Company Of Rogues: An Unwilling Bride Part 20

Beth could not face more discussion of her marriage. "How is the school? I do miss it," she said, then added quickly, "even though I am so happy here."

"And everyone misses you, my dear. I have had such a time finding a replacement. The applicants are either quite silly or too harsh. I believe I have one now who will do, however. Little else has changed, except that Clarissa Greystone has left at last."

"Really? How came that about?"

"Her family's fortunes took a turn for the better. She should be here in London now, making her curtsy. After all the fuss she made, the silly girl seemed quite tearful to be leaving us." The lady rose to her feet. "Well, I suppose I must find the way to my room and prepare for all this grandeur. I could hardly believe it when the d.u.c.h.ess said the Regent is to give you away!"

"Is it not incredible?" agreed Beth, though in truth, she had long since grown numb to surprises, and would probably not even blink if a dragon were to invade the room and gobble up Miss Mallory whole.

The older lady's eyes twinkled. "I tell myself it gives me a family connection to royalty. I hope to heavens the duke's arrangements for your fict.i.tious background hold up though, Beth, or there will be a dreadful scandal now royalty is involved."

"Arrangements?" queried Beth.

"Did you not know?" said the woman. "I suppose they thought you had enough on your plate."

She sat down again and leaned close. "You could not be admitted to be Mary Armitage's daughter, Beth, because she had five other children and a wide family, none of whom has ever heard of you. A check of your birth date would show you to be illegitimate. Fortunately, Denis Armitage-Mary's husband-had a scapegrace brother who wandered all over the place, living on his wits. An utterly hopeless case. This Arthur Armitage married a curate's daughter in Lincolnshire and then deserted her. The duke has apparently had all the records fixed so that the wife-what was her name? Marianna-gave birth to a baby. Mary, so the story goes, placed her niece in my care and paid for your raising."

"And what happened to my 'parents'?" queried Beth, not altogether pleased at this new genesis.

"Marianna Armitage died of fever when you were less than two. Arthur fell into the Wash when drunk and drowned. About ten years ago, I believe. It should all hold up."

"Do you know, Aunt Emma," said Beth quietly, "I wonder if I will ever become accustomed to making life fit my wishes, as they do."

"They?"

"We," Beth corrected, forcing a smile. "The rich. The highest levels of Society. Go and pretty yourself up, Aunt Emma. The Prince will doubtless want to shake your hand."

Miss Mallory took alarm at this and hurried away.

Beth sat quietly contemplating a tasteful arrangement of delphiniums. What she had long suspected was true. There was only one person in the world she could meet with on terms of equality and honesty these days. The marquess.

It should be an excellent basis for marriage, but in fact she felt dreadfully alone.

In time, like a child, Beth was bathed, dried, and perfumed. Her hair was trimmed and arranged so as to display the tiara to the greatest advantage. She was then dressed in white satin, with an overdress of Valenciennes gathered into scallops all around the hem and flowing into a train at the back. She was festooned with the diamonds around her neck and her wrists, a brooch between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and drops trembling like tears from her earlobes. The beautiful tiara held a filmy veil on her curls.

When she looked at herself she found the usual magic had worked. Like all brides, she was beautiful. She even looked worthy of the heir to a dukedom. She wished she felt anything like she looked.

She was escorted downstairs by the d.u.c.h.ess and a cl.u.s.ter of bridesmaids of good family-young women she scarcely knew at all. She made her curtsy to the Regent and received his fulsome compliments with admirable calm.

To orchestral music she walked into the crowded ballroom beside the gargantuan figure. She felt scarcely a twinge of nerves. Dread of the coming night numbed her to all other problems.

Because of the Regent all the guests paid homage as they pa.s.sed, a dizzying, jewel-encrusted wave rippling the length of the room toward the marquess. And he looked far too magnificent for Beth Armitage to handle.

His wedding attire was almost as fine as hers. His knee breeches were of white satin and his jacket of cream-gold brocade. His b.u.t.tons were diamonds set in gold, and a magnificent blue diamond shot fire from among the folds of his cravat. But he was perhaps more brilliant than his adornment. His hair was spun gold in the thousand candles, and his eyes were sapphires. He took her hand from the Prince and kissed it. The warmth lingered there throughout the ceremony.

Beth said her vows firmly, as did the marquess. She wondered if at times the beautiful words threatened to choke him as they did her. It seemed almost sacrilegious what they were doing, and yet she knew marriages based on practicality rather than love were not uncommon.

"With my body I thee worship...." That wasn't what he intended to do with his body and everyone here knew it. She hoped the horrible Lord Deveril was not here to point out again the reality behind the glitter.

Another reception line, and now-extraordinarily-she was "my lady." The Marchioness of Arden. It all seemed laughably unlikely. When she had touched hands, it seemed, with the whole world, there was a moment's respite before the toasts and the dancing. The marquess summoned two gla.s.ses of champagne and drank his as if he needed it. Beth did the same. She was wise enough by now not to gulp it, but she was surprised by how soon the gla.s.s was empty.

