Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance

by Janet Louise Roberts

  “Valerie has a natural grace and rhythm,” said her father-in-law placidly. “Like to dance with her myself. Doesn’t bother you with stupid chatter, like so many females, when you’re trying to place your feet right.”

  Deidre laughed, her soft musical chuckle. “Oh, you are so witty, Papa,” she said, then caught herself, her hand to her mouth. “Oh, I continually forget… I cannot call you that!” And actual tears came into her blue eyes.

  Malcolm reached over to pat her hand comfortingly. “Do not get upset, Deidre. You are practically one of the family, you know.”

  The earl looked thoughtful but did not echo these sentiments. Louis Kenyon had not accompanied them to London — he had no fondness for the city — and had volunteered to remain this time at Arundel and keep the reins firmly in hand.

  “Is all ready for tomorrow afternoon?” the countess enquired of Valerie. “And how many will be here for tea?”

  “About thirty, Maman. I think all is prepared. Lady Prost and Lady Darlington have volunteered to pour. We have made fresh cakes, and there will be bowls of raspberries and cream. I thought it would make a change from the sandwiches.”

  “A charming thought,” the countess approved.

  Deidre made a grimace and looked towards Malcolm. “You are not going to remain for the lecture, are you, Malcolm? He is dreadfully prosy and long-winded!”

  “Thought I should come,” said Malcolm reluctantly. “After all, Valerie is the hostess.”

  “We could go driving in your new high-perch phaeton, which Valerie detests so, and then on to tea with Lord Maitland and his sister,” she suggested eagerly, her blue eyes bright. “We should like that ever so much more.”

  Valerie clamped her mouth shut over a bitter remark and kept her gaze on her dessert. Malcolm and Deidre spent more and more time together.

  Malcolm glanced towards Valerie. “Valerie, should you mind if we do not come to your intellectual tea?” he asked. “I do not think we shall be missed!”

  “It would be rather rude not to come,” said the countess, a little distressed line between her eyebrows. “I know you are not diverted by such events. Still, I have heard he is most interesting.”

  “Do as you wish, Malcolm,” said Valerie quietly.

  He shrugged. “Then Deidre and I shall go out,” he said, and Deidre clapped her hands childishly.

  “Oh, fun,” she said. “I adore London! And everyone is so kind. Here, everyone can do as they wish, and no one even remarks about it!”

  Valerie was bitterly disappointed that Malcolm had made that decision, but she thought she would have died rather than to say so. She had been so proud that she had captured a real prize in the speaker, everyone wanted to hear him, just freshly returned from an expedition on the strange Amazon River in South America.

  Because of Valerie’s friendship with Lady Alice Prost and Lady Seraphine Darlington, the girl had met many famous people. Lady Prost had told her cousin, the explorer, about Valerie, her many interests, and how serious she was about learning of the world. For this reason, the great man, though he accepted few engagements, had consented to lecture in the Arundel town house.

  It was a tremendous event, and Malcolm was slipping away, bored at the very prospect! And wanting to be with Deidre, thought his wife bitterly.

  It spoiled some of her enjoyment of the next afternoon, though she smiled and chatted happily enough with her new friends. The countess came and the Earl of Arundel, comfortable in his old tweeds, but curious about “Valerie’s new friend”.

  Everyone seemed amazed to see the man, a great giant of a fellow, with a trim beard, fierce moustaches, a sun-tanned face, and the most brilliant green eyes that Valerie had ever seen. For all his hugeness, he was gentle. He held her hand in his big one, bent over it, murmured his pleasure, almost shyly.

  “How kind of you to come to our tea,” she said eagerly. “I am so longing to hear of your adventures! Oh, to be a man, and be able to run about the world, and see all you have seen!”

  Her eyes flashed with the thought. Mr Prost stood erect again, gazed down into her animated face, pressed her hand once again. “I am honoured by your interest, my lady,” he said. “I fear many ladies are either bored or horrified by some of my adventures. I have been to strange places and witnessed such events that one would be forgiven for thinking I had been sleeping and had dreamed it all! For South America is another world from civilized England, and these green and pleasant places have never witnessed such savage rites as go on. Yet everywhere I met with kindness. When there was little food, the locals shared what they had with me. When I fell from the canoe into the raging waters, near a crocodile, one of them risked his very life, to dive in and push me back into the boat again!”

  Valerie was listening with awed look and excited pulses. He had such a quiet voice that one had to strain to hear him. His green eyes burned with a vision of faraway places, his voice throbbed with his emotions, which seemed so much deeper and more true than those of the light London society.

  “We are so anxious to hear all you will tell us. May I help you to some tea first? Or will you have brandy or sherry?”

  “Tea, please, if I am to talk coherently,” he said, with a charming smile. Lady Alice Prost served him, with a keen look at her cousin’s animated face and at Valerie’s pretty one.

  Valerie had worn today a lilac muslin, with her amethysts at ears, throat and wrist. On her hand was the huge amethyst which Malcolm had given her, her favourite ring. Her thick brown curls hung charmingly about her white throat, not in the latest style, but beautiful. The large wistful brown eyes gazed straight at the person to whom she spoke, she had no flirtatious arts, but somehow one wished to keep on looking into those great eyes.

  The crowd almost filled the drawing room of Arundel House. The countess and the earl held court in one corner; Valerie circled about the room anxiously to make sure all had tea or sherry; the raspberries soon disappeared and were much praised.

  After four o’clock, Valerie tapped on a glass lightly to gain their attention. Her cheeks were flushed with the unusual attention on her, as all seated or standing turned to listen to what she said.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am so happy to welcome you to Arundel on this happy occasion. We are indeed honoured to have as our guest a great explorer, freshly returned from his journey to the Amazon River in Brazil. He has spent quite two years exploring the river; his reports to the Scientific Society will be eagerly awaited, and His Majesty has expressed the debt all of England owes to him for his magnificent efforts on behalf of knowledge.

  “I am most happy to present to you today Mr Gilbert Prost — explorer, lecturer, writer, scientist — who will speak to us informally on his fascinating journeys.”

  She turned, quite flushed and breathless from her little effort, and curtsied to Mr Prost, who came forwards to the mantel where she stood. It was then that Valerie saw Malcolm standing awkwardly in the doorway, listening. She caught her breath. He had come! She looked behind him for Deidre but did not see the girl.

  “My very dear Lady Grenville, how kind you are to introduce me so graciously. I am indeed honoured to be invited to your beautiful home. Ladies and gentlemen, have you ever imagined in your wildest dreams that you were lost in the great green jungle, with vines as thick as your wrist joining tree to tree, shutting out the very sky? And orchids of lilac, mauve, creamy white, hanging in such profusion from the vines that they make a fairyland in which are no fairies such as Shakespeare knew, but fierce little natives naked but for a cloth, holding arrows tipped with a poison which kills in ten minutes.”

  He held them in the palm of his great tanned hand, speaking vividly and eloquently of his adventures, of what he had seen and heard. He spoke of the quiet of the night torn by the husky cough of fierce jungle animals as the jaguar, which could pounce and kill in a few seconds. The cry of parrots, wild birds, bats flying blindly into the light of the campfire. Hordes of small insects which bit savagely and caused
a deadly fever.

  Mr Prost was a skilled speaker, his green eyes burning with devotion to his subject. When he could sense their intense interest by the complete stillness of the room, he went on and on, telling of a journey along a tributary of the Amazon, of the canoe tumbling down great cataracts of white water, of immense prehistoric-appearing crocodiles which gaped their jaws and ate an unfortunate dog which had fallen into the water. Some ladies turned rather green as he spoke of the food they had eaten to stay alive, of the sickness. But they controlled themselves, determined to hear all.

  He spoke until nearly six o’clock. Nobody stirred. Even Malcolm, seated on a chair near the doorway, kept his gaze intently on the man’s face, seemingly as fascinated as all the rest.

  Mr Prost drew a great breath. He was hoarse and coughed a little, then spoke again.

  “Forgive me, I have spoken too long. Your kind attention drew me from story to story. I must stop. You are weary, and so am I. Forgive me, I am full of my work, and find it difficult to stop myself.”

