Lady Beneath the Veil (7 page)

‘Those who made your acquaintance in the park today will no doubt be sending you invitations very soon,’ he told her, straightening the cutlery. ‘This may be the last opportunity to enjoy a quiet evening together.’

* * *

When the meal was over Dominique left him to his port and went off to the drawing room. At first she nervously paced the floor, plumping cushions and straightening the ornaments, until she took herself to task for being so nervous. This was her home, too, and she should enjoy it. What would she really
like
to do? The beautiful pianoforte in the corner of the room gleamed enticingly, so she sat down and began to play. She was so lost in the music that she did not notice the time passing until she looked up and found Gideon standing by the door, watching her.

‘Do go on,’ he said, moving into the room and taking a seat by the fire.

Dominique continued until she had finished the Haydn sonata and, as the last notes died away, Gideon began to applaud.

‘That was very good, Nicky. And to play without music, you are very accomplished.’

‘Thank you, I have been practising here every day, since I discovered this lovely instrument. I play the harp, too. My mother is very fond of music and insisted I should learn. When we came to England she badgered the earl into providing a tutor. The lessons continued until my uncle died three years ago.’

‘And do you sing, too?’

‘Yes, a little.’

‘Then will you sing for me?’

A flush of pleasure tinged her cheeks.

‘Of course. What would you like? An English folk song, perhaps?’

Receiving a nod of assent, she played an introduction, then added her voice, a little hesitant at first, but as the music took over she closed her eyes and sang with more confidence. It was a favourite of her mother’s, a haunting love song about a young woman waiting for her lover to return. The thought of Mama, writing her endless letters, refusing to give up hope, gave an added piquancy to the song and when at last she had finished and opened her eyes again, for a moment she could not recall quite where she was.

‘That was quite beautiful.’ Gideon had moved closer. ‘There is so much I do not know about you.’

His eyes were fixed upon her, dark and intense in the glow of the candles. A shiver ran down her spine and she felt desire curling deep inside her.

‘We know so little about each other,’ she said, trying not to think of the night they had spent together. He had seen her naked, explored her body in the most intimate way. Yet they were still strangers.

‘Nicky—’

‘I have asked Mrs Wilkins to bring in the tea tray,’ she interrupted him hastily. ‘And perhaps I should ring for Judd to build up the fire.’

He caught her hand as she walked by him and her fingers trembled in his grasp.

‘You are afraid of me.’

She dared not look at him.

‘Not afraid, no.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘You said it yourself. We do not know each other.’

‘Then we must put that right.’ His breath was warm upon her cheek. He must be bending, perhaps about to kiss the bare skin of her shoulder. If he did that she knew the slender rein she had over herself would snap, she would turn and throw herself at him again, and he would know what a wanton soul she had. She remembered the accusations against the late Queen of France: that she had been unable to control her lust. She had seen many such women at Martlesham since Max had become earl, not only actresses and whores, but also the wives of his so-called friends, all of them willing to share their favours. Her mother had kept her well away from those riotous gatherings, but she had heard Max’s disparaging comments and knew the servants viewed them with contempt. Men despised such women and she was desperate that Gideon should not despise her any more than he did already.

She said with forced lightness, ‘We can relate our histories over a dish of Bohea.’

‘Yes, of course. And here is Judd now with the tea tray. Shall I light the spirit kettle?’

She uttered up a prayer of thanks at his friendly tone. This she could cope with, the ritual of making tea, sitting in separate chairs, their only contact the accidental touch of fingers when she handed him his cup. They conversed easily, but with a wary restraint, on guard lest any remark should cause offence or embarrassment.

‘Your sister has invited me to her musical soirée on Thursday,’ she said when he brought his cup to her for more tea. ‘I would like to go, if you have no objection?’

‘Of course not. May I come with you?’ His brows snapped together. ‘Now why should you look so surprised—would you rather I didn’t?’

‘G-Gwendoline thought you would not—she said I should not expect you to accompany me everywhere.’

‘I think it might be expected that I would attend my own sister’s soirée. That is, if you would like me to come with you.’

Dominique would like nothing better and wanted to say as much, but his next words stopped her.

