Jane Feather - [V Series] (17 page)

“Yes.” He held out the bills and she took them, staring
down at the sheet on top bearing columns of John’s neat figures. The total was extravagant, certainly, but not horrendous … at least not by the standards of London Society.

“So what do you want me to explain?” She leafed through the bills. “They all seem quite straightforward.”

“Do you usually spend four hundred guineas on a gown?” he asked, taking the sheaf from her, riffling through them until he found the offending document. “Here.”

“But that was my court dress,” she said. “Magarethe made it.”

“And this … and this …” He held out two more. “Fifty guineas for a pair of shoe buckles, Judith!”

Judith took a step back. “Let me understand what’s happening, Marcus. Are you questioning my expenditures?”

He pursed his lips. “That would be an accurate interpretation of this interview.”

“And you’re accusing me of extravagance?” There was a faint buzzing in her ears as she grappled with the humiliation of this: to be chastised like a child who’s overspent her pin money. No one, ever, had questioned her expenditure. Since she had first put up her hair, she had been managing her own finances as well as those of their small household. She had juggled bills, paid rent, ensured food of some kind appeared on the table; and in the time since her father’s death, she had managed the growing fund that would underpin the plan for Gracemere’s downfall.

“In a word, yes.”

“Forgive me, but just how much would it be reasonable for me to spend in a quarter?” Her voice shook. “You neglected to give me a limit.”

“My error,” he agreed. “I’ll settle these bills and then
I’ll instruct my bankers to make you a quarterly allowance. If you overspend, then I’ll have to ask you to submit all bills to me for prior approval.”

He stood up, tossing the bills on the desk as if to indicate the interview was over. “But I’m sure you’ll remember how to put a rein on your spending, once you understand that marriage has not opened the gates to a limitless fund. I’m sorry if you didn’t realize that earlier.” He could hear the bite in his voice, could almost see the ugly twist to his mouth, and yet he couldn’t help himself.

Afraid of what she would do or say if she stayed another minute in the same room with Marcus, Judith turned and left, closing the door with exaggerated care behind her. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. He was accusing her of taking advantage of her position to satisfy her own greed. What kind of person did he think she was? But she knew the answer: a conniving, unprincipled trickster who would stoop to anything to achieve her ambition.

But it wasn’t true. Oh, on the surface, maybe. She wasn’t dealing the cards of her marriage with total honesty. But she wasn’t the despicable person he believed her to be.

And she wasn’t going to submit to a meager allowance and a controlling hand on her purse strings. Her lips tightened with determination. What she could do for Sally, she could do for herself. She would simply return to the old days: Pay her own way at the tables. And Marcus Devlin and his quarterly allowance could go to the devil.

Half an hour later, footman in tow, she walked to her brother’s lodgings on Albemarle Street. Sebastian was on his way out for a five o’clock ride in Hyde Park, but with customary good nature postponed the excursion and ushered his sister into his parlor.

“Sherry?”

“Please.” She took the glass he handed her.

“So, what can I do for you, Ju?”

“Several things.” She explained the matter of Sally and the four thousand pounds.

Sebastian frowned. “That’s a devil of a haul in one night, Ju.”

“I know, but what else is to be done? If Marcus ever discovered what she’d done, I can’t think how he’d react. Jack might be a bit more understanding, but he’ll follow Marcus’s lead, he always does.”

“He wields a lot of power, that husband of yours,” Sebastian observed.

“Yes,” Judith agreed shortly. “Jack’s elder brother, Charlie’s guardian … my husband,” she added in an almost vicious undertone.

“What’s happened?” Sebastian asked without preamble.

Judith told him, trying to keep her voice steady, but her anger surged anew as she recounted the mortifying interview. She paced Sebastian’s parlor, the embroidered flounce of her walking dress swishing around her ankles. “It’s intolerable,” she finished with a sweep of her arm. “Marcus is intolerable and the situation is intolerable.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Sebastian knew his sister well enough to know she would never submit meekly to her husband’s edict.