  He bowed awkwardly to the company, which began to applaud, led finally from their absorbed attention to appreciation of what he had done.

  Valerie went quickly to him as he leaned against the mantel. She took one of his hands warmly in both of her small ones, and clasped it. “How can we thank you, Mr Prost, for sharing with us your marvellous story? We shall look forward to reading your articles and the book you are writing. May you always return safely from your terrifying journeys, full of fresh knowledge of our wonderful world!”

  The company, who had quieted to hear her, applauded again. Mr Prost bowed again and again, sometimes to them, sometimes to Valerie. It was an immense success, and the babble of voices that rose as the company reluctantly began to depart told how much all had enjoyed it.

  Dinner was late that evening, but it was only family and Deidre, so nobody minded. There was much conversation about the stories Mr Prost had told.

  “If you ask me, it was all a hum,” said Malcolm, unexpectedly.

  “A hum?” Valerie turned on him, aghast. “Can you truly say such a thing, when you heard him…?”

  “Never heard anything so fantastic in my life. Had to be made up,” said Malcolm, not meeting her eyes. He was rather flushed, his mouth defiant. “Nobody could have such adventures. I think he made them all up. Amazes me how much people will swallow.”

  “Well, I never… Valerie was shocked and trembling. “You cannot mean such a thing! Why … why, he has been decorated by His Royal Highness … and … and…”

  “Have you seen his decorations? Has anyone? Never wore any today. Who was with him on the journey? Nobody but some natives who don’t even speak English!” Malcolm was warming to his theory. “Yes, he’s pulling the wool over everybody’s eyes. What a hum!”

  “Now, Malcolm…” began the earl warningly, seeing Valerie’s pink cheeks and the beginning of tears in her great brown eyes. “You have no proof of that. Enjoyed it myself. Could be true.”

  “Of course it is true!” Valerie collected herself and turned on Malcolm. “Newspaper men have interviewed him, they had written about him during his journey, he sent letters home.”

  “Could all be faked.”

  “A very reputable scientific society sponsored him. They know his work.”

  “Do they?”

  “Dear me, what an amusing conversation,” said Deidre with a smile at them both. “What difference does it make? If he amused the company, that is enough!”

  Valerie was amazed to find herself trembling with anger. “It makes a great deal of difference! A man of honour, evidently, and a man of great experiences…”

  “Who managed to kiss your hand at least four times in three hours,” sneered Malcolm.

  The countess looked at her husband, who looked back. “My dear Valerie,” said the countess, “I am sure he had such adventures, and he certainly told them well. May I congratulate you on the manner in which you. introduced him, and thanked him? You showed great poise. I was proud of you.”

  “Thank you, Maman,” said Valerie, her voice stifled.

  “We must do it again soon,” said the countess placidly. “Let me see, there is an author, everyone is talking about her, we must have her to another tea!”

  And so she switched the subject, so deftly that no one could object. But Valerie rushed away from dinner to take refuge in her sitting room. She felt she hated Malcolm for his cruel remarks, his cynicism. She thought over retorts she could have made. She could have pointed out the great men who had honoured Mr Prost, how he had been spoken of in the House of Lords, and formally acknowledged for his expedition. A hum? How could Malcolm say such a thing!

  She had been so happy with the event of the afternoon, it had gone exceedingly well, even the countess had said so. Lady Alice Prost had congratulated her. Lady Darlington had patted her hands and said she was a fine hostess and a very bright woman. And Mr Prost had said…

  Malcolm came in as she was sitting at her writing table trying to collect her whirling mind.

  “I came to apologize,” he said.

  Her dull eyes brightened. “Oh, do you believe that…”

  “No, I don’t,” he interrupted. “I think he is a great hoaxer, and I don’t want to see him here at Arundel again! But Papa said I made you cry, and I should apologize, and so I am…”

  She drew a deep furious breath. “Save your breath to cool your porridge!” she snapped. “Such apologies won’t hold water in a sieve! I wish you had not returned this afternoon! You spoiled everything!”

