‘Not exactly,’ he replied, pulling his chair closer to hers in a confidential manner. ‘God forbid I should come between you and a nice little purse of yellow boys, which I know you need just at the moment, being temporarily embarrassed as you are. This is what I have in mind, Rosie…’
31
Amelia and Marcus went back inside the Aubertin mansion of their own free will, not waiting to be fetched, with all the comment that would cause. She couldn’t remember later if they’d discussed going back indoors or just done it by silent agreement. If they appeared dishevelled or otherwise distracted after their time alone together on the terrace in the moonlight, nobody was tactless enough to tell them so, and she was grateful for it. She then plucked up her courage and told their hosts that she was very sensible of their many kindnesses, but that she had always since childhood dreamed of being married at Wyverne House, and hoped that they would understand. ‘The tenants will all wish to attend, and the household staff, and the grooms and gardeners,’ she said winsomely, so sweet, she made herself feel slightly sick, ‘and it would be wrong, I think, to deprive them of that pleasure. There was a great celebration when my brother and Lady Wyverne were married, and we could hardly do less, I think.’ There was some truth in what she said, she realised as she said it, but as she wasn’t actually getting married at all, possibly ever, it didn’t signify in the least.
‘My dear child,’ said Sir Humphrey, much moved, ‘though I am sorry, of course, that you cannot find a way to accept our offer, your delicate feelings do you credit. Enormous credit!’ And he fished out his handkerchief and blew his nose with some energy. Even Lady Aubertin appeared to find her words unexceptionable and unarguable, which couldn’t be a common occurrence, and there was no more talk of Thursday, much to her relief.
Lord Wyverne soon contrived it so that they all began preparing to take their leave, saying firmly that he could see that his sister was tired. They departed, interchanging many expressions of mutual esteem as they parted from their hosts and from the Thornfalcons in the marble atrium.
‘Do you, