The Gilded Web (28 page)

He was still not comfortable with her, or she with him. And yet he was becoming more and more convinced that she was worth the challenge, that he had quite by accident won himself a priceless prize for a bride.

M
ADELINE WAS SITTING IN LONE
state in the breakfast room when her twin found her there a little while later.

“Well, Sleeping Beauty!” he said. “You were too busy dreaming of officers and scarlet uniforms, I suppose, to think about waking up in good time for a mere ride.”

“Don't tease at this hour of the morning, Dom,” she said. “You know I am not at my best until my brain has been awake for at least an hour. Do I have to go on that dreadful ride?”

“Dreadful ride?” he said. “You have always liked the cliffs, Mad.”

“But I don't like the company,” she said. “It really is not fair, Dom, that every time you decide to accompany Alexandra anywhere, I am expected to join you with Mr. Purnell.”

“Well, you must admit,” he said, “that I would never get anywhere with Miss Purnell if I were obliged to entertain the two of them together. And you have nothing better to do.”

“How do you know that?” she asked. “Captain Forbes and Lieutenant Jennings said they might call sometime today.”

Lord Eden grinned. “Ah, I might have guessed as much,” he said. “Which one are you in love with, Mad? Or are you in love with both?”

“Don't be horrid!” she said. “And what about you, Dom? You seemed much taken with Susan last night. Is she replacing Miss Carstairs in your heart?”

His grin faded. “Be serious,” he said. “I am going to marry Miss Purnell, Mad. I asked her last night, and I don't think she was going to say no. We were interrupted by Howard and her brother.”

“Oh, Dom!” she said. Her coffee cup clattered back into its saucer. “Are you still planning that? It is all wrong, you know. It seemed all very well a few days ago before she arrived. But can you not see the impossibility of it now? She is formally betrothed to Edmund. Everyone knows. She was presented to everyone here last night as his future bride. What would happen now if you were to take her away from him? Edmund would be the laughingstock, and you would be in disgrace. The scandal surrounding Alexandra would be redoubled. I doubt that Edmund would receive you ever again. And besides, Dom, you would be very unhappy married to Alexandra. She is not right for you.”

“There I think you are wrong,” Lord Eden said. “She is a very sensible and understanding female, Mad. And she is not near as sober as she seems to be on first acquaintance. I think it altogether possible that I will grow to love her.”

“Oh, Dom!” she said.

He flashed her a grin. “I saw you waltzing with Purnell twice last night,” he said. “Perhaps we can have that double wedding after all, Mad.”

“What an appalling thought,” she said. “I mean, both weddings. I danced with him a second time only because Mr. Courtney took hold of my hand before the last waltz, placed it in Mr. Purnell's, and declared that he simply must see us dance together once more. Sometimes his lack of conduct is quite mortifying. I could tell that Mr. Purnell was as delighted as I was. He spoke scarce a word the whole time.”

“Well,” he said, “you must keep him talking this morning. Will you, Mad? I need some time alone with Miss Purnell.”

She sighed. “Keep him talking about what?” she asked. “Do you have any ideas, Dom? I used up all of mine long ago.”

He got to his feet. “Will you be ready soon?” he asked. “It's not going to take you half an hour to have your hair done or something like that, is it?”

“Twenty minutes,” she promised. “Go away, Dom. You are interfering with my digestion.”

But it wasn't Dominic who was making her toast taste like wood, she thought with a sigh as he left the room. It was the prospect of riding with Mr. Purnell.

She had been surprised the evening before when he had asked her to waltz with him. She had expected that he would be as relieved as she to find himself free of the necessity of being in close company with her for an evening. She had accepted, but she had refused to have her evening spoiled. Or at least she had tried to refuse. She had smiled up at him as gaily as if he had been one of the officers.

It had been difficult to keep that smile in place after a few minutes. He had looked directly down at her from those dark, unfathomable eyes of his and not responded to her smile, though he had made some effort at polite conversation.

She had been suffocatingly aware of him, of his tall lean body, his dark intense eyes, that lock of dark hair that seemed always to find its way across his forehead no matter how many times he pushed it back. Madeline usually liked to feel aware of the gentlemen with whom she danced. It made her feel more feminine to be held by an attractive man and to sense the pull of that attraction. She also liked to be kissed and had several times allowed a favored gentleman a taste of her lips. But the excitement of such moments had always been light, flirtatious, exhilarating.

She felt none of those things with James Purnell. He was very attractive, probably more so than any other man she had ever known. But the attraction she felt was not a pleasant feeling. It was not the sort of feeling that caused her to bubble over with high spirits and excitement. She could not imagine being kissed by him in the harmless way of other gentlemen during brief stolen moments, in an alcove or a shaded place in a garden.

Indeed, the thought of being kissed by James Purnell made Madeline's stomach lurch and her knees weaken. But not in pleasurable anticipation. He would not be gentle with a woman, she sensed. He would not be content with mild flirtation. It would be a dangerous game indeed to allow him close to her. And the thought was not exciting in any way. At least not in any pleasurable way.

