“I shall make my own living. I can teach, I can write. I shall not starve.”
“Dear me,” said Lady Darlington. She mused, her finger on her lips. She looked at Reggie, who shrugged helplessly. “Well, you must make me a promise, my dear. If you need help, send word by Reggie, or come at once to me. You shall not go adrift in this wicked London. So come to me, eh?”
“You are very kind, Lady Darlington,” said Valerie unsteadily. She could endure tormenting from Deidre, cross words from Malcolm, but kindness unhinged her, she thought. “You are very good to me, but I could not lean on you, should I decide to leave…
“Nonsense! I need a companion. Reggie has been trying to find a companion for me for two years! He runs about, doing my errands, exchanging my books at the library, buying me bonnets! I could use a willing young girl to help me. And to have such an intelligent lady as yourself to speak with, to read books with, to be my companion, I should enjoy above all. Think of it! If all goes adrift, come to me!” And she gave a decided nod of her white bonnet.
Valerie finally left, feeling she had two firm friends in them, Lady Darlington and Reggie. They did not question her, nor tell her crossly to behave herself. They treated her like an adult female with a mind of her own. It was a pleasant change from Malcolm, she thought crossly.
Valerie knew she loved her husband deeply, and no one could take his place. She had worried over him, stayed awake at nights nursing him, lain in his arms, met his passion with her own. No one could take his place with her. No one else could live in her heart. However, if he did not prove steadfast in his regard, nor show any signs of loving her, how could she remain? It would be horribly humiliating for her to bear his child and remain at home, while he ran about with women like Lady Deidre, or even the Cyprians that the women whispered about. Ladies of the night, dressed gaudily in the latest daring fashions from France, with breasts showing over the edges of their low-cut gowns, diamonds and other precious gems from their lovers decorating their ears, fingers and wrists…
No, if Malcolm wanted such as them, she would not remain his wife! She would have to leave him. She would care for her child alone.
She worried about the child. What if she could not care for it? What if she became sick? Then she thought, gratefully, of Lady Darlington. That good woman would protect and shield her, and even perhaps let her secrete herself in the country. Lady Darlington had a country home to the north. She did not want Malcolm or his family to learn of the child. If he married Deidre or someone like her, she could provide him a child! Valerie would keep her .
June was wearing on. The air in London seemed hot and stifling to Valerie. She longed as much as the earl to return to Arundel. However, she must make her decision before they removed to the country. She would wait, watch, and decide soon. She could not afford to wait until the child became obvious. And her waist continued to grow.
Valerie was quite ill one morning. Her maid tended to her carefully, put her back in bed after the bout of vomiting, and brought her hot plain tea.
Valerie sipped it gratefully and lay back in the pillows, exhausted. There was another ball tonight, one of Malcolm’s friends, which promised to be noisy, frivolous, daring, and long drawn-out. The countess did not plan to attend. But Deidre had been so anxious to go, saying, “All the world will be there, Malcolm!” and he had agreed and accepted the invitation for the three of them.
The tired girl wondered how she could manage it. She was really ill this morning, she was weary, she was worried about the child. All this jaunting about could not be good for the baby.
Glenda urged in a low worried voice, “Madam, do let me tell your mother-in-law about this! She should know. You ought to see a doctor soon, you know!”
“I know … but not yet. Not yet. Somehow I have a feeling this will come to a head soon, and I can decide.” She stopped herself, as the older woman gazed down at her thoughtfully.
“How long do you think to conceal your condition?” asked Glenda. “It will soon be obvious even to your husband!”
Valerie knew she should rebuke her but was too upset to care. She closed her eyes and turned to the pillow. “No, I want to sleep. I don’t want to think now.”
She slept until late in the afternoon, which was unusual for her. Glenda came to her when she rang, and helped her wash and dress in a loose-fitting straight-hanging gown of pale lilac muslin. The ribbons tied under her breasts, which were already becoming more full.
She went down for tea, and was grateful to find the room empty but for the countess and the earl.