When another waiter stopped nearby, she replaced her empty gla.s.s and took a full one. The marquess looked at her in surprise, then took another gla.s.s himself and raised it. "To marriage," he said.

Beth raised her gla.s.s and threw a challenge. "To equality."

He sighed. As she drank down that gla.s.s, too, he said, "I hope you ate."

"I had a tray in my room," said Beth with perfect honesty. She neglected to tell him she'd hardly been able to force down a sc.r.a.p. She took the indirect warning, however, and resisted the temptation to take another gla.s.s. She could already feel some effect from the wine, and though it was pleasant, she didn't want to overdo things. She imagined the new marchioness falling flat on her face and giggled.

She heard the marquess give a faint groan. He took her hand. "Come along. We're supposed to be at the head of the room for the toasts."

He led her there in the old style, hand in hand, and the crowd parted before them like the Red Sea. There were further murmured congratulations and the usual wedding asides-"...lovely bride,"

"...so handsome,"

"...so fortunate,"

"...must have cost a fortune."

"What do you think must have cost a fortune?" she asked him quietly. "My dress or your jacket?"

"Your diamonds," he said.

"Did they?" she queried, glancing at her glittering bracelet "Perhaps I should give them to the poor."

"I'd only have to buy you another set and another and another until we were in the back slums ourselves."

She glanced at him and saw he was, in a sense, serious. The pride of the de Vaux demanded that the ladies be festooned with a fortune in gems. "I wonder," she mused, "how many diamond parures stand between us and poverty?"

"If you put it to the test we will find out. And I'm glad," he said with a smile, "that you finally feel one of the family."

Beth felt a chill at how easily that "us" had slipped out. And yet it was ridiculous to keep fighting against reality.

They had arrived at the dais which had seats for the Regent, the duke and d.u.c.h.ess, and themselves. They took their places as the loyal toasts were made, which meant Beth consumed yet more champagne. When the toasts were to herself she did not drink but found herself increasingly lighthearted.

By the time the music started for their minuet a deux she was not at all nervous.

As the first bars played she and the marquess executed full court obeisance to the Regent. Then they turned to face each other. As she curtsied to her new husband Beth remembered his warning about this dance and thought it strange. It was certainly interesting to be performing before hundreds of people but it was, after all, just a dance.

It was not, after all, just a dance.

Beth had forgotten the intensity of focus of the minuet a deux. Monsieur de Lo had been able to stare into her eyes throughout a performance without disturbing her in the least; now she found the need to maintain eye contact with the marquess made her heart race.

The stately movements had them circling one another, shifting and changing, eddying like leaves on restless water, touching only to spin away again. And always, his blue eyes speaking secrets into hers. Her breathing became shallow, her nerves were sensitized so that even the swirl of her silk skirts against her skin sent shivers through her. When they came together, when his fingers took warm grasp of hers, it was as if they bonded; when they parted it was as if something whole had been torn apart.

Beth didn't know this world. It frightened her.

At last it was over. She could curtsy then look away. But he held her hand after she rose and placed a warm, even heated, kiss on her skin. Beth felt almost as if he would ravish her then and there. Her face burned; thoughts of the wedding night surged back to obsess her.

Her next partner was the duke which gave her an opportunity to regain her external composure. A further gla.s.s of champagne seemed to help drive back her inner demons. She danced with the Duke of Devonshire and the Duke of York. In fact, she thought, it was quite beneath her dignity now to dance with anyone lower than a duke, except a marquess, she supposed. This made her giggle, and the Duke of York pinched her cheek approvingly. She drank more champagne and found she could partner her husband again without a care in the world.

Next she came down in the world with a b.u.mp. The marquess presented her to her next partner, a mere commoner.

"Mr. Nicholas Delaney," the marquess said, "and his wife, Eleanor. Two of my closest friends."

Two? thought Beth suspiciously, viewing the handsome woman. But something magical between Nicholas and Eleanor Delaney defused suspicion. Even when the marquess led Mrs. Delaney away to join a set, laughing at something she had said, Beth could not feel jealous.

Though Nicholas Delaney was not as handsome as the marquess, she could see how a woman could love him. His rather unruly dusky gold hair and his lean, tanned cheeks might be unfashionable, but they were remarkably attractive. There was also a disarming warmth in his sherry brown eyes.

As he led her onto the floor, he said, "I consider this quite barbarous, you know."

Beth looked at him in alarm. Had the marquess told him the basis for this marriage?

His brow quirked at her alarm. "Such a performance over a marriage," he explained. "Eleanor and I were married very quietly. I'm afraid after all this you'll need your honeymoon more as a repairing lease than a holiday."

A holiday? Beth had never thought of that impending nightmare, the honeymoon-when the marquess would finally have her in his solitary power-as any kind of pleasure. She realized she had no idea whether they were to stay here or go back to Belcraven. Surely the latter. "It will be pleasant to be in the country," she said.

