The countess, once she had recovered from the journey, went at once to the dressmaker’s with Valerie and Deidre and ordered an immense amount of clothing, it seemed to the dazzled girl. Deidre took it all in stride, smiling in amusement as Valerie tried to protest.
“But I have dresses — many dresses,” said Valerie weakly.
“Not ball gowns,” said Deidre, turning to a green-and-grey gauze confection, her eyes sparkling. “Let me see that style, in a blue gauze … yes, blue for me,” she demanded imperiously.
Valerie sat and watched as the dressmaker and her assistants scurried about, bringing bolts of fabric and dress patterns, showing bonnets crowned with feathers, pointing to the latest fashions from Paris. Fashions from Paris! And in the Peninsula, the forces of France were arrayed against the forces of Britain in a deadly war! It was so incongruous that she must sit and think about it, rather than concentrate on choosing a fabric for a ball gown.
The countess ended up choosing for her, with a slight sigh. “I do wish you would pay attention, Valerie,” she said, in a low tone. “Now, I have chosen the rose silk with the rosebuds caught up on the skirts. Which colour do you wish for the gauze?”
“Do I need more than one ball gown?” asked Valerie.
The dressmaker’s chief assistant hid a smile. Deidre turned about, looking scornfully at Valerie.
“I have already chosen six gowns,” said Deidre. “I am sure they will not be half enough! Forget the country, my dear Valerie!”
Valerie bit her lips. She sat back as the countess and the dressmaker consulted. Deidre was choosing recklessly, as though she might never again have the opportunity of buying a gown, a feverish glitter in her hard blue gaze. This was what she wanted, thought Valerie: the dresses, the attention fluttering about her, the thought of dances and attentive men and being written about in the gazettes.
She went home soberly after the long day of fittings. She found Reggie Darlington there, talking with Malcolm. He jumped up to beam at her, to seize her hands and kiss them devotedly.
“My lady, how wonderful to see you again! My godmother has charged me with messages for you!”
“How good of her. Is she well?” She withdrew her hands gently, conscious of Malcolm’s jealous scowl.
“Not so well. The doctor comes and prescribes medicine, which she then throws into the basin! She moves stiffly with a cane and complains she never sleeps. But she reads, Lord, how she reads! And she will come to you if you do not come immediately to her!”
“I shall be happy to come to her. I look forward to meeting her and thanking her for her many kindnesses. Do let us set on a time before I am swept away to another dressmaker’s,” she begged in a low tone as the others came in.
Reggie nodded his understanding, and named a date two days away. The countess agreed to accompany her. Malcolm said, “But I was going to take you to Vauxhall Gardens that day, Valerie!”
“Take me instead,” beamed Deidre, happily. “I adore Vauxhall! Valerie can go another time.”
“Very well, then,” said Malcolm, casting a disagreeable look at Reggie and Valerie.
Valerie thought she was playing into Deidre’s hands. She knew the other woman had schemed to come to London. The country was Valerie’s territory, thought the girl. The city was Deidre’s. Now they were in the area where Deidre was most familiar, and she had the advantage. Would she try again to break up Malcolm’s marriage and take him for herself?
Valerie felt a strange pain. But she would sit back and watch, she vowed. She would watch how Malcolm reacted. He was bored in the country, he had said so a hundred times.
She had a reason for wanting to know soon how he felt. If he were drawn back to his old ways, of gambling, dancing all the night, flitting from one woman to another, she wanted to know it now. She was twenty-one and could leave him. She could find a position, and work. She would not be humiliated by him!
She went to the home of Lady Darlington and found herself touched, amused, pitying the valiant old lady. Lady Seraphine Darlington was in her seventies, wearing often a blonde wig which was brightly incongruous over her lined and wrinkled face. She had startling violet eyes and must once have been a great beauty, for her form was still slim and rounded, and she gowned herself gorgeously in yellow silks and purple satins.