“You have been ill, my dear?” questioned the countess anxiously, and her father-in-law stood to draw a comfortable chair closer to the fire for her. There was a chill in the air, it was the sort of grey, rainy London day that even June could produce.
“Just tired, I wanted to sleep late,” evaded Valerie.
“I wish we had returned to the country — or never left it,” grumbled Lord Arundel, reaching for his pipe. “Oh … shall you mind the smoke, Valerie?”
“No, go ahead, Papa,” she said. “I do not mind it. Where … where did Malcolm go?”
“Ah … out in the carriage, I believe.”
Valerie said no more; she presumed Deidre was with him. She stretched out her lilac slippers to the blaze. Her ankles were slightly swollen, she noted. She would be heavier soon, and become unsightly. She wondered if Malcolm would be impatient with her, and thought probably so. Her sober gaze rested on the pretty occasional table at her side, she picked up a little jade figurine of a horse and fondled it in her fingers. The cool green jade soothed her, she caressed it absently.
Malcolm and Deidre did not return until late. They dashed in. The others were already seated at the dinner table. Malcolm made their apologies. His cheeks glowed with the outdoor air, his brown-hazel eyes sparkled.
“Such a time! We have been racing in the park! I won three times running! The horses are magnificent. I thought I would tip out Deidre and she screamed and screamed!” He laughed down at the blonde girl, who was mussed, her bonnet askew, her blue eyes shining.
“Very amusing, I am sure,” said the earl, an edge to his voice. “I suppose you won or lost immense sums on the outcome of the races?”
“Of course,” said Malcolm, on the defensive. “Lord Maitland has a pair of greys, but they could not catch us! He was amazed, and offered at once to buy my blacks, but I said I would not sell.”
Malcolm held Deidre’s chair, she slipped into it, with an apologetic look at the countess. “Do forgive us, Maman,” she said softly. “We were having such a glorious time!”
“You will be too weary to attend the ball tonight,” said the countess, with a drawl to her tone.
“Oh, no, never!” laughed Deidre. “I shall be dressed and ready by ten, Malcolm dear! You are wearing your blue, are you not? I shall wear my blue gauze, then, and the sapphires you gave me!”
There was a brief silence. Even the stately footman serving them paused, as though sensing the unease. Valerie stared steadily at her plate, a sickness rising in her. Malcolm had given Deidre sapphires! They were close indeed! And Deidre had such confidence, her blue eyes were angelic, her manner at ease.
The action went on. The footman served the countess, then moved around the table with the fish course. Valerie shook her head at it. She was feeling more sick by the minute. Jealous? She was raging — and hurt.
Deidre chattered on — about the race, about what Lord Maitland had said on losing, about the dance that evening, what an amusing time they would have. Some were coming in costume with masks. If only they had thought, they could have worn masks also.
“We shall dance until morning,” said Deidre confidently. “I know Lord Somervan, he will not allow the musicians to cease until all have gone home! We shall be very late tonight, Valerie!” And she laughed, her musical chiming laughter.
Valerie did not answer, she was struggling by then with a small portion of meat. She wished she had dined in
her room, alone, with a tray of soup and bread. That she might have managed.
How could she ever get through the night? A dance in a warm, humid room, with five hundred guests jamming the floor, laughter, teasing, significant looks at Malcolm with Deidre. Reggie was not attending, he had told her he had no liking for that crowd. At the end of the meal, instead of going to the drawing room for coffee, Valerie retired to her room. She removed the dress with a sigh, and let Glenda clothe her in a loose wrapper. Then she lay down on the chaise longue in the sitting room. She let her gaze wander about it. How pretty it was, how charming, with the little touches of rose and gold. She enjoyed the golden box of her trinkets, a locket the earl had given her, the little ring of his mother’s, a ribbon she had worn at a dance the first time in London. Her jewels were locked up in another box in the dressing table. Here were the little inexpensive toys she enjoyed.