"Yes. Eleanor and I intend to spend most of our time at our place in Somerset."

In another time and place Beth felt as if she could have had a real conversation with this man, but at the moment all she seemed able to produce were ba.n.a.lities. "We were at Belcraven until recently."

He laughed. "Red Oaks certainly isn't anything like Belcraven. That isn't the country. It's a town within walls."

Beth was startled into a chuckle. "You have it exactly. I would much rather live in a small house."

"So much easier to manage. When you return to Town you must come and visit us. We have a small house in Lauriston Street." He grinned at her. "We're very informal."

She grinned back. "That sounds wonderful."

He must have a magic touch. He had broken through her constraint and for a moment she felt normal, ordinary, sane. But then they were caught up in the vigorous country dance and there was little farther opportunity for discussion.

Afterwards, when he rejoined his wife, Nicholas Delaney said, "We should have befriended her sooner."

"Why?" asked Eleanor.

"She's terrified and feels very alone."

Eleanor looked at the bride who was standing with her husband and his parents, smiling and appearing reasonably happy. But she didn't doubt Nicholas's judgment; he had a gift for it. "Do you know what's going on?" she asked.

"No, but it's... treacherous. I think you, of all women, could have helped Elizabeth. But it's too late now."

"You think they should never have married."

She said it as a statement, but he shook his head. "I think they'll suit marvelously well if they give themselves a chance." He smiled at his wife and raised her hand for a kiss. "We know better than most how easy it is to dice with a chance of heaven. And nearly lose."

She smiled at him, wishing as she always did that they were alone. They needed no one else, except Arabel. "Can't you say something to Lucien?" she asked.

"I have, though I didn't understand how serious it is. There's nothing more to be done now. He's as keyed up as she is."

Eleanor looked at the handsome marquess. He, too, looked merely the proud and happy groom but here, because she knew him, she could see the artifice as well as Nicholas. The sparkling brilliance that made him look like a glittering gem was his response to tension and trouble. And it was dangerous. She looked her concern at her husband, an infinitely fascinating man but one who had never terrified her.

He shook his head. "He's beyond a soothing lecture. We can only hope his natural kindness wins out over his arrogant b.l.o.o.d.y-mindedness. And, I suppose, that he's read the books I gave him."

A waltz struck up and he led her toward the floor. "Books?" Eleanor queried in amazement. "Lucien?"

He tutted. "I do have a few volumes other than erotic texts."

"Of use to a man on his wedding night?" she queried naughtily.

They took their position for the waltz. "If you remember our wedding night," he said, "you will admit that a manual of clever moves would have been irrelevant."

Eleanor knew what he meant. Frightened by a series of strange events and by dim memories of a drugged rape, what she had needed, and found, was sensitivity and kindness.

"Are there books to teach magic of the heart?" she asked.

The music started and they began the twirling dance. "The Bible?" he suggested with a slight smile. "The Koran. The Veda. The Abhidhamma Pitaka. The Bhagavad-Gita...."

"You are trying to make me feel my ignorance," she said without rancor. "But I can at least guess that they are all books of religion. Are you saying you gave these to Lucien?"

"I wish I had thought of it," he said with a laugh. "In fact, I gave him Mary Wollstonecraft."

"You expect them to spend tonight debating the rights of women?" she asked skeptically.

"I think it would be a very good thing," he replied. "But having a mind above this prurient interest in other people's beds...." He drew her slowly closer, until they were joined together in a way that was quite improper. Fortunately by then he had also migrated them out of the room into a quiet corridor.

Eleanor was ready for his lips when he kissed her. She could feel the familiar aching melting, the longing for home, for Nicholas. She clung to him. "I'm trying to imagine," she whispered when the kiss ended, "what it would have been like if it had been like this on our wedding night. This hunger. And the knowledge that it would soon be satisfied to the full."

One sensitive finger played knowingly at the base of her skull, sending a shudder through her. "I wonder if a wedding night is ever like that," he said. "A knowledgeable wedding night seems to be a contradiction in terms." He sighed. "As I said to Elizabeth, this is a barbarous affair. I think it's time to leave. I have no wish to watch the victims led to the sacrificial stone."

"I will be pleased to be home. I would be pleased to be returning to Somerset." It was a strong hint.

As they descended the grand staircase he said, "So would I. But I think we have to look into this matter of Deveril. I may have forsworn petty revenge, but I don't like seeing him at such high water. I'd rather see him in the mud."

"So would I," she said, remembering the horrible man who had tried to buy her, then ruin her into marriage. "But he's a dangerous man, Nicholas."

"So am I," said Nicholas Delaney calmly.

Chapter 14.

Beth saw the Delaneys leave and felt strangely as if she'd lost her only allies. True to his promise, Major Beaumont was not here. Lord Darius and Viscount Amleigh were apparently already on their way to Belgium to take part in the ever-more-likely war. She supposed Aunt Emma was somewhere about, but she didn't think that lady would be able to help.

No one would be able to help.