Regency Innocents (31 page)

He reached for her hand abstractedly, raising it to his lips and kissing her fingers as he focussed on how he was to bring about a state in their marriage where she would look up and smile as he approached, rather than shrink from him in expectation of a scold, as she did now.

The regime at Wycke would have to change before they visited again. Of that he was certain. He did not know if he should go so far as dismissing Mrs Lanyon, but sadly he feared that might be necessary. She seemed to harbour some kind of grudge against Robert, and, though he had always appreciated her efficiency in the past, he now saw that she was singularly lacking in compassion. A kinder woman would have helped Heloise grow accustomed to her position, instead of increasing her feelings of inadequacy.

He had not been aware how long they had been sitting
in silence until he heard Heloise sigh. It struck him forcibly that if it had been Robert sitting beside her she would no doubt have been chattering away merrily. He turned to look at her, noting the dejected slump of her shoulders. Except for a few brief moments when she forgot herself, in his arms in bed, that air of sadness hung round her like a persistent mist.

He drew in a sharp breath, turning away from her to look out of his own window as he felt a stab of fear that he might never be able to totally lift it. Even if she grew content with what he could offer her, it would never be the grand passion she had so admired her sister for harbouring for that penniless young engraver. Her parents had eloped, too, setting love above their personal safety. Whatever understanding they eventually reached, would it always seem like a poor substitute for the real thing?

Well, he might never move her heart to any great degree, but he could prove his solid worthiness.

He cleared his throat. ‘When we return to London, things will not be between us as they were before.'

She turned to look at him, a little frown pleating her brow.

‘There is no need to look so alarmed. It is your well-being that I am thinking of.'

He would need to deal with Lampton and Mrs Kenton in person before he could permit Heloise the same degree of freedom she had enjoyed before.

It was not just the personal vendetta the Lamptons held against him that might prove dangerous to her, either. After the losses incurred at Waterloo, there might well be some antagonism towards her simply because of her nationality. Until he had tested the waters for himself, and made sure she would be absolutely safe, he was not going to permit anyone anywhere near her.

Nor, to begin with, would he be free to escort her anywhere. The political map of Europe was going to change radically, if he was any judge of matters, and, while he had no intention of forcing Heloise to cross the Channel so that he could participate fully in negotiations, he could be busy laying the groundwork for those who would go in his stead.

‘It might be a good idea if, just at first, you did not move about too much in society.'

Was there anything more annoying, she thought, than being told to act in a way she had already decided upon for herself? Why, it had been weeks since she had determined to be such a model wife that she would scarcely even venture out of doors! She knew she ought to be grateful that he was permitting her even a tiny place in his life, yet the longer he lectured her about what she was and was not permitted to do, and trotted out excuse after excuse for why he would be behaving much as he had done before, resentment began to smoulder inside her.

Charles noted that the nearer they drew towards London, rather than being reassured by his promises to take far better care of her than he had done before, she looked increasingly strained.

‘Is something worrying you?' he eventually asked her.

Smiling determinedly to conceal her increasing feelings of resentment, she replied, ‘Of course there is! I worry about Robert. It is for him that we return to London after all,' she reminded herself.

Charles was glad to get out of the carriage when at last it pulled up outside Walton House. He knew she was not in love with Robert, yet to hear of her concern for another man filled him with such unreasonable jealousy that it was all he could do to keep it leashed.

Heloise drooped into the house in his wake. He seemed
so relieved the journey was finally over. Oh, he had tried manfully to be what he seemed to think she would want—holding her hand, forcing himself to make conversation to keep her amused. As though she was a child and he a rather stern guardian, pointing out that he was going to be busy with important matters of state, and she must behave herself until he had a few minutes to spare!

He surged into the house, making straight for Robert's rooms. Just before he reached his door, he turned, as though recalling her tiresome presence, and said, with an exasperated expression on his face, ‘I think you should go up to your rooms, Lady Walton, while I see how my brother fares. I cannot say when I may join you.'

