The Reluctant Bride (16 page)

Angus studied the young man who was speaking with extravagant hand gestures and kept sweeping his fair locks back from his high forehead.

‘The consummate fop but don't be misled by appearances. He's dangerous.' Pretending nonchalance for the sake of the public arena they occupied, Monsieur Delon patted his neat, rounded belly as if commenting on the food of which he'd just partaken in the supper room where he'd followed
Trione
. ‘In two days he travels in secret to Dover. We need you to tell us who his English hosts are. Before he leaves we also need to know his informers. He is, as you call it, piggy in the middle. We cannot get rid of him until we know with whom he is trading information.'

Though it was not late, Angus sagged with relief. In two days he would return to England. Granted, he would find little relaxation in the prospective surveillance operation, but he was desperate to see Emily again.

He would tell her everything pertaining to Jack Noble, including what Madeleine had told him. Truth was his best defence.

‘Who arranged the match between Madeleine and Levinne?' Angus asked his host when he discovered Monsieur Delon alone on the balcony where Angus had also been drawn for fresh air.

Delon turned with a genial smile. Despite the fact the Frenchman would be considered a traitor by his countrymen, there was an air of rare gentleness about him. Angus could not believe he would pressure Madeleine into marriage.

Angus frowned. ‘She said her mother …'

A look of surprise crossed Delon's face. ‘Madeleine was very young when her mother died. Too young to remember her, which is perhaps why she never mentions her.'

‘I see.' Angus nodded.

‘She is adopted, you know,' Monsieur Delon went on. His smile was fond. He seemed happy to share confidences with Angus away from the throng. ‘Madame Delon and I were unable to have children. After twenty years we thought we never would.'

Angus hesitated. ‘She knows?'

‘Yes, it is common knowledge. My wife had a companion of whom she was very fond. The woman —' he hesitated. ‘I believe the expression is that she got herself into trouble and, as she was unable to provide for the infant, we offered to bring her up as our own.' His smile did not falter. ‘Madeleine brought us great joy, but sadly, my wife died when Madeleine was five.'

In the early hours of the morning, as the guests began to drift away, Madeleine and Levinne joined Angus and Monsieur Delon, who were conversing in desultory fashion now inside near a curtained alcove.

‘What a successful evening it has been, Papa.'

Her complexion was hectic, as if she'd indulged either in furious weeping or frantic kissing. Angus recognised the forced gaiety and was not surprised when Madeleine avoided his look. She nodded at the count. ‘Good evening, Levinne. It has been delightful as ever.' With great gallantry he bent to kiss her hand then, taking her father's arm, Madeleine descended the steps to the waiting carriage.

They were silent during the journey home, Angus consumed by Madeleine's duplicitous liaison with Jack and wondering how much should tell Emily. Only enough to furnish her with the bare truth for he had no wish to add to her torment.

Once home, Monsieur Delon sleepily excused himself and Angus would have done the same had Madeleine not stopped him with a hand on his elbow. ‘A drink, Monsieur?'

‘Another time.'

‘No gentleman declines the company of a lady who desires to unburden herself.' Her voice was low and although Angus would have preferred to have gone to bed, he realised it was an opportunity to understand how much Jack Noble had compromised himself.

While he poured them both a glass of brandy, Madeleine paced in front of the fireplace.

‘The count is delighted to entrust you with the
Trione
boy.' Fingering the locket at her throat, her eyes darted to his face. ‘Not that he needs chaperoning all the way to Dover and beyond. Do you know how many men
Le Petit Trione
has killed? Even more than Madame Fontenay.' A deep sigh followed her brief laugh. ‘It makes me happy when the count is pleased.' Her words were stilted. She was highly agitated.

‘Then you will be a dutiful wife.'

‘It would be to my detriment were I anything else.'

He saw her hands clench. ‘I am a woman, Monsieur. I have no say in my future. My fate is a plaything in the hands of those who control it.'

‘Ah, but it is always the fault of the men who control the lives of women,' Angus murmured, thinking of how he'd grant Emily any latitude if he could only make her happy.

‘It is not only men,' she huffed. ‘Some women have a great deal of control, too.'

