seductively with hers. ‘It also has the advantage of giving the dowagers something else to whisper about behind their fans.’

  ‘And the young ladies something to sigh over behind theirs,’ she replied without stopping to think.

  The dark eyes widened and held hers with sudden intensity for a moment, before travelling to her mouth. She thought, for one dizzying instant, that he was going to kiss her. Then, for good or ill, the mood was shattered as Nell came skimming down the stairs.


  ‘Good heavens – there’s no time for that sort of thing! They’re starting to arrive. I heard a carriage. How do I look?’

  With apparently unimpaired urbanity, Rockliffe released Adeline and stepped back. There was a hint of rare colour along his cheekbones but fortunately, Nell was too preoccupied to notice it.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded, executing a neat pirouette. ‘Will I break hearts, do you think?’

  The Duke raised his glass and scrutinised her at length. Her hair was dressed à la capricieuse, a tiny black silk patch adorned one corner of her mouth and the rose satin gown sported ribbons à l’attention.

  ‘Quite possibly,’ he drawled. ‘At any event, you certainly take the eye.’

  She giggled. ‘I do, don’t I?’

  The bell pealed, servants sprang into position and the door was thrown wide.

  ‘But you will, I trust, exhibit a little discretion? This is not a bourgoise country party and I pray you to remember it,’ warned her brother pleasantly. Then, offering Adeline his arm, ‘The world awaits, my dear – but all you need do is to be yourself. Ah … and comfortable shoes help. But perhaps I should have mentioned that earlier?’

  And was rewarded with a tiny gurgle of laughter.

  At the end of an hour, the house was full of people and Adeline’s head [none too clear at the beginning of the proceedings] was positively reeling. She had sustained introductions to Horace Walpole, Lord Sandwich and the Earl of March, and had her first amazing glimpse of the extreme fashions favoured by the Macaroni Club when Mr Fox came in arm in arm with Lord Carlisle. She had met eagle-eyed dowagers, confidently sophisticated young matrons and a stream of blushing debutantes – not one of whom she could with any certainty put a name to. There were only two familiar faces in the entire company. Jack Ingram, who had greeted her with his usual unaffected friendliness; and Harry Caversham, who had given her a wicked grin, demanded a kiss “for old times’ sake” and engaged her hand for the reel.

  ‘Old times’ sake, indeed!’ muttered Nell, having herself received no more than a charmingly polite acknowledgement and not best pleased by it. ‘Anyone would think he’d known Adeline for years.’

  ‘I expect,’ said Rockliffe blandly, ‘he feels that he has.’

  ‘Really? Well, I only hope you’re sure he can be trusted not to tell anyone what happened in Oxfordshire.’

  The dark eyes rested on her kindly.

  ‘I can. The question is – can you?’ And, without waiting for her to reply, he turned to meet the next arrivals. ‘Isabel, my dear – and Philip. How very well you both look. Marriage must agree with you.’

  Tall and good-looking, Lord Philip shook hands with his Grace and smiled pleasantly at Adeline. ‘Well enough. I’d planned to recommend it to you – but can now see why you took us all by surprise.’

  ‘You weren’t,’ said his gentle, brown-eyed wife patiently, ‘supposed to say that.’

  ‘Why not? It wasn’t a criticism. And Rock knows as well as you that I’m forever putting my foot in it.’

  ‘Always with the best of intentions, however,’ murmured Rockliffe. ‘But I am remiss. Adeline … I would like you to meet Lord Philip and Lady Isabel Vernon. His lordship’s sister is married to Lord Amberley. Philip, Isabel … allow me to present my wife.’

  Isabel wondered why the note of pride should surprise her and decided that it was probably because Adeline was not at all what she had expected. She smiled and said, ‘We knew of you from Rosalind, of course. She wrote and told us that Amberley had dashed to town for your wedding – and how sorry she was to have missed it. She has a particular kindness for Rock, you see – mostly because he was such a help in the days when Philip and Lord Amberley didn’t quite see eye to eye.’

  ‘Oh?’ Adeline raised an innocently enquiring gaze to her husband’s face. ‘Pouring oil instead of making waves? I’m intrigued.’

  ‘Are you?’ He smiled at her. ‘But then – after less than two months of matrimony – so you should be, don’t you think? Upon which happy note, we will go and open the dancing.’

  She had known that they would have to take the floor alone to formally begin the ball. She had not anticipated having to do so with her wits in urgent need of re-assembly. Taking her place under the battery of eyes, she said with low-voiced resentment, ‘You know, I hope, that if you go on the way you’ve begun, I shall most likely end the evening with a nervous twitch?’

  He raised one amused dark brow.

  ‘If I thought that, my dear, it is improbable that I would have married you. As it is, I know you to be fully capable of coping with my little … vagaries. Furthermore, if you could only relax a little, I suspect you might become the latest toast before morning.’ The music began and his mouth curled as he bowed over her hand. ‘You are supposed to curtsy, you know. And a smile would be nice.’