‘We are already agreed, are we not, that we must show the
ton
we are on the best of terms? You may be sure that someone will pass the word on to Martlesham.’

So that was it. They were to show Max that his little trick had failed. She forced herself to keep smiling.

‘Quite.’

She made her excuses to retire as soon as she could after that, barely waiting for Gideon to kiss her fingers before pulling her hand away and hurrying off to her room. She heard Gideon’s footsteps in the corridor some time later, but he did not even pause as he passed her door.

* * *

‘Dominique, my dear, welcome to my little musical gathering. Ribblestone is at the House, but he will be back later to meet you.’ Gwendoline bent to envelope her in a scented hug, the ostrich feathers in her turban quivering above her as she added in an excited whisper, ‘I have never had such a crowd here before. Not one refusal to my invitations. This must be down to you, my love.’

‘Don’t put my wife to the blush before she is even through the door, Gwen.’

‘Oh, tush, Dominique knows she is amongst friends here.’ Gwendoline pulled Gideon to her and kissed his cheek. ‘How are you, Brother? You are looking very fine this evening.’

Dominique thought so, too. Stealing another glance at her husband in his black coat and dazzlingly white linen, she thought he was easily the most handsome man in the room. His hair glinted with fiery red sparks in the candlelight, which also accentuated the strong angles of his lean face. He wore no jewellery save his heavy signet ring and a quizzing glass on a black-velvet ribbon around his neck, but the exquisite cut of his coat and artfully knotted cravat were the envy of many.

‘My love, may I present to you...’

She found herself surrounded by gentlemen. Her instinct was to cling to her husband, but that would never do. She allowed him to make the introductions, accepted their compliments with a shy smile, but was relieved when, after a few moments’ conversation, Gideon took her arm and guided her away.

‘I can’t have you falling into the clutches of those Lotharios tonight,’ he murmured as he led her across the room.

‘Are they all so bad, then?’ She glanced back. ‘They seemed perfectly respectable, save perhaps for Sir Desmond, who was whispering the most outrageous things to Gwen. The rest I thought were perfect gentlemen.’

‘And so they are, as long as I am beside you, but leave them alone with a pretty woman—’

She felt her cheeks burn.

‘Oh, do you mean that, Gideon, do you really think I am pretty?’

‘As a picture,’ he replied, lifting her gloved hand to his lips.

She knew it meant nothing, he performed the gesture with practised ease, as he had doubtless done hundreds of times before with other women, but she could not prevent her heart from beating just that little bit faster. Her body responded to his every look, every touch, but she had learned to hide it, so that she alone knew how much her skin tingled when he was close to her and how much she ached to feel his arms about her.

* * *

The gentlemen melted away, but the ladies were not so easy to escape. They clustered about the couple, trying to separate Dominique from her husband, ostensibly to sit with them for the forthcoming recital, but she guessed they really wanted to learn the circumstances of her marriage. She held tight to Gideon’s arm and he turned aside every invitation, declaring with a laugh that he wanted to keep his wife to himself for this one evening.

When at length they sat down together she murmured her thanks to him and could not resist asking if he was merely staying by her for the sake of the gossip-mongers.

‘Good God, no. I came here to be with you this evening. And besides, I want to know what you think. Many of my sister’s guests have no musicality at all, and praise everyone to the skies, however dire the performance.’

He values my opinion!

Dominique sat up a little straighter. She had been apprehensive about the evening, but with Gideon beside her she began to relax and enjoy herself. They sat through some poor piano playing, and even worse poetry, but when they went in to supper Dominique could not agree with Gideon’s remark that it was a wasted evening.

‘I have made a number of new acquaintances and that will stand me in good stead in future. And,’ she added, giving him a twinkling look, ‘now I have heard the standard of music that is acceptable in town I shall not be afraid to play in public.’

‘I am glad to hear that.’ He grinned back at her. ‘It has been particularly bad this evening. I shall have to have words with my sister.’

* * *

Later, however, when she brought her husband to their table, Gwendoline was unrepentant.

‘They are friends, dear Brother, and desperate to perform. I get them over with first, so that we can all relax and enjoy the remainder of the evening.’