She was afraid of Mr. Purnell. He was from an alien world. She would not be able to control him as she had easily been able to control all the gentlemen who had had a part in her life for the past several years.

“Are you enjoying the dancing?” she had asked brightly. “I think it is quite splendid, even though we have only a small room in which to twirl and only a pianoforte and a violin to supply the music.”

“And an abundance of men to admire you,” he had said.

She had laughed. “Do they? How very flattering.”

“You thrive on it, don't you?” he had said. “Hearts galore to capture and bruise.”

“And to break and throw away,” she had said with a gay laugh. “Tomorrow I will find more and begin all over again.”

“Perhaps someone will return the compliment one of these days,” he had said.

Something had been burning behind his eyes. And it was only as she had smiled into them that she had realized that he was serious. And it was at the same moment that she had realized just how very afraid of him she was.

“You are serious,” she had said, her smile frozen in place. “You think me heartless. You think I break hearts?” She had felt anger rise in her. “Name one, sir. One heart I have broken.”

“Howard Courtney's,” he had said without hesitation.

“Howard?” she had said. “Howard was a childhood playmate. He knows that I do not return his regard. Am I to blame if he still sighs over me?”

“You behave toward him and speak to him as if he were a slightly amusing toy,” he had said. “Is he worth no more merely because he is the son of a tenant farmer of your brother's and one of your rejected flirts?”

She had been speechless with anger and with the need to defend herself. But the music had come to an abrupt end and she had been given no opportunity to do so. By the time they were forced into company together for another waltz, the moment had passed. His contempt was hidden behind his usual taciturnity; her anger had turned her to ice. They had said almost nothing to each other. If he looked at her out of his dark eyes, she did not know it. She looked—and smiled—at everyone in the room except her partner.

And now she must ride with him. Talk with him. Keep him somewhat apart from Dominic and Alexandra. How could she? What could she say? How could she be civil?

Madeline sighed and pushed back her chair. There was no point in postponing the evil moment, she supposed.

A
LEXANDRA WOULD HAVE KNOWN
without having to be told that the gallery was Lord Amberley's favorite room in the house. There was, of course, the extraordinary beauty of the room. It extended the full width of the south wing, one wall almost entirely consisting of tall windows. The ceiling and frieze were painted with delicate gold-leaf filigreed patterns. Yet there was nothing to distract the mind long from the portraits that hung there.

And it was clearly these portraits that were the center of his home. They represented Lord Amberley's family, and his family obviously was very central to his life. Alexandra felt almost like an intruder as she listened to the pride and affection in his voice and looked at the painted faces of strangers.

This was the family of which she was to become a part. It was strange, she thought, that when one became betrothed to someone, one imagined that only two people were concerned in the contract. And then one became aware that many other people were also involved: the immediate families, aunts and uncles, neighbors. And even the dead. She would become part of this family when she wed Lord Amberley. Part of this rich heritage.

Why was it that she had always been almost unaware of her own heritage? Her parents had never talked about their ancestors. She had never known any family members beyond them and James, except for Aunt Deirdre and Albert and Caroline. Family, tradition, the past, had seemed not to matter in her home. Only the Bible and the moral laws. Only doing what was right and avoiding what was evil.

“These are my grandparents,” Lord Amberley said, pausing before two life-size portraits. “They are very like, though both were considerably older when I knew them.”

The grandmother who had loved him as a child and aided and abetted him when he played truant from the nursery! Alexandra looked with curiosity at the stern, handsome lady in her tall powdered wig and ball gown with the wide padded hips.

If only she had had someone like that in her life. Would it have made a difference? Would Papa have allowed a grandmother to help her break the rules of the house? She had never known her own grandparents. Her mother's parents had lived for many years after her birth, but their home had been in Berkshire, and they had never traveled the distance to Dunstable Hall.

“Come to the windows,” Lord Amberley said quietly from behind her. “Perhaps I have bored you with all my talk of people you have never known, Alex. But the view outside is splendid at least.”

It was only then that Alexandra realized that she had said almost nothing since they had entered the gallery. Her thoughts had been intensely private and rather painful. She had still been caught up in that private world that her music had taken her into, despite the embarrassment she had felt at being questioned by Lord Amberley and at knowing that she had been overheard.

“Oh,” she said, turning to him, “my silence does not indicate boredom. I like this room, Edmund. And I am fighting the urge to say it is lovely.” She flashed him a smile. “I like to paint portraits. I am always fascinated by other people's attempts.”

He smiled as they crossed to the windows. “You can see where you rode two days ago,” he said. “Not quite to the sea but a long way down the valley. I always like the view of the hills from here. They seem to point to eternity. It always seems an appropriate setting for a family gallery.”

“That is the chapel?” she asked, pointing to a small building close to the house but a little higher up the hill.

“Yes,” he said. “I don't think there is time to go there now, Alex, but I would like you to see it. It is very small and utterly peaceful. Is it not strange that some buildings can be filled with the presence of God?”