Her mind was alert, bright, and full of strange facts and fancies. Her thoughts darted like that of a brilliant bird from one treetop of science, to another of explorations, on to gossip of the Royal Family.
She soon gave a grand dinner for some intellectual friends and presided gracefully and regally at the table. Some twenty men and women of the most intellectual circles of England came to her table and lingered until two in the morning, discussing, arguing, in long circles sometimes, thought Valerie. She was fascinated.
Malcolm was not invited! He was furious and sulky.
Lady Darlington had tapped him with her fan. “You are not interested in intellect as your wife is, my dearest boy! Reginald is not invited either, he has a bird-wit! That does not mean you are not charming, and I adore you! But you would be bored, and I shall not endure that! I shall send two footmen for Valerie, whom I already love for her mind. And we shall see her safely home again.”
“Should I go, then, without Malcolm?” asked Valerie, of the earl. Her father-in-law was the only person in the world who seemed to understand her and love her!
“My dear, it shall be as you please. You would enjoy the company, and Malcolm would yawn! Do as you wish.”
She decided to go, then, and Malcolm was furious with her and scarcely spoke for a week. He was more furious when she continued to be invited out to bluestocking functions, a lecture by a well-known novelist, a formal tea to welcome writers of a publishing house.
To her amazement and delight, they had heard of her! They greeted her, several said they had read her articles and stories. A publisher cornered her for quite an hour at one tea and tried to extract a promise from her to write a novel. Their praise was balm to her heart.
Lady Alice Prost sponsored her and went everywhere with her, at the request of her dearest friend, Lady Darlington. Everywhere, Valerie was introduced as Lady Grenville, the writer.
Her days and nights were crammed full. The pretty bedroom-sitting room in the Arundel town house was soon full of books which people had pressed on her, letters of invitation to various events, three manuscripts which their authors begged her to criticize — besides the new ball gowns, boxes of bonnets, new slippers, folios of papers on which Valerie was writing her ideas.
Malcolm had his own bedroom. Once and twice and again, she reflected bitterly that since they had moved to town, he had always slept alone — or at least, without her! He had a huge bedroom on the other side of the sitting-room which was in their suite. Some days she did not see him from breakfast to midnight. They went their separate ways, except when they were specifically invited to an event together.
They did go to balls together. She was especially fond of a new ball gown which she had chosen herself, a lilac silk in a shimmering fabric which showed purple, lilac, lavender according to the way the lights shone on it. Over it was hung from the low shoulders an overdress of golden gauze which reached to her feet. With it she wore new little slippers of golden silk, with delicate little heels. And she wore her amethysts.
She came out early into the sitting room to wait for Malcolm. He had returned late to the town house, and she had heard him arguing with his father when she passed the earl’s study late in the afternoon. She knew he had been out with Deidre, and her heart was heavy. He was turning out the way she had feared he would — a rake, a charmer, a chaser of women. She knew he had plenty of encouragement from Deidre, but that did not excuse him, she thought. She sat down a little heavily on a chair and rested her feet on a hassock. She must decide soon, it was nearing the end of May. Then would come June, then presently, she must be gone.
Malcolm came from his bedroom to the sitting room, glanced briefly a
t her, as though he did not even see the pretty new gown, his jewels.
“Ready?” he said.
“Yes, Malcolm.” Slowly she rose. She got dizzy if she stood suddenly. So far no one had noticed. But she could not hide it for ever, the fact that she was carrying Malcolm’s child.
If he knew, he would resign himself to staying married to her. But if he did not know and she left him, she could cut all the ties, far away from him, bear the child and keep it. Then he could marry Deidre, whom the countess loved as her own daughter, whom Malcolm … desired … probably.
They went downstairs to the carriage. Deidre was ready — she was always on time for balls, no matter how late she was for anything else. She was bubbling over with happiness, radiant in a new gown of white lace and her diamonds.
“I know this will be a splendid evening,” said Deidre, sitting beside Valerie, opposite Malcolm. “I just know it! I could dance and dance and dance! I adore London, it is so exciting!”
