Regency Rumours/A Scandalous Mistress/Dishonour And Desire (50 page)

‘A three-sided voyage,’ he told her. ‘Before the Act, ships would sail from English ports down to Africa’s west coast loaded with goods, and barter these goods for slaves. The second side of the triangle was to take the slaves across to the Caribbean Islands or the east coast of America, sell the slaves to owners of sugar and cotton plantations, then buy coffee, raw cotton, molasses …’

‘Molasses?’

‘Raw sugar. It’s made into blocks of sugar, and into brandy.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Then, with a load of goods that we want in England, the ship would complete the last side of the triangle to home.’

‘So now we cannot buy raw cotton and sugar any more.’

‘Yes, we can. It’s put the prices up, certainly, but English merchants are not allowed to use slaves as currency, as they used to do.’

‘Then I wonder if the Carrs’ mills in Manchester have suffered. They used to belong to Aunt Amelie’s late parents, you know. The factory still prints cottons.’

‘More than likely.’ His interest appeared to lapse, and he did not ask where she had heard of the triangle.

Caterina’s silence was as eloquent as words, and the journey to Halfmoon Street in the flashy curricle continued in a state of thoughtfulness. As a concession to the occasion, the team of chestnuts had been decorated with white ribbons that fluttered from their brow bands and cruppers, drawing waves and smiles from those they passed on the road. When Sir Chase asked her if she would like to drive, she politely excused herself. When he asked her what she was thinking about, she sighed and could not bring herself to tell him. Moments later, she asked him the same question.

‘About tonight,’ he said, without hesitation.

‘Don’t,’ she whispered.

‘How can I not?’

‘I think … I would prefer … tonight … to be on my own, if you please.’

‘All right. I understand. It’s been a hectic day and there’ll be plenty more nights.’ He waited, but she did not respond. ‘You’re free now, sweetheart. Free at last. You can learn to fly. We’ll do whatever you please.’

Caterina had doubts about the plural ‘we’ and decided to put it to the test. ‘I wonder if we might go up to Buxton soon? To take a look at the house and see old friends.’

‘Why not? Want to show me off, do you?’ He smiled at her, then gave his attention to an oncoming stagecoach in a hurry.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I do.’

‘Then we’ll go. Derbyshire is beautiful in May.’

‘You know Derbyshire?’

‘Very well indeed. We’ll get this weekend out of the way, then we’ll make your purchases, then we’ll pack and go. We have no need to return to Richmond unless you wish it, now we have Signor Cantoni with us. Is there anything you need to pick up?’

Her hesitation was only slight, but he noticed it. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I have all I need, thank you.’

‘Then we shall waste no more time there.’

If her father wanted to ask if she knew anything about the missing papers, she thought, he would have to wait. If only she could discover more about Sir Chase’s part in all this. The questions gave her no respite, for it seemed that just as she had begun to learn acceptance of one problem, another even greater one had come to take its place.

Just off Picadilly, Sir Chase’s well-proportioned house on Halfmoon Street was tall, white, terraced and as elegant as Caterina had imagined, in style very like the one on Paradise Road, with servants’ quarters below and a further four floors of spacious living rooms above. Iron railings painted black and gold, a bright red door with a fanlight above, a brass knocker in the shape of a stirrup, an iron shoe-scraper and three newly scrubbed steps led them past the bowing bald-headed butler into a high white hallway lined with the dusky autumnal pink of Persian rugs. On one wall hung a barometer, opposite which a tallcase clock stood quietly ticking, showing the phases of the moon above its dial to anyone who cared to know.

‘Your new London home,’ he said, leading her by the hand into the pale green panelled salon at the front. ‘I’ve had no time to change anything, but if it’s not to your taste we’ll find one that is.’

‘It’s charming,’ she said. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Yes?’

‘That now I have a husband—’ like it or not, she almost added ‘—I ought to know something about him. If anyone were to ask me, I shall not have much to tell them. I don’t even know for certain how old you are. Oh …
what
a handsome piano.’

