Lady Caro (14 page)

“But no longer!” Happiness radiated from Abigail’s face, but suddenly it vanished like the sun behind a black cloud, and she cried in a choked voice, “Oh, Caro, your father looks so weak. I could not bear to lose him now. I love him so!”

Caro’s heart ached for her friend. If only her father had made Abigail an offer years ago, instead of wasting all those years when they might have been happy together.

When Caro expressed this sentiment aloud, Abigail replied in a voice laced with sorrow, “But he had to discover first that he loved me. Living with him without his love would have been too painful for me to bear. Oh, Caro, you have no idea how terrible it is to know that the man you love adores another, far more dazzling woman!”

But Caro did know. Even now, Ashley was no doubt in the arms of Lady Roxley. The thought twisted in Caro like a medieval torture screw.

Chapter 19

Several days had passed since Ashley had called on Lady Roxley to tell her of his marriage, and she had not heard from him. Visions of the ruby and diamond necklace gave way to alarm in the lady’s mind. She had expected to be showered with flowers and trinkets and beseeching notes pleading for forgiveness. But she had heard not a word.

Estelle, recalling the universal admiration still accorded the late, legendary marchioness of Levisham, wondered anxiously whether the daughter could be an Incomparable like her mother.

It had not occurred to Lady Roxley initially that Ashley’s wife might have his heart because Estelle could not conceive that any man so sublimely fortunate as to be her lover could possibly notice another woman. Furthermore, Vinson had referred to his marriage as an onerous duty and assured her that his marriage “need have no effect on our connection.”

Despite Estelle’s pique at Ashley’s marriage, she did not want to lose him. She had had other lovers before him, and none had been so satisfying, nor so generous and entertaining as Vinson. Years ago, when he had first fallen in love with her, she had wrapped him about her finger. But in the intervening years, he had changed, and for all the devotion he showed her, she was no longer so certain of her power over him. How she wished now that she
had married
him so that he would be legally tied to her for life.

She remembered uneasily the way that he had looked at her after she lost her temper at the news of his marriage. If only she had not done so. Her servants, her children, and the rest of her family lived in terror of her temper, but she had always taken great care never to let Ashley see that unattractive side of her. Accustomed as she was, however, to unswerving male adoration, Ashley’s taking of a wife had been more than her pride could bear. She had been humiliated by the thought that everyone would talk about his defection from her.

But after the first shock of his news had worn off, she realized that she could squelch such unflattering gossip by showing London that, despite his new wife, he was still hers. This task would be made easier by his not having brought his wife to London with him, an omission that was causing considerable speculation.

Going to her rosewood-and-gilt writing table, Estelle penned a note to Ashley, bidding him to come to her house at noon the following day. They could not meet at the Brushes’. Lady Brush had been so lacking in foresight as to invite two dozen ladies of the ton there to hear Lord Byron read his poetry at the very time that Estelle wished to rendezvous with Ashley. He would not come to her house, however, if he knew that her husband was in town, so she refrained from informing him that this was the case.

Even though Roxley was in town, his lady knew that she would run no danger of his discovering her with Ashley. Her husband spent his afternoons at his club, dining there before going on to whatever entertainments he had scheduled for the night. Estelle could not remember when he had last been home in the afternoon or when they had dined there together.

She sent her invitation to Ashley around by hand. The footman returned with a reply that the viscount could not come at noon but would do so at four.

This vexed Estelle greatly, for she had planned to greet him in her dressing room. Despite this pedestrian designation, it was an elegant chamber. Its walls, which were hung with crimson and gold brocade, provided a flattering backdrop for her dramatic beauty. An alcove with a daybed in it occupied one end of the room. Crimson and gold draperies, which matched the wall hangings, could be drawn across the alcove’s arched opening to ensure privacy.

It was on the daybed that Estelle had planned to greet Ashley, clad in her most provocative negligee, and to proceed to strengthen her hold over him with an afternoon of delightful improprieties in that cleverly curtained alcove. But although a negligee would seem unexceptional at noon, since that was the hour at which she normally rose, to still be wearing it at four in the afternoon would too blatantly broadcast her intent.

So, the following afternoon, she was forced instead to don a new silk gown with a fitted waist, from which a full skirt billowed over several petticoats. In truth, it would have been more appropriate for an assembly at Almack’s than an afternoon in her dressing room, but she believed it was the most flattering gown she owned. The intense shade of rose enhanced the pearl like luster of her complexion; the fitted waist emphasized her own, which was amazingly tiny for a woman who had borne three sons; and the gown’s daring décolletage revealed two of her best assets.

She was determined to be her most charming when Ashley arrived even though her husband had put her dreadfully out of curl that morning by announcing that he was having their sons brought to London from their country house in Dorset. They would arrive that night, and he would spend it at home so that he would be there when they came.

It was just like that disobliging man to come home early on the one day when she wanted him out of the house for as long as possible. Estelle had never loved him, but when they were first married, he had adored her and had been only too happy to give her whatever she wanted.

But as the years passed, he had grown increasingly irate over her extravagances until, after the birth of their third son, he had humiliated her by cutting off her generous allowance, making it known to the fashionable shopkeepers she patronized that they could expect no payment unless he had first approved her expenditures. None of her teasing and cajoling, or even her extravagant temper tantrums, had made him relent. Since she had married him only for his fortune and he was withdrawing its free use, she saw no reason why she should be his wife in anything but name, and she made it clear that the less she saw of him, the better.

To her surprise, he had accepted her edict without argument. It never occurred to her that he might have come to feel the same way.