On the table near her was a small volume of poetry from Lady Darlington. Beside it a miniature of Malcolm when he was a small boy, given by his mother. The sober face looked out at her with such trusting eyes. Would his son look like that? Beside the miniature she had placed a tiny vase with a single white rose in it, one of the few from their garden. The jade vase set off the white rose beautifully.
She lay back with a sigh, thinking of the ordeal to come. Malcolm would be furious again.
Malcolm came to her room on the stroke of ten. He was elegant in his blue silk suit, a sapphire stick-pin in the immaculate intricate stock.
“What, not ready? The prompt wife not on time?” he asked sarcastically.
“I am not going, Malcolm,” she said.
He gazed down at her. “Sick again, I suppose? Sick of my company, sick of my friends?”
“It has been close and rainy all the day,” she said evenly, not rising. “I think we shall have a bad storm tonight. I prefer to remain inside.”
Malcolm said not another word. Instead, he flung out of the room. This time he closed the door softly. What did that indicate, she wondered?
She heard Deidre’s happy laughter, the sounds of the doors, the carriage rolling away. Glenda came to her presently and put her to bed tenderly, as though knowing how upset she was. Malcolm had not even cared enough tonight to argue!
It was probably the end, thought Valerie. She must prepare herself to leave.
She wakened restlessly in the night, several times. Humid air seemed to stifle her. Then later, a sharp crack wakened her, and the drumming of rain on the windows. She raised herself to see that a storm had indeed broken: thunder rolled over the city, lightning flashed again and again.
She listened, but heard nothing. It was past four, Malcolm must have come home and gone to bed without wakening her.
She slept again, not waking until morning. It was still raining, a dull, throbbing, ceaseless torrent that shut out all other sounds. But at least the air had cleared.
Glenda brought her tea in bed, then set out her clothes in an unusual silence. The older maid was not usually chatty, but she always had something to say, of the weather, or the events of the day. Now she was silent, her face serious and lined. Valerie rose cautiously, found she was not sick, and gratefully washed and dressed. The sickness phase was hopefully past, and she could be more normal for a time. Until…
“Will you have breakfast in your room, my lady?”
“No, I will go down. Is my lord up yet?”
Glenda shot her a strange look. “No … my lady. He is not.”
“Oh, I suppose he must have been very late last night,” said Valerie and went out and to the stairway. She made her way down cautiously. She was easily overbalanced these days, with the weight of the child growing in her.
She was in the lower hallway when the doorway was flung open. The butler hastened to the door, startled. Valerie stared.
Malcolm and Deidre were staggering in, both still in evening dress, covered with cloaks. Her bonnet was swinging from her hand. Their cheeks were flushed, mud covered their shoes and the hem of Deidre’s glorious blue gauze gown. Deidre saw Valerie and began to laugh.
“Oh, dear … Malcolm … we are discovered! Your outraged wife is up already! So much for secrecy! Oh dear, too … too … funny for words. Sh-shame on us! So-so late coming home. Ball too delicious to leave … oh, I’m falling…”
Valerie stood there stiffly, horrified. Coming home at this hour of the morning! Drunken, both of them, and laughing, stumbling, hanging to each other…
Malcolm looked at her stiff face and began to explain. “You shee … shee, Valerie … it’s raining, it’s very bad out … couldn’t come … storm … stayed and stayed … had a glorious time … you sh-should ha’ come with us … fun … lots of fun…”
The butler and a footman were holding up Deidre, who was inclined to sag between them. Malcolm tried to approach Valerie but stumbled. He looked puzzled.
“Legs … won’t … won’t hold up … funny…” he was saying.
The earl came out from the dining room, his face cold and outraged. “Enough! Go to your rooms! Malcolm, I shall speak to you later. Take him upstairs!”
Deidre was laughing drunkenly as the two servants helped her up the stairs. “Such fun … fun … fun…” she was saying, all the way up.
Malcolm seemed a little sobered but could not manage the steps alone. Another footman supported him up the staircase.