He had led her through double doors into a large adjoining room where long sash windows looked out onto a long narrow plot of apple trees in full bloom. A grand piano of polished rosewood was reflected in the oak floor, and a tidy pile of music lay at one side as if waiting for the owner’s return.

‘A fairly recent purchase,’ he said. ‘Will it do to practise on?’

Speechless with sudden emotion, she nodded into the back of her hand. ‘Yes, indeed it will. Signor Cantoni and the others will be arriving soon. Will he have his own bedroom?’

‘Certainly. I have plenty of rooms, and he’ll be treated as one of the family. I’ll show them to you, but first …’ Taking her into his arms, he nudged her face upwards so that he could see into her eyes, obliging her to yield up all the fears and hidden accusations for him to see, if not hear. ‘First,’ he said, ‘we must come to an understanding. Yes, I know what you think, my beauty, that now I’ve won my wager I shall go my own way and leave you to make shift for yourself. Well, that’s
not
what will happen. There are things on your mind that only you can resolve in your own time, and I shall do what I can to help. It’s in my best interests, isn’t it?’

‘I don’t know. Is it?’

‘Of course it is, my girl. I want all of you, Caterina, not only your companionship, but your respect and
love, too. You thought not to hear that word from me so soon? Eh? Well, I was never one for half-measures.’

That much was obvious. She was bound to smile.

‘There. A smile at last. But if you’re not willing to take me back into your bed, that’s a price I have to pay for the unseemly haste, and I shall wait until you are. There’s a lot to find out about each other, my beauty. Such a lot has happened to us, very quickly. Perhaps too quickly. But now we can take one day at a time and enjoy each other as we did at Brighton. You did, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And the nights?’

‘Yes, and the nights.’

‘And now you’re continuing the protest, even though it hurts? Is that it?’

‘It’s all I can think of.’

‘Then you have only to say when your angers have gone, and we can carry on where we left off. Is that agreed?’

She knew it was a dangerous game she was playing. Take too long to discover how deeply he was implicated in her father’s illegal affairs and he might grow tired of waiting. He was understanding, but what man could be expected to be so obliging when his rights were at stake?

‘You are not supposed to be so cooperative,’ she said. ‘How am I to thwart you when you’re so tolerant?’

His reply to that was spontaneous and suitably masculine, the hard pull of his arms bending her to him, his expression anything but long-suffering. ‘Because, my fierce one, I’ve just spent a fortune to get you here, protesting all the way, and I’m not about to lose you through impatience. If there’s one thing gambling has
taught me, it’s how to play a patient waiting game and not to give up.’ The deep voice was husky with desire, and if Caterina had thought he cared little about her protest, she now realised how wrong she was. He cared very much indeed.

His head bent to hers, taking the kiss she’d intended to deny him, a kiss of three days’ waiting that told her explicitly about his need of her, a kiss that left her dizzy and weak. Breathless, instantly aroused, she had to cling to him to keep her balance.

It was all she could do then not to give in, to forget the hurt of deception, the anger of being used. But the memory of her father’s smug expression as he shook Sir Chase’s hand earlier, wishing them both a speedy journey to wherever they were going, hardened her heart and strengthened her resolve to discover the extent of his treachery. As Sir Chase had said, the two of them had much to find out, but meanwhile she could not help but assume that this business was more complicated than a wager.

Having earlier decided on a strategy of unpredictability in her lovemaking, it had never been her intention until now to take it to the limit, denying him her bed altogether. Even now, her wish to spend that first night alone collapsed after the first hour of lying sleepless in her large comfortable bed, and she had eventually gone to the door of his room, tapped lightly upon it and walked in, standing outside the circle of light from the oil-lamp beside his bed. He was reading.

The book was lowered and he was on his feet in one bound, coming to meet her without a trace of complacency, holding out his hands, leading her towards the bed, lifting the covers and arranging them round her as
she lay her head on the pillow, appalled by her own temerity.

Without explanation, he seemed to know both what she wanted and what she didn’t want, and the night spent in his arms was chaste in every respect, comforting them both after their nights apart, as well as being a test of his personal discipline, which was extraordinary for a man with a desirable bride.