‘Aye, that is why I am never here early,’ agreed Lord Ribblestone in a grave tone that was decidedly at odds with the mischievous gleam in his eye. ‘Gwen has too soft a heart when it comes to lame ducks and always likes to give them a chance to show their paces. You will learn, Mrs Albury, never to get to my wife’s parties before suppertime.’

‘
You
certainly do not,’ retorted Gwen.

He smiled. ‘Acquit me, my love. Tonight at least I would have come earlier, if matters had allowed.’

Gideon raised an eyebrow.

‘Discussing the treaty, Anthony?’

Ribblestone’s mouth twisted.

‘This peace with France won’t last the year.’

‘Oh, I hope you are wrong there, my lord.’ Dominique blushed at her impetuous words.

‘My wife’s father is French,’ explained Gideon.

Lord Ribblestone’s brows shot up.

‘Is he, by Gad? But I thought—’

‘Goodness, Anthony, if you took more notice of me and less of your dusty political papers, you would remember!’ Gwendoline broke in hastily. ‘I explained everything, so there is no need to go over it all again. Now, my lord, we still have any number of guests wishing to play for us tonight so you must help me get everyone back to the salon.’ Gwendoline bore him away, giving Dominique a warm smile as she passed. ‘I promise you the best players have yet to perform. I do not think you will be disappointed, my dear.’

Dominique tried to respond, but all she could think of was Lord Ribblestone’s astonishment that Gideon should marry a Frenchwoman.

‘My brother-in-law has many attributes, but tact is not one of them,’ remarked Gideon. ‘No wonder the government is in such disarray, if he is an example of their abilities.’ He said gently, ‘Your French connections are no secret in town, my dear, but I doubt anyone else will remark upon it.’ He rose and held out his hand to her. ‘Now, shall we gird our loins for more execrable music?’

She accompanied him back to the salon, but her new brother-in-law’s shock had undermined her confidence. Everyone was watching her, wondering what could have persuaded Gideon to marry a penniless Frenchwoman without even beauty to recommend her. However, his continued presence at her side was reassuring, and since the musical offerings were indeed much improved she tried very hard to put her anxieties aside and enjoy herself. A particularly good duet between piano and harp had her clapping enthusiastically, as did a very funny ditty by Sir Desmond Arndale.

‘Bravo,’ cried Gwendoline, moving forwards to congratulate him. ‘A splendid ending to our evening, sir. Now that everyone has performed—’

‘Not quite everyone.’ Sir Desmond interrupted her. ‘Mrs Albury has yet to play.’

Dominique had been too busy applauding to take in his words until she found everyone looking at her.

‘What? Oh, no—that is—’

‘Come along, ma’am, I am sure everyone wants to hear you.’ Sir Desmond was beaming and beckoning her forwards.

Gideon turned to her.

‘I would like to hear you, very much, but if you wish I will tell them you would rather not.’

The kindly understanding in his eyes boosted her spirits. She squared her shoulders.

‘No,’ she said, smiling a little, ‘I have been happy enough to listen to the others, it is only fair I take my turn.’

A smattering of applause went round the room as she rose and made her way to the pianoforte. Sir Desmond hovered around her, adjusting the candles and asking if he should search out any music for her from the pile of sheets on the table.

‘Perhaps Mrs Albury will play us a
French
air,’ sniggered someone from the audience.

Dominique affected not to hear, but she was heartened when Gideon responded with a laugh, ‘Perhaps she will—whatever her choice I know it will be delightful. What is it to be, my dear?’

‘A piece by Mr Mozart, I think,’ she declared.

The ‘Fantasia’ was not long and not even particularly difficult. She had performed it many times for her mother and knew she could play it well, but her confidence wavered when she looked around the room and realised how many people were watching her. Then her gaze fell upon Gideon. He was smiling at her. Everyone else was forgotten. She would play for him and him alone.

* * *

As she struck the last confident chords she smiled, knowing she had done well. The applause was instant and the first ‘brava’ she heard was from Gideon. There were calls for an encore, but she shook her head, blushing, and would have joined Gideon, but Gwendoline carried her off to enjoy the praise and compliments of her guests.