She lifted her chin as her heart sank even lower. ‘Of course.' Whatever had made her hope he might appreciate having his silly little wife at his side? Or that she might be able to help him through this crisis? He just wanted her to keep out of his way.

‘I will see to my unpacking. As long as Robert is being cared for, that is all that matters.'

He turned from her so swiftly she was sure he had already relegated her from his thoughts. As he pushed open Robert's door, she caught a glimpse of booted feet sprawled at ungainly angles, and empty bottles lying on the floor.

She caught her breath. She really was silly to feel slighted because Charles did not dance attendance on her when his beloved brother was going through such a terrible time.

Feeling slightly ashamed of herself, she went up to her rooms.

‘There is a parcel for you, my lady,' said Sukey, as soon as she saw Heloise trail in.

Frowning, Heloise went to the bed, on which the flat,
square package lay. She did not think she had any orders outstanding with the modiste. Wondering what it could be, she tore open the brown paper wrapping to find it was a leatherbound book.

She opened it at random, and gave a gasp of surprise. She was looking at one of her own sketches. Crossing to the desk by the window, she laid the book out flat and flipped through the pages.

‘These are all mine!' she said to Sukey, who was peering over her shoulder. All the drawings she had left with Mr Ackermann were bound, here within these beautifully tooled leather covers. Just as though they were the work of a real artist.

She turned back to the very first page, and read the words:
‘A collection of original watercolours, penned by the hand of Lady Heloise, beloved wife of Charles, 9th Earl of Walton …'

Beloved wife? She ran a trembling finger over the printed words. This flowery language was not at all the kind of thing Charles would ever say, never mind cause to have written. He must have left the exact choice of words to the printer.

‘Charles,' she whispered, wishing with all her heart that the words were true.

It was scarcely half an hour later that he came in and found her sitting on the bed, the book clasped in her arms and tears streaming down her face.

‘Don't you like it?' He felt as though an iron fist had squeezed his heart. He had been so sure she would love seeing her work professionally bound.

‘Like it?' she raised tear-drenched eyes to his. ‘I love it. Did you …?' She stopped, shaking her head. If he had not meant the words, she did not want to hear the denial
from his own lips. Far better to cling to the illusion that he felt some affection for her than to have her dreams shattered.

Hesitantly, Charles took a step towards the bed. ‘I wanted to do something to demonstrate how sorry I am for forcing you to destroy that other sketchbook. It was quite wrong of me.'

‘Oh!' Her head flew up, her eyes looking curiously wounded.

He clasped his hands behind his back. He would have thought his apology would comfort her. Perhaps it had only reminded her what an unfeeling brute he could be.

‘I was acting completely out of character that night,' he admitted. ‘My state of mind at that time was not … That is, Heloise …' He swallowed, searching for the words that would convince her, once and for all, that he was not the tyrannical bully he had shown himself to be during those few mad days in Paris. ‘You have a remarkable skill. I admire it greatly. I have no wish to stifle your talent. I know I made a great deal of fuss, saying I did not want people to see your work, but that is not how I feel about it now. Now I have come to know you better, I know you would not do anything to embarrass me, or the name of Walton.'

‘Not deliberately!' she cried, kneeling up and moving towards him, her hands outstretched. ‘I did not mean to make a spectacle with your neighbours at Wycke …'

‘You did not!' he vowed, taking the final step that brought him within touching distance. Taking her hands in his, he said, ‘I was proud of the way you managed to make some of the most cantankerous, narrow-minded provincials look like rational, attractive people. With only a stub of pencil and some rather ancient writing paper!'

‘Truly?'

He sat on the bed next to her, drawing her hands close to his chest. ‘Heloise, when will you learn that I never say anything I do not mean? In fact, the next time we go to the country I hope you will spend some time making sketches of my favourite vistas. It is long past time that I put up some original artwork in this place.' His gaze flicked round the uninspiring collection of oils that graced her walls, and he grimaced. ‘Your work would at least have the bonus of being amusing.'