Angus took a sip, ignoring her while he wondered if Emily's distaste for her husband truly was as strong as Madeleine's clearly was for Levinne. His skin burned and his heart clutched to think of Emily sharing intimate confidences with Jack as Madeleine was doing with him.

‘Now, Monsieur, since you have offered me no comfort in respect to the unpalatable marriage I am about to contract, tell me about Mademoiselle Micklen instead of taunting me with your enigmatic silence. Jack did not love her. Will you tell her that?'

‘Please sit down, Mademoiselle.' He knocked back his drink to prepare himself. ‘You are making my head spin.'

Obeying, she regarded him tensely from an upholstered walnut armchair opposite, her foot tapping. ‘
Is
Miss Micklen beautiful?'

‘Very.'

She tried to hide her dismay, turning her head quickly. ‘More beautiful than I?' Her voice was thick with jealousy.

‘You should be flattered to know that you and she are very similar in looks.' He smiled at her pout. ‘On first appearances only, I should add.'

Madeleine's eyes flashed disgust. ‘How dare you! She is a mouse! Jack needed a wife who would not question his actions abroad. That's why he chose her.' Angus watched her bare her pretty white teeth before she hissed, ‘A lovely little lapdog. Those were his words. It has always been my destiny to marry Levinne. Jack knew that. He knew Levinne would have had us both killed if he discovered …' She shook her head in defeat, unwilling to put into words her risky amour.

Carefully, Angus said, ‘If Captain Noble was not in love with Miss Micklen he was a fine actor.' Angus saw he'd struck a nerve and wondered if he'd been incautious in pursuing this line.

She was quick to revenge. ‘And you swept Miss Micklen off her feet and were a welcome replacement for her dead fiancé.'

He forced himself to appear unaffected by her scorn. ‘No, Mademoiselle Delon.' Angus felt her eyes following him as he went to the sideboard to pick up the brandy decanter. ‘I knew she did not love me and could not for some time. But I also believed I knew what I was doing. I'd taken on the task of delivering Captain Noble's letters to Emily when I informed her of his inglorious death. You know he died in a brawl over a camp follower.'

Turning at her predictable gasp of outrage, he went on. ‘Let the truth be some solace. Why harbour false ideas if you must wed elsewhere?'

‘You are very blunt, Major McCartney.' Her chest heaved. He was tempted to believe it an act to display her fine bosom sheathed in its revealing gold silk, but Angus recognised the bleakness in her tone. ‘Were you so good as to similarly acquaint bereaved
Miss Micklen
with the true nature of her betrothed? I should hate to think that
she
still holds his memory dear.'

Angus was not prepared for the emotions her careless, wounded words unleashed.

Her truncated laughter was like a lance. ‘I would suggest that you do not know what to do with your lovelorn, bereaved wife who mourns another man, do you, Major McCartney?'

With hands not as steady as he would have liked, Angus refilled their glasses. When he turned back she stood in the centre of the room, hands on hips. Her cheeks were flushed, her pretty white teeth revealed to less advantage as her lip curled derisively. ‘You offered yourself as Miss Micklen's saviour.' Picking up the little ivory fan she'd placed on the side table, she used it energetically as she paced. ‘Lily white Miss Micklen is the bereaved fiancé and I am the villain for salvaging my pride at her expense.'

He said, carefully, ‘You and Jack considered it sport to deceive Miss Micklen.'

Dropping the fan, she reached for her brandy and took a convulsive sip. ‘Jack needed to see how far she would believe him.
You
must understand how necessary it is for the future wife of a'—she lowered her voice—‘spy to believe everything her husband tells her.'

‘Not if the information is no more than childish, vengeful games.'

Madeleine glared before the corners of her lush, full mouth turned up. She regarded him for a long moment. ‘Miss Micklen had the benefit of my good taste.' Her angst fell away and she laughed. ‘Silk ribbons of every hue. You have no idea what sport it was.' Her feigned good humour dissipated. As her mouth sagged, Angus had a glimpse of what she would look like when she was old and disappointment had marred her beauty. Slumping into a chair by the fire, she ran a hand across her brow. ‘Tell me, Monsieur McCartney, how satisfying a wife is poor bereaved Miss Micklen'—she glared at him—‘when her heart belongs to Jack?'

