The Reckoning (97 page)

‘
But not, I think, my better,' Rosamund said, keeping a
rein on her temper. Three years of marriage had taught her that, at least – three years, and having Farraline, her warm
and sustaining secret. He would be coming to London soon –
in May – and she would see him again. Only a few more
weeks to get through; she would not quarrel with Marcus
now.

‘Do you know what the quarrel was about?' she said mildly.

‘
Yes, about Penrith. I must say I wish he had never come
back to London. His presence must be an embarrassment to
everyone. At all events, he should not have offered to come to
this house. Mama was quite right to ask you to refuse him.'

‘
Ask
me? She ordered me,' Rosamund said, her tempo
quickening despite her resolve. 'But in any case, am I hearing
you aright? I know your mother's least opinion is sacred to
you, but you do not, surely, share in her perverse and wicked
delusion that Harvey is a murderer?’

Marcus flushed. 'Of course not,' he said. 'He is, however, a
self-acknowledged adulterer, and he should not on that
account have presented himself to you as he did — particularly
when my unmarried sister is still living in the house. It shews
a want of delicacy on his part.’

Rosamund found herself remembering the words of her
mother's letter: 'You younger people are so much more
censorious than we were.' Not I, Mother, she said inwardly,
though without pride or pleasure. No-one could judge a situa
tion from the outside, but that is what everyone did — what
everyone was obliged to do. She found she could think of
nothing to say to Marcus in reply. This is 1820, she thought.
The Regency is over, and we are all older and sadder, though
perhaps no wiser.

‘
There's no need for him to call here,' Marcus said more
gently, disarmed by her silence. 'It's a pity you've already responded to his card, but no matter — I shall do all that's
necessary. Don't worry, I shall be perfectly civil. I'll send a
note to him this evening, asking him to dine with me at my
club tomorrow instead. That will cover our family obligations
to him, without involving you or Bab — or Mama.’

Rosamund felt an extraordinary impulse of gratitude
towards him for resolving a difficult situation with such deli
cacy — which was absurd since it was only his mother's inter
ference which had caused the situation in the first place, and
since the delicacy on his part was quite unnecessary. She
reminded herself that he had once more sided with his mother
against her, but even that didn't seem to whip up her anger as
it should. She simply felt weary of the whole thing.

‘Thank you,' she said at last.

The expression of her eyes, the tone of her voice, the whole
of her posture, spoke such deep-seated unhappiness that he
was filled with a fierce and protective tenderness towards her.
She looked suddenly so soft and vulnerable — so womanly — so suddenly approachable, when normally she was strong and well-defended. He sat down on the stool next to her.

‘
Ros,' he said. She looked at him passively, but he couldn't
think how to go on. All he wanted to say was
I love you,
but he
could not be quite sure, even now, that she wouldn't laugh at
him for that. And yet, she was his wife — he ought to be able
to reach her. Surprising himself with his own boldness, he put
out a hand and touched her cheek, ran his fingers along her jaw, and then, when she didn't pull away, down her neck to
her shoulder. Her dressing-gown was loose, and the tips of his
fingers slid inside almost without his meaning to, at the
hollow of her neck where the blood beat hot under the fragile
bones.

‘
Ros,' he said again, and it sounded more like a question
this time. He put his other hand out, cupped her face, leaned
towards her. Her eyelids fluttered closed, but she made no
other movement, towards or away from him. He could hear
his own breathing now. He held her face in his hands, and her
passivity was exciting him.

He touched his lips to hers, and they were soft, slightly
parted. He felt that she was not altogether unwilling, and
accustomed as he was to rejection, even so little encourage
ment was enough. He kissed her again, and let his right hand
slide down inside her dressing-gown until it encountered the
small, hot mound of her breast, and he felt her quiver. Love
surged up in him, reinforcing desire.

‘
Ros,' he whispered, his mouth against her ear, 'my dear.
Shall we?’

The dressing-bell had only just gone; it lacked almost an
hour until the dinner bell, and her maid would not return
until rung for. Still Rosamund said nothing; but when he got
up and led her to the daybed across the room she went with
him unresisting.

*

The Marquess of Penrith gazed at Héloïse hungrily across the
section of the drawing-room which separated them.

‘
How is she? Is she well?' What he really wanted to ask was
‘Does she ever talk about me?' but he hadn't quite worked up
the courage for that.