“Valerie finds London exciting also,” said Malcolm. “She runs around with strangers all the day! Did you ever believe you would feel this way about London, Valerie?”
She gazed out the window. “No,” she agreed, quietly. “I did not guess it would be like this.”
Malcolm stood up with her at the first dance, then went to Deidre. Reggie Darlington came at once to Valerie and begged the honour of a dance. He was gay, charming, devoted. He introduced her to some of Malcolm’s friends, some she had met before, others she had not.
She danced with Lord Maitland, an amusing fellow. She danced with Peter Pratt, and found him serious, willing to talk briefly about the war. “We missed Malcolm, but he was well out of it,” said Peter, shaking his head. “Nasty business. Wellington is trying his old tricks, it will be a long drawn-out affair — but he’ll win, you’ll see.”
She danced with others, all the time aware intensely that Malcolm danced frequently with Deidre. She heard whispers, caught curious looks at herself. She held up her head proudly, pretended not to care, forced a smile on her lips for her partners.
She was popular, she was amazed to find that. She did look well in the lilac and gauze gown, in spite of the fact that Malcolm had not even noticed her. She wondered if he was still furious that she had said “No” last night when he came to her room. Probably so.
She had felt dizzy and ill of late, and she did not want him to guess about her condition — not yet.
Presently, Malcolm came back to her. They were playing a waltz, and some of the more decorous ladies had withdrawn to the side.
“We’ll dance this, if you’ll spare me the time,” Malcolm growled in a low angry tone and snatched her away from the wall.
Valerie tried to shake her head, her body stiffened.
“No, Malcolm, I do not wish to dance the waltz. It … it makes me dizzy … please…”
He pulled her with him. “You can dance the waltz, I know it! Don’t act the prim proper country girl, it doesn’t suit you!”
He began to whirl her about with the music. At first, she rather enjoyed it: the strength of his arm, the light lilting music that seemed to carry her feet to enchantment. Then she began to get dizzy again. The room, the huge chandeliers, the ladies in their delicate dresses, all swirled before her eyes.
“Malcolm… she begged faintly. “I am … dizzy … please…”
His mouth tight, he paid no attention. He whirled her around and around, until she could only hang on his arm and go with him. The music seemed endless, she was feeling sick as well when it stopped abruptly, and everyone applauded.
She was near a wall. She groped her way to it and leaned against it, her hand to her breast. Malcolm turned away. “I’ll find someone who does enjoy dancing,” he said, in a parting thrust.
She was so dizzy she could not see. Black spots seemed to prick her eyes, her head swam. Was she going to be sick, right here? How horribly embarrassing! She must stay erect, she could not fall down…
A strong arm went about her waist. Had Malcolm returned? She could not see. She groped for his hand, pleadingly.
“I say, Valerie, are you ill?” It was Reggie’s low urgent voice, holding her firmly.
She managed to nod, she felt childishly disappointed that it was not Malcolm. But better not, better not…
“Felt dizzy…” she managed to say.
“I say, Peter, get a glass of brandy, will you? Lady Grenville is not quite the thing.”
A glass was brought and set to her lips. She was shielded by the two tall men as Reggie held her upright, and Peter held the glass to her lips. She managed to swallow, once, twice. The fiery liquid burned right through the fog.
“There, that’s … all … right…” she said.
“I’ll get a chair,” offered Peter.
“On the veranda. She needs some air. Hot as Hades in here,” said Reggie. Between them, they supported her to a chair. She sank down gratefully, struggling against tears. Why were they so kind, and Malcolm so cruel?
Both men remained with her for quite half an hour, attentive, courteous, anxious over her. Malcolm finally returned, sought her out. “Here you are. I wondered where you had got to.” His voice was stern, controlled because his two friends were there.
“I should … like to return home,” she managed to say.
“There’s supper,” said Malcolm, in impatient surprise. “We’re just going down to it. Come along, Valerie. This isn’t the country.”