‘I draw people, though, not scenes,' she protested.

He cut her off with a smile. ‘You do scenes. And you capture the atmosphere of a place. Have you forgot this?' He leaned down and flicked through the pages of the book until he came to the depiction of their first night at the theatre. ‘Looking at it brings back the atmosphere of that night so vividly I can almost smell it.'

‘But it is the people that create the atmosphere …'

He shook his head. ‘Heloise, you have more talent than you give yourself credit for. I know you focus on the people, and regard the background only as the setting for your caricatures, but even in the few strokes you begrudged the curtains round Lensborough's box you captured the very texture of the velvet. If you wanted, you could capture not just the scenery of my home but its very essence. When you know it better. I feel sure that even now, should you decide to draw the ruined tower …'

Their eyes met and held as they remembered that afternoon they had become lovers. The book slid to the floor, forgotten, and they moved into each other's arms.

‘I shall ring and have supper sent up,' Charles said, much later. ‘There is no point in dressing for dinner now. And
we would be eating it alone, wherever we took it. Robert is in no fit state to appear before you, my love.'

Rolling onto his side, he propped himself on his elbow.

‘We had no need to fear that Robert would suffer alone. While the bells rang out all over London to celebrate the nation's victory, those who could not stand the pain of their bereavement gravitated to his rooms and made a valiant attempt to drink my cellars dry. You may be surprised to hear Lord Lensborough himself is one of those currently nursing a hangover down there.'

Heloise was beyond making any response. He had praised her work, taken her to bed in broad daylight, and called her his love. Yet downstairs Robert and his companions were mourning the shameful waste of so many young male lives. It was wrong to experience any measure of happiness when so many were grieving.

‘I will visit with him tomorrow,' she declared. Tonight was just for her and Charles.

‘Tomorrow will be soon enough,' he agreed, making her heart soar. ‘Robert's rooms are no fit place for a lady at the moment. But now he knows we have returned, it may be the push he needs to begin sobering up. And his friends will feel they may safely leave him now that we have come home.'

Her brief moment of joy dissolved. Charles was not thinking of how delightful it would be to have a romantic supper in bed with her. His priority was still Robert's well-being.

‘You are not upset, are you, that I will be otherwise engaged tomorrow?'

As if she were a spoiled child who had to be constantly amused!

She lifted her chin. ‘I do not need you to dance attendance on me,' she declared proudly. ‘Even when I first
came to London, did I not manage to amuse myself?' Flushing darkly, she added, ‘Perhaps that is not such a good thing to remind you of. But I will do better now. I will not go to gaming hells, or masquerades, or gamble with military gentlemen again, I promise you!'

‘Even if you should do all of those things,' Charles declared, ‘I should not banish you to the country. If you get into any sort of trouble you must tell me straight away, and no matter what you have done I will help you.'

‘I have just told you,' she snapped, ‘that I won't get into trouble!'

‘Well, we'll see, shall we?'

Crestfallen that he still assumed she would get into some sort of trouble the minute his back was turned, she rolled over and pretended to go to sleep.

Over the next few days Heloise was carried along by a determination to prove to Charles that in spite of his misgivings she
could
behave herself when the need arose.

She usually slept in until quite late. For, although she scarcely saw Charles during the hours of daylight, whatever time he came home, he never failed to come to her bed.

Once she had washed and dressed, she liked to take an airing in the park, although she made sure both Sukey and a footman always properly escorted her. When she returned there was always some little gift from Charles for her to unwrap—proof that he was appreciative of her efforts to reform. She spent the hours before dinner either reading the poetry, or pressing individual blossoms from a posy—or, once, attempting to put together the cleverly designed portable easel he had purchased. And she spent the hours after dinner waiting impatiently for him to come home.