When Ashley arrived, she received him in her dressing room. Skirts swaying gracefully, she moved to greet him with a seductive smile. He looked so dashing in his elegant frock coat of dark blue superfine over a striped blue waistcoat and a frilled white shirt.

Seeing her, he stopped. “How beautiful you are!”

This remark made her feel more confident of him. Extending her hands to him, she said in her most provocative voice, low and husky and enticing, “It has been days since I have seen you. I hope this is not how you mean to neglect me now that you are married?”

He took her hands and kissed first one, then the other. “You told me at our last meeting that you could not bear the sight of me.”

“You must understand the terrible shock you gave me: the love of my life marrying without so much as a word of warning in advance.” She continued to hold his hands, and her husky voice became softly chiding. “If only you had told me before you left how you felt about Levisham’s daughter.”

“I could not do that then, for I had not yet met her myself.”

Thoroughly alarmed by this answer, Estelle demanded, a hint of incredulity in her tone, “Are you saying that it was love at first sight?”

Her question seemed to amuse Ashley greatly. “No, it was not.”

Although relieved, Estelle continued to probe. “If it was not love, why did you marry her so quickly?”

“For several reasons, but love was not one of them.”

“No doubt she fell into your arms the moment she saw you,” Estelle said tartly.

“As a matter of fact, she did,” Ashley replied, his lips twitching.

Estelle, knowing how much he disliked aggressive young ladies, was delighted that his wife should have been so stupidly forward in her pursuit of him.

Leading Ashley toward the alcove, Estelle cooed, “Oh, darting, I wish that you could have come at noon. Our time together shall have to be short.”

“Why?” he asked with a frown.

“Roxley is having the children brought to London, and they arrive tonight.”

Ashley’s frown vanished. “I understand. Of course, you wish to be with your children.”

“It’s not that at all,” she said, looking at him as though he were touched in the upper works. Motherhood had been as disappointing to her as marriage. She had detested pregnancy, with its morning sickness and the awkwardness and discomfort of growing huge, not to mention her intense fear of dying in childbirth. Then came the agony of birth—and all for wrinkled, red little brats so ugly that she could scarcely believe that they could have come from her exquisite body. Perhaps if they had been little girls, who could be dressed up charmingly in lace and frills like the dolls she used to play with, she might have found them more interesting. But sons were miniature whirlwinds always getting into things they shouldn’t. “I infinitely prefer your company to that of my sons. But Roxley dotes on his boys, and he plans to return home by six so that he will be here when they arrive.”

“Good God, I thought he was out of town! I should not be here.” He looked about her dressing room with an angry frown. “I would not have come up had I known—”

Estelle silenced him by the simple expedient of covering his mouth with her own in a passionate kiss.

A knock at the door caused Ashley to set her firmly away from him.

“Do not bother me,” Estelle called crossly in the direction of the door.

“Begging your pardon, milady, but your children are here,” said the butler, whom she was certain Roxley kept on solely to vex her, knowing how much she detested the old retainer. “His lordship left word that if he had not yet returned when they arrived, they were to be brought to you.”

Estelle wanted to scream at him to take the brats away, but she dared not, for that meddling old fool would be certain to tell Roxley that she had done so because Ashley had been with her. Generally, her husband chose to ignore her infidelities, but he would cut up stiff if he learned that she had refused to see her children so that she could entertain her lover.

Her sons, aged four, five, and six, filed into the room, looking like stair steps. They eyed her nervously, stopping well back from her billowing gown. Nevertheless, she cautioned them against wrinkling her skirt. They were handsome children, having inherited her jet-black hair and their father’s hazel eyes, but they were remarkably subdued for boys of their rambunctious age who were seeing their mother for the first time in two months. Estelle, however, saw nothing odd about this, for she demanded such polite, well-mannered behavior of them.

Her youngest, a thin, rather frail little boy, was clearly ill. His nose was red and running, his eyes, dull and feverish, and he looked perfectly miserable. She regarded him with a deep dismay that arose from concern for herself rather than for him. She had a profound fear of being exposed to any contagious illness, so certain was she that she herself would immediately contract it.

“Why must Justin always be ill?” she demanded petulantly of their nurse, a dragon-faced, middle-aged woman who had followed the children into the room.

“He’s a sickly ’un, milady.” The woman’s harsh tone proclaimed her contempt for such weakness.

“But, Mama, I cannot help it,” Justin protested mournfully in a voice so hoarse he could hardly be heard. “I don’t want to feel so awful.”

He took a step toward her, as if to seek solace from her, but she drew back in alarm, fearful for both her skirt and her health. “No, you mustn’t give Mama your sickness,” she cautioned him. “It is time Nurse put you to bed.” She ignored the two large tears that formed in his eyes and said brightly, “Now the three of you go with Nurse.”

“Yes, Mama,” they murmured in chorus, the older two looking as relieved to be going as she was to have them gone. As they turned toward the door, the eldest asked wistfully, “When will Papa be home?”

“Soon,” she said curtly. Turning back to Ashley as the door closed behind her children, she gave an artificial little laugh. “What nuisances children are. Always getting sick or in trouble. Come, darling.” She held out her hand to him, intending to lead him back to the alcove.

But he did not take it. Instead, he was studying her somberly with the oddest look in his eyes. It was as though he were seeing her for the first time.

Finally, she said irritably, “Come, we haven’t much time.”

“No time at all,” he said, a peculiar note in his voice.

“I must leave. Your children arrived early; your husband may do so as well.”

“But,” she wailed, “I—”

He cut her off, saying firmly, “No, I must go.” He turned abruptly and was gone.