She could have wept. She did not think she had the strength to stand up, much less eat anything.
“I’ll get you a plate and bring it back,” Peter offered swiftly. “Reggie, what would you like?”
“A little of everything. I’ll get some glasses, and we’ll have a party out here,” said Reggie cheerfully. “I say, Malcolm, why don’t you get Deidre and join us?”
Malcolm hesitated, glared at Valerie, then said, “Deidre has already made up a table for us. Why don’t you join us?”
“Nicer out here,” said Reggie.
“Very well, then, we shall see you later on.” And he turned on his heel and left them.
Valerie felt so humiliated and weary she wanted nothing so much as to run away. But she had not even the strength to get up and walk out. She waited while the two young men brought her food, drinks and laughter. She wondered what Deidre was doing, decided it did not matter any longer.
The ball lasted till two in the morning. She was utterly exhausted when they finally reached home. She stumbled on the stairs, caught herself with her hand on the railing. Deidre and Malcolm were still in the drawing room, having one more drink.
Glenda, sensing something wrong, came downstairs to meet her and help her up. The older woman’s mouth was tight with disapproval. Tenderly she helped her to the bedroom, unfastened the tight-fitting gown, and undressed her.
The nightdress slipped gratefully over her head, its looseness and warmth reassuring.
“My lady? Have you told Mr Malcolm yet?”
“Told him?” asked Valerie, aching with weariness, stretching out on the bed with the feeling she might never be able to get up again. “What?”
“About — about the child, my lady. I couldn’t help noticing…”
“No, Glenda!” Her tone was unusually fierce. She roused enough to say, “Tell no one! Swear to tell no one! I have not yet planned what I shall do. I do not want anyone to know about it.”
“Oh, my lady,” sighed Glenda, shaking her grey head. She drew up the blankets tenderly to Valerie’s chin, blew out the candles, and left her.
Valerie could not sleep right away. She was thinking, thinking, her mind racing around like a squirrel in a cage, like a little trapped animal.
She must leave him soon, she thought. He had changed completely. Malcolm cared little for her. For the sake of the child, he might keep her as his wife. But she would not want a son of hers brought up like that! The humiliation of knowing he would go from one woman to another — no, better to leave him completely
.
Tears trickled down her cheeks, she wiped them away fiercely. She would not cry. She would be strong and brave. She must leave him soon. She would say she was sick of society, hated this life. It was true, she hated the gossip and the licence of the women, the cool looks of men who seemed to strip her to her skin with their calculating gaze. She flinched over and over when she saw some of the men, even those near the prince regent. Some of them were the worst of all, with their hard reputations, their gaming, the way they treated women.
And Malcolm was well on his way to becoming one of them. With Deidre’s help, he would be the top of the ton, one of the Corinthians, one of the beaux every woman in the fast set would set her bonnet for. She wanted none of that.
She wanted a peaceful life in the country, with her child, her garden, her home. If she could not have that, she would settle on making her own living, taking care of her child, well away from him.
So she resolved fiercely, yet could not set a date for leaving. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps next week, as soon as she was sure of the fact that he felt nothing for her … Then she would go.
CHAPTER 13
The weeks in London flew past. The earl was already looking forward to returning to his precious peace and quiet. However, the others, including his wife, seemed quite caught up in the turmoil and partying and reluctant to think of leaving.
June came, with a few dusty roses and a wisp of honeysuckle trailing over a small gazebo in the minute garden. Only this, and a few herbs to remind Valerie of the scents and colours of her own gardens back at Arundel. Should she ever see them again? She and Malcolm continued to draw further and further apart.
He was out half the night, often with Deidre. Valerie steadily refused to be out so late and often returned with the countess at an earlier time. Valerie continued to be popular, to Deidre’s expressed amazement.
“I do not understand how they can enjoy your conversation, you are so very clever,” said Deidre, with wide-eyed innocence, at dinner one evening. “You are besieged with partners for dancing, even though you usually refuse to do any but the country dances.”
Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance Page 16