He was surprised by the force of his reaction; heard his voice brittle with pride as he replaced the stopper in the decanter, muttering, ‘Time is assuaging her grief.'

Madeleine raised an eyebrow. ‘Grief must have been the least of her considerations if she entered into marriage with you before Jack was cold in the ground. She was big with child and you were a lovelorn fool who couldn't own her any other way. Am I not right?'

With a loud chink Angus put down the decanter as Madeleine asked in gloating tones, ‘Will you tell her? About me and Jack? Should I sleep with a rapier beneath my pillow to protect me from Miss Micklen's – I mean, Mrs McCartney's – terrifying thirst for vengeance?'

‘Vengeance is not part of her nature. You need not be afraid.'

‘Then why haven't you told her the truth?' The words were honeyed now, not forceful. With studied carelessness, his wife's nemesis wrapped a curl around her finger as she leaned back in her chair. ‘If you're such a defender of the truth,
Major
, why didn't you tell your wife that Jack was my lover and that he deceived her from the start?' With a sly smile, she answered her own question with terrible acuity. ‘Because you were afraid she would shoot the messenger, weren't you, Monsieur? Because she does not love you. Her heart still belongs to Jack.'

Draining his drink, Angus put down the glass and strode to the door.

‘Major, surely you are not leaving. I am so disappointed. Not even a present for me? Miss Micklen was always such a conscientious correspondent. Jack never left me empty handed. But then, you are so fond of keeping secrets.' She simpered up at him from her casual pose. ‘Or perhaps you call it keeping your own counsel while you justify that it's for her protection. Perhaps that is why poor deluded Miss Micklen remains in the dark. Just as Jack told her nothing about us, you tell her nothing of your activities. What a hero you are, Major.'

Angus paused with his hand on the door knob. ‘She knows what is safe for her know.' Madeleine's charge rang uncomfortably true. ‘Emily is intelligent and naturally curious. If you are accusing me of deception through omission it is only to safeguard her and spare her feelings.'

Madeleine feigned a sigh of relief. ‘Ah, so even if Miss Micklen were the avenging kind, I need not fear being slain in my bed since she will not know where to locate
Chez Delon
because Jack wove her fairy tales and you believe that honour equates to silence.' She knocked back the last of her drink and ran an unladylike hand across her mouth. ‘Believe me, Major, if I were in Miss Micklen's pretty little slippers and knew where to find me, I'd be on the next packet with a dagger bound to each ankle. It is fortunate for both of us she is the timid sort.'

‘She is not timid.' Angus reflected on Emily's pride-induced invective and Mademoiselle Delon slanted a suspicious look at him. He realised he was smiling.

‘Jack said she was, and mother …'

She turned her head when Angus looked curiously at her, but when she said no more he bowed. ‘Good evening, Mademoiselle. I must go to bed,' he said, excusing himself and leaving with relief.

In the morning he could have sworn someone had gone through his trunk.

A light mist swirled through the churchyard and collected like dew on the black gauze of Emily's veil.

Dew? Or tears?

She shed none, however, as she lay her little posy upon her son's grave then straightened to read the inscription:

Jack McCartney

Less than an hour old but how lucky she was that kind Jonathan had organised the transport and burial of her little darling so Emily could visit him with ease.

The soft damp earth muted the sounds of approaching footsteps so that she turned with a gasp to find Caroline nearly upon her.

Her sister-in-law smiled as she placed her own flowers beside Emily's, squeezing her arm. The touch was comforting.

‘Are you all right, Emily?' She led her away, back to the waiting carriages. ‘I hoped you'd offer me some tea while I tell you that all the ladies invited to your tea party have accepted. They are so looking forward to meeting you.'

Emily smiled. ‘You're very kind, Caroline,' she said. And meant it.

Tea was served in the drawing room. The day was gloomy and the light dim so they sat near the large French doors that opened onto the garden and enjoyed the open vista of sweeping lawns.

‘Angus chose well.' Emily made a sweeping motion of the lovely room, determined to speak highly of him to the sister-in-law who championed him so fiercely.

Fixing her with a level look, Caroline chose to misconstrue her meaning. ‘He thinks he did, Emily. Once you allow yourself to move past your grief, you'll both be very happy.'