“Provide for myself,” she said. “At the tables. Just like before.”

Sebastian whistled softly. “I suppose you couldn’t just tell him that you didn’t know who was in the taproom at Quatre Bras? Since that’s what’s causing the mischief.”

Judith shook her head. “It wouldn’t do any good. He’s determined to believe the worst of me, and the
truth’s dubious enough, anyway.” She looked helplessly at her brother. “Supposing I say: I didn’t deliberately trap you into marriage, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up, for an adventuress in need of a good establishment in order to pursue her secret goal. And anyway, we’re not really married, but I didn’t want you to know that.” She raised her eyebrows at her brother.

Sebastian pretended to consider this. “No, I’m afraid that wouldn’t go over too well. At any rate, you know you can count on me. The deep play doesn’t begin at Dolby’s until the early hours. If you’re going to Cavendish House, I’ll escort you from there. Will that serve?”

“Perfectly. Marcus doesn’t intend to put in an appearance at Cavendish House, and he’ll not be surprised if I don’t return home until near dawn. We always go our separate ways.”

“You’d better dip into the ‘Gracemere fund,’ ” Sebastian said. “You’ll need decent stakes at the start, and clearly your husband isn’t going to furnish them.” He went into the next-door bedroom and returned with a pouch of rouleaux. “Eight hundred.” He dropped it into her hand and grinned. “If you don’t turn that into four thousand in one evening, I’ll know you’ve lost your touch.”

She smiled, weighing the pouch on the palm of her hand. “Never fear. Now, there’s another matter in which I need your help.” She put down her sherry glass. “Since I’m declaring war, I might as well do it properly. I wish you to acquire a high-perch phaeton and pair for me. Marcus has expressed himself very vigorously on the subject of loose women who drive themselves in sporting vehicles, so my driving one should nicely confirm his flattering opinion of me.”

Sebastian scratched his nose and refilled his glass. Judith had lost her temper, and once she’d taken the
high road, as he knew from a lifetime’s experience, there was little he could do to turn her from the path. She’d pursue it until the momentum died. “Is it wise to be so blatantly provoking?” he asked, without much hope of success.

“I don’t much care,” his sister responded. “He thinks I’m a designing, conniving baggage, with no morals and no principles. And so I shall be.”

Sebastian sighed. “How much do you want to spend for the pair?”

“Not above four hundred … unless it would be a crime to pass them up, of course.”

“Grantham’s in debt up to his neck … I could probably acquire his match-bays for around four hundred.”

“Wonderful. Pay for them out of the ‘fund,’ and I’ll replace it as soon as I’ve earned it.”

She reached up and kissed him. “Now I’ll leave you to Hyde Park.”

“Ju?”

“Yes?” She stopped as she reached the door.

“Gracemere’s in town.”

“Ahhh. Have you seen him?”

“No, but Wellby was talking of him in Whites this morning.”

“Ahhh,” said Judith again, as a prickle of anticipation crept up her spine. “Then soon we begin, Sebastian.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Soon we begin.”

Judith stood on the pavement for a minute, gazing sightlessly down the narrow road. The footman waited patiently. A sudden gust of wind picked up a handful of fallen leaves from the gutter and sent them eddying around her. Absently she reached out and caught one. It
was dry and crackly and crumbled to dust as her hand closed over it. Once the game with Gracemere was played out, there would be no need to continue the illegal charade of her marriage. Marcus would have his freedom from her. But not before she’d taught him a lesson.

M
arcus could hear Judith’s voice through the door connecting their bedchambers, talking with her maid as Millie dressed her for the evening. The afternoon’s unpleasantness had left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He was perfectly entitled to keep a close hand on his wife’s pursestrings, but he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he wasn’t behaving like himself. What difference did it make what she spent? It would take more than one lifetime of extravagance to run through his fortune. But disillusion had soured his customary generosity. This wasn’t about Judith’s spending habits. He wanted to punish her. It was as simple as that. And as disagreeable as that.

He inserted a diamond pin carefully into the snowy
folds of his cravat. “You needn’t wait up for me, Cheveley.”

“No, my lord.” The valet turned from the armoire where he was rearranging his lordship’s wardrobe with loving care. “If you say so, my lord,” he said woodenly.

“I do,” Marcus affirmed, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Cheveley’s sensitive dignity was always seriously affronted at the slightest hint that his employer could manage without him. “That cough of yours needs a hot toddy and an early bed, man.”

Cheveley’s thin cheeks pinkened and his stiffness vanished at this solicitude. His lordship was a considerate and just employer, quick to notice signs of discontent or ill health, and quick to act upon both. “That’s too good of you, my lord. But I’ll be right as a trivet in a day or so.”

“Yes, I’m sure you will. But you don’t want to take any chances with that weak chest. Leave that now, and take yourself off to bed.”

He waited until the valet had left the bedchamber, then opened the door onto his wife’s apartment. Judith was sitting at the dressing table, watching critically in the mirror as Millie threaded a gold velvet ribbon through her ringlets.

“Good evening, my lord.” For form’s sake, Judith offered him the semblance of a smile in the mirror, but didn’t turn to greet him.

“Good evening, Judith.” Marcus sat down in a velvet chair beside the crackling fire in the hearth. Millie turned her attention to the row of tiny buttons on the tight sleeves of the gown of pale-green crape. It was a color that suited his wife’s vibrant coloring to perfection, Marcus reflected, and the thin silk cord circling her waist emphasized her slenderness.

“Did you wish to speak with me?” Judith asked after
a few minutes, wondering what could have brought him to her bedchamber in this conjugal fashion. They were hardly in charity with each other at the moment.

“Not about anything in particular,” he said, observing without due consideration, “that’s a delightful gown.”

Judith’s expression registered complete disbelief. She blinked and dismissed her maid. “Thank you, Millie, that will do very well. You may go.”

The maid curtsied and left. Judith turned on her stool to survey her husband. He was impeccably dressed as always in black satin knee britches and white waistcoat, his only jewelry the diamond pin in his cravat and his heavy gold signet ring, now returned to him. His black hair was brushed
à la Brutus
and there was a distinct frown in the ebony eyes, but it didn’t seem to be directed at her.

“Did I hear you aright?” she demanded, raising her eyebrows. “You approve of my gown, sir. Well, that’s fortunate, since I daresay you’ll be seeing it on many occasions over the next few years. I shall wear it until it falls off my back in shreds. That is what you intend, isn’t it?”

“Don’t be silly,” Marcus said. He’d come in with the vague intention of making peace, but it looked like a forlorn hope. “You know perfectly well that was not what I meant this afternoon. Your allowance won’t be ungenerous.”

Judith swung back to the mirror. “Your kindness overwhelms me, my lord.” She licked her finger and dampened the delicate arch of her eyebrows, struggling to calm herself. Losing her temper again would play havoc with her equilibrium and she needed a cool head tonight, if she was to win for Sally.

Marcus sighed and tried a new tack. “I thought I
would accompany you to Cavendish House this evening.” Judith knew how he loathed such social engagements; she would surely understand the sacrifice as the peace offering it was meant to be.

He had expected her to be surprised. He had not expected to see a flash of shock in her eyes. It was replaced almost immediately by something that looked unnervingly like calculation.

“Such gallantry, my lord. But quite unnecessary.” She laughed lightly, continuing to examine her reflection critically in the mirror. “It would be a sure way to ruin my evening … or perhaps that was your intention.”

“My apologies, ma’am.” He stood up, his lips thinned. “I wasn’t intending to ruin your evening. Forgive me.”

Judith relented slightly. She half turned on the stool again. “I only meant that I won’t be able to enjoy myself because I’ll know how bored you are.”