They had talked all this evening through dinner and beyond, and because Signor Cantoni had been invited to join them, the conversation made it easy for Caterina to discover more about her remarkable husband by means of small prompts rather than by questions that revealed her ignorance. They talked of mutual acquaintances, of music, of travel on the continent and the wonders of Italy, of the Peninsular War, politics, the Prince Regent’s problems, life in the army, of architecture and the latest crop of landscape gardeners. And if Signor Cantoni thought it unusual for a singing teacher to be invited to a newly-weds’ private dinner, his natural sensitivity and perfect manners forbade him to mention it.

Caterina was very fond of him. His own voice was a remarkable instrument, ranging from falsetto when he was amused down to a gravelly bass when seriously rambling, his features equally supple and expressive, his hands the same, describing words in the air. Thick dark hair made him look like a younger version of Beethoven without the scowl, and his willing acceptance of Sir Chase’s offer meant that, for the first time since leaving Italy, he had a permanent home and a generous fixed salary. Though he favoured himself, he had not quite decided which of them was the most fortunate.

The conversation that evening also revealed that Sir
Chase was one of the exclusive Society of Dilettanti, men whose main qualification, apart from wealth, was a patronage of the arts. According to some sceptics, the other qualifications were having been to Italy and getting drunk. None of this surprised Caterina greatly, having observed the paintings on her husband’s walls by the popular Mr Turner, by Sir Joshua Reynolds and Richard Wilson, by an up-and-coming watercolourist named John Sell Cotman, by Stubbs (horses, of course) and an oil by Thomas Lawrence, who had painted Aunt Amelie’s portrait.

Sir Chase’s membership of the Royal Society was now much in evidence from the number of scientific instruments displayed all over the house on walls and tables, all of which he knew how to use. The scholarly side of her husband, Caterina decided, was less gossip worthy than his extrovert side, which was why news of his public affairs travelled faster than that of private ones. But as for any suggestion of slave-trading, merchanting or ship-owning, there was as little indication as for any other money-making venture, including the famed gambling, for which she needed no more evidence than she already had.

After last night’s forgivable lapse of purpose, she half-expected some comment from him about her lack of determination but, apart from lifting the curls from the back of her neck in one large fist, which held her very securely to the spot, and planting a soft kiss below them, he said nothing as he held the door for her to return to her own room. She felt the exciting sting of his grasp for quite some time afterwards.

One who saw nothing unusual in two newly-weds sharing the first days of their marriage with others was
the sixth Duke of Devonshire who greeted them at Chiswick House that same day as if they’d been married for years. Since he was himself a mere twenty-two years old and as far from matrimony as he would ever be, this was perhaps to be expected, being sophisticated in so many areas, but naïve in matters of romance. A well-known London courtesan had only recently complained that he had given her two old wedding rings as a gift which she had passed on to her butler. His charm and perfect manners, however, were reason enough for him to be a favourite with everyone. An added reason was his generous hospitality at his many large establishments.

Known as Hart to friends and family from his previous title of Marquess of Hartington, the Duke had inherited his late father’s wealth only one year ago and had just begun to take stock of his legacy, including some crippling debts that appeared to have had no noticeable effect upon his lavish spending. Parties and entertaining were his love, Chiswick being especially well placed on the outskirts of London for smaller select gatherings of a more artistic nature, which is why he had invited Caterina to sing for him at one of them.

With obvious delight that two of his friends had arrived together, he welcomed them even before their town coach had come to a halt below the impressive steps of his ‘villa’, as he liked to call it. Introduced to the Duke for the first time, Signor Cantoni was treated to a welcome in his own language where, also for the first time, Caterina heard her husband join in with perfect fluency. Every day, she thought, brought a new revelation.

They went with the tall young man with the affable countenance into the grand house built in the style of
an Italian villa and set in acres of perfectly laid gardens. His personal musicians, he told Caterina, were at her entire disposal. Taking them across marble floors past statues and busts, stone friezes filched from ancient Greece and plaster walls removed from Pompeii, they entered the airy music room beneath the dome where the great Frederick Handel himself had performed more than once.