The earl came to where Valerie stood, frozen, against the door of the drawing room. “Come, my dear. We shall deal with this later. Come and have some hot tea.” And gently, his arm about her shoulders, his worried gaze on her taut face, he led her to the dining room.
The countess was gazing anxiously at the door as they entered. “Was that not Malcolm’s voice? Has he just returned from a morning ride, my dear?”
“No, from the ball of last night,” said the earl, furiously. “But we will not speak of it now. I shall give him the edge of my tongue later. He acts like an irresponsible child, not a grown man! What a stupidity!”
Valerie sank into her chair. She shook her head numbly at the plate of eggs offered. The footman bent to pour out her tea. She waited until it had cooled a little, sipped it. Her heart felt as though it had icicles on it and would crack if she moved.
Malcolm, out all night with Deidre! Drunken and laughing, not caring … coming home at nine in the morning! For all the world to see — and not caring!
CHAPTER 15
The earl scolded his son that evening, and Malcolm flung out of the house and was again gone much of the night. At least Deidre was not with him. She was ill, her maid said, and remained in her room.
The next day cleared somewhat. Sunshine broke through the clouds, and London shone with a newly-washed look. Valerie went up to her sitting room after breakfast, to make out the menus. She did much of the house managing at the manor house. The countess seemed grateful to give it over to her.
She was scribbling away at the menus for a dinner the following week, when a light tap came at the door. It did not sound like Malcolm’s rap. She called, “Come in, please!”
Lady Deidre opened the door, gazed in, entered, a charming wistful smile on her face. She closed the door after her, glanced about.
“My dear Valerie, I must come to you. We must have a conversation. You do not mind that I interrupt your work?”
She was probably going to apologize for her behaviour … then go right on with it, thought Valerie. She laid down the quill with a sigh, stood up, and gestured to a chair near the desk.
“Pray, be seated, Lady Deidre.”
Deidre seated herself, with a graceful move of her blue muslin skirts. She looked younger today, sparkling, her blue eyes shining, her skin so creamy and fresh.
“I have been having long conversations with Malcolm,” she began surprisingly. “Valerie, we must not continue to hurt him, must we?”
Valerie stared at her warily. This was a new attack.
Deidre continued. “He is miserable. I know he married you on … on impulse.
He felt sorry for you. But he realizes you are an intellectual female, not like him! You two are no more like than chalk and cheese.”
Valerie stiffened. It was what she herself had thought.
“He adores gaming, racing his horses, and you care nothing for those amusements. He loves to be out all the night. His father scolded him for it, but why should Malcolm not amuse himself? He works hard at home in the country. Does he not deserve a holiday?”
Valerie was still silent, waiting. Deidre gave a wary look to her, then continued. She wore a great sapphire on her hand, the one that Malcolm had given to her, along with a bracelet and earrings. That great ring somehow hurt Valerie. The blue sparkle was like Deidre’s beautiful eyes.
“And you care nothing for him, he said so himself,” continued Deidre earnestly. “He knows you feel contempt for him, it makes him furious! Just because he is different from you! But the situation grows worse and worse. It cannot continue.”
“I agree with you there,” said Valerie, drily.
“Ah, I am glad,” said Deidre, with a little sigh. “You see, dear … this is so awkward! He wishes a divorce … to marry me. He realizes he made a sad mistake. He is, of course, willing to settle a sum of money on you, so that you may continue in the life you so enjoy. He would set you up in a London town house of your own, so that you might be comfortable. Divorce is not considered respectable. However, in these circumstances, when you and Malcolm are so obviously dissimilar … it will be understood and forgiven.”
She went on, but all Valerie had heard were the words, “He wishes a divorce.” Malcolm wished a divorce and was not man enough to come and ask her himself!
She felt hurt, vaguely, though a little relieved as well. She felt as though she had been suspended over a cliff for a long period of time, and had now dropped to the bottom, hurting herself, but at least the suspension was over.
Amethyst Love: A passionate Regency romance Page 19