  He stared at her. “Too bad that I am not welcome in my own home!” he flared grimly. “Well, I’ll go where I am welcome!” And he turned on his heels and went out, slamming the door so violently that a piece of ivory fell over on her occasional table.

  She got up to set it right, her fingers shaking on the piece. She turned it over in her hands. It was a favourite little figure of a dog that Malcolm had given her, in finest carved ivory. How he gave with one hand, and took away her pleasure with the other! How much more must she endure? she asked herself wrathfully.

  She returned to the article she had been writing, but found her powers of concentration had fled. She could not think about the condition of orphans in homes for the poor, when her mind kept churning about, arguing against Malcolm, wondering where he had gone, worrying around what he had said about the explorer.

  In the gazettes of the next two days, there appeared no less than five articles about the great explorer, Mr Gilbert Prost, newly returned from the Amazon. It told what Lord So-and-so had said of his work, what Mr Smith and Mr Jones thought of his scientific manner, what honours were being heaped on him. Valerie read them all avidly, laid them out for Malcolm to see, only to have him ignore them all.

  And he took out Lady Deidre in his high-perch phaeton to tool around Hyde Park for the next three mornings.

  The earl shook his head over them both. The countess fluttered, and said timidly to Valerie that perhaps dear Malcolm did not care for scientific matters so very much, and perhaps dear Valerie should take more interest in his new carriage and horses.

  So matters stood on Saturday evening, when they were all invited to a great cotillion at the home of Lord Berkley. Deidre had been fussing about what she should wear, had finally decided on the grey-and-blue gauze over silk, with her diamonds, which set off her fair good looks. The countess wore cream, with her pearls.

  Valerie had been troubled about her clothing. She had less and less choice now, as her waist had enlarged to noticeable proportions if she wore a tight dress. And she could not endure corsets about her waist. Glenda suggested a new gown, of simple white, Grecian in design, falling straight from shoulders to hem, which was embroidered in a purple Greek key pattern. The shoulders were bare, except for the folds of white material about her throat.

  With it, Valerie wore the Arundel diamonds for the first time, the small elegant tiara on her hair, as it was dressed high in curls and roll, with three
curls falling to one side of her throat. The diamond necklace circled her throat, Glenda slipped on two diamond bracelets on her wrists, and she wore a diamond ring on each hand.

  When she had descended the stairs, and entered the drawing room, she saw Deidre’s face as she entered. The look was narrowed, cat-like, the blue eyes hard in jealousy, before the creamy face smoothed out into a smile.

  “How very grand you are tonight, my dear Valerie,” said Deidre. “You will draw all your suitors to you, won’t she, Malcolm? Reggie is becoming so very devoted, so is Lord Maitland!”

  Malcolm was clad in a fine white satin suit, with tight knee-breeches showing his fine calf, his stock precisely tied in an elaborate fall, an immense ruby stickpin holding it. Another ruby glowed on his hand. He gave a quick look over Valerie, as though critically examining her to find a fault.

  “I think you are not finding London such a bore as you said you would,” he drawled in a disagreeable tone, which warned Valerie he was in a dangerous mood. He lifted the sherry glass, tossed off the last of it, and set it down. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes, of course.” She was feeling quite weary from the long days of entertaining and being up some nights until midnight. If only they might all return to the country — to peace, quiet, the Shakespeare garden, Mrs Parker’s grandchildren, all the familiar and the dear. She blinked back tears as Malcolm took her arm to escort her to the carriage.

  She wore a white velvet cloak over her finery, and he lifted her skirts carefully for her as she stepped up. Then Deidre followed her. Valerie noted that Malcolm was even more careful with her gauze gown. Always the three of them — she was rarely alone with Malcolm any more.

  And all the comradeship was gone, quite gone. It was as though all the letters they had written to each other, the way she had worried over Malcolm, the nights spent in his arms, all was gone and forgotten in the stiffness and anger that was left.

  At Lord Berkley’s, there was a long flight of stairs up to the ballroom. Carriages rolled up, discharged their elegant passengers, linkboys held torches high, grooms hastened to take away the horses of the single gentlemen.