  It was fortunate that, along with Adeline’s own natural grace, Rockliffe had proved a good teacher. Even so, the minutes before Nell and Lord March joined in behind them seemed interminable and it was not until the floor became suitably populated that she lost the desire to sink through it.

  From the periphery, Philip Vernon and Mr Ingram watched with interest.

  ‘Why do you think he’s stopped powdering his hair?’ asked Philip who, seeing how it suited the Duke, was considering forsaking the fashion himself.

  ‘I have no idea. Probably his latest whim. You know what he’s like,’ Jack replied. And then, ‘What do you think of the bride?’

  ‘I’ve barely exchanged two words with her so far. Not his usual type though, is she? I mean, the one thing you’ve always been able to say for Rock is that he has extremely high standards. Mundane, perhaps – but high. And I’m still trying to decide whether or not she’s pretty.’

  ‘She’s not,’ said a pleasant voice from behind them. ‘But she’s damnably seductive. And sometimes … just sometimes … beautiful.’

  ‘Harry,’ breathed Jack, with satisfaction.

  And, ‘God. Why didn’t I notice all that?’ grinned Philip.

  ‘Because you’re a good and dutiful husband,’ responded Harry Caversham promptly. And then, meeting Mr Ingram’s expectant gaze with one of brimming hilarity, ‘Well, Jack? Our naughty, naughty friend told you half a story, has he?’

  ‘Not even that. He said, as I recall it, something about not stealing your thunder.’

  ‘Mighty nice of him, I’m sure. And I suppose you’ve been waiting for the chance to pounce on me ever since.’

  ‘Something like that. Well?’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Philip stared at the man who was, in reality, his closest friend. ‘Are you saying that you know more of this sudden marriage than we do?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry simply. And then, ‘What it is to be in a position of power.’

  ‘What it is,’ retorted Philip, folding his arms, ‘to be in a position of having your jaw broken. Come on. Tell.’

  ‘Devil a word, Phil – devil a word.’ His lordship’s face was alight with palpable enjoyment. ‘But I’ll give the pair of you a word of advice, if you like.’

  ‘And that is?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Not to believe everything you hear,’ replied Harry airily. And sauntered off to claim his dance with Adeline.

  On the other side of the ballroom, his Grace appeared to take snuff in the languid manner so peculiarly his own and looked pensively at the outrageously-clad person of his friend, Mr Fox.

  ‘Instinct warns me that you are about to insult my wig,’ said that gentleman calmly. ‘Don’t.’

  ‘Is it a wig?’ Rockliffe eyed the enormous ladder-toupé with mild disbelief. ‘But you malign me. I was simply wondering if you felt a trifle bilious … or whether it is merely the lavender powder that makes you appear so.’

  ‘You know, my dear,’ sighed Mr Fox, ‘there are times when I am forced to seriously consider dropping you. Particularly,’ with a wave at his Grace’s unpowdered head, ‘if you are about to adopt country fashions.’ />
  The Duke’s brows rose over eyes full of amusement.

  ‘But where would you be then, Charles? You must know that your greatest social advantage is being noticed by me. It is just a tremendous pity that I have never succeeded in teaching you how to dress.’

  An answering gleam lit Mr Fox’s sallow countenance and he said, ‘It is as well you are amusing, Rock. Otherwise I fear your conceit would be unbearable. And you have pupils enough, surely? Why even now, I’ll wager you’re busy devising a style for your bride.’ He paused and, flicking open his chicken-skin fan, plied it gently. ‘She is a very striking woman, by the way. Very striking. I congratulate you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But what I would give a great deal to know,’ continued Mr Fox meditatively, ‘is why she is the image of a lady I met some years ago in Paris.’

  There was a tiny, arrested pause. Then Rockliffe said idly, ‘Dear me. Is she?’

  ‘Oh yes. The resemblance is quite uncanny. The lady, as I recall, was married to a military gentleman.’ Mr Fox matched his smile with a faintly deprecating gesture of his fan. ‘I daresay I should have forgotten her but for the fact that she lodged with the particularly inviting little widow I was pursuing at the time.’

  ‘Dear Charles,’ sighed the Duke. ‘How very like you.’

  ‘Quite.’ Mr Fox eyed him with gentle expectation and then, when nothing was forthcoming, said, ‘One cannot but wonder if the lady I met is perhaps a relation?’

  Again, the briefest of hesitations. Then, smiling urbanely, Rockliffe said, ‘Unlikely, I should think. And they do say, do they not, that every one of us has a double?’

  ‘Ah yes. So they do. A singularly tedious thought … and therefore, perhaps, not worth bothering about?’

  ‘Certainly not worth bothering about.’

  For a long moment, Mr Fox’s speculative stare met Rockliffe’s bland one. Then, holding out his snuff-box, the Duke said smoothly, ‘Silver-gilt and decorated in the Florentine style. I considerate it rather unusual. What is your opinion?’