Héloïse's reception of him had been everything that was
kind, despite his arriving without warning, and calling her in
from a crisis in the fowl-yard which would not be resolved
without her. She pitied him very much, knowing how
unforgiving the
ton
could be to those who drew notoriety to
themselves; and as to his act of adultery, how could she be the
first to throw stones?
He had told her about his dinner with Marcus, and how he
had been implicitly forbidden contact with the Chelmsford
women-folk. Héloïse knew, as he did, that Marcus was a kind
and sensible man, and not given to flying up into the boughs
over nothing. If
he
could not find Penrith acceptable, what
chance was there that anyone else in London would?

‘
So I decided to go home,' he had told Héloïse. 'Well, it was
either that or to go abroad again, and you've no idea how
hateful abroad is: full of foreigners and exiles. And the exiles
are just the kind of loose screws one most wants to avoid –
sharps and debauchees and bankrupts.’

Héloïse allowed this large condemnation to pass, and said
instead, 'Home?'

‘
Back to Lasonby Hall – the family seat, near Penrith. I
thought there, perhaps, they would not be so concerned about
– about such matters. It's quite remote there.'

‘
Yes,' said Héloïse. 'And you would be lord of the manor –
that is everything.’

He wasn't sure quite how she meant that, but there was
nothing but kindness in her eyes. 'They would accord me the
respect due to the family,' he said hesitantly. And I thought
that if I dedicated myself to being a good landlord and a good
master, I could at least win the love of my tenants and
servants, even if –’

Even if that's the only kind of love I can ever have, was
what he meant, but he didn't say it. But of course she knew
exactly what he meant, as he could see from her expression. It
was then, after a pause, that he blurted out his question about
Polly.

‘
She is well,' Héloïse said. 'And she seems contented. When
she came here first she was very shocked and distressed. Thin and pale, too. Now she has put on flesh, and there is colour in
her cheeks – I think she has never looked better.' She smile
deprecatingly. 'Our good Yorkshire air, and good Yorkshire
food, have done the trick.’

He stared at her, as if trying to suck more sense out of her
words than they would yield. 'I was very glad when Marcus
told me she had come here. I thought it was exactly what she
needed, and I'm so grateful to you for giving her a home. I
did feel – responsible for her. I still do, though I suppose most
people would think that was absurd, or impertinent in me.'

‘
Not at all,' Héloïse said. 'And I perfectly understand the
necessity of your going abroad when you did –'

‘
She wouldn't come with me,' he said, anticipating some
criticism. 'I asked her – begged her – but she refused. I asked
her to marry me –'

‘Ah,' said Héloïse unemphatically.

He looked at her questioningly. 'You think that was wrong
of me?'

‘Perhaps – a little tactless.'

‘
But what else could I do?' he asked, his voice rising a little
with the unfairness of it all. 'If I hadn't asked her, she would
have thought I was abandoning her, wouldn't she?’

Héloïse nodded. 'I didn't mean to suggest there was an
alternative. Things have perhaps worked out as well as they
could.’

He bit his lip. 'May I see her? Will you allow me to see her?’

Héloïse raised an eyebrow. 'Allow you to? How is it for me
to forbid you? Polly
is
of good age – she may choose for
herself.'

‘
Will
she see me?' Harvey asked.

Héloïse hesitated. 'I don't know. But I think perhaps she
should. Why don't you go out to her? She's walking in the
rose garden with the little girls – my granddaughters. Their
mother left them here while she made some calls. Polly is very
fond of them. She loves children.'

‘
Yes,' said Harvey somewhat bleakly, and Héloïse felt she
had not been tactful. But with a man who had suffered such
things, there was very little that it was quite safe to say.

‘I will ring for someone to take you to her,' she said.

*

It was a warm, still day, and within its retaining hedges the
rose garden was full of fragrance and the sound of bees. Such
a mass, such a dazzle of colours and scents was almost over
powering, almost more than the senses could bear. Harvey
could hear the light, high sound of female voices somewhere
in the heart of the garden, and dismissed the servant who had
brought him.

‘I'll find her myself from here, thank you.'

‘
Very good, my lord.’

Harvey followed the sound of the voices, stepping on the
turf edging of the gravel paths so as not to be heard, passing
from one section into another, past bed after bed of massed
blooms, heady with scent on the moveless air, penetrating as
if into the heart of a gigantic flower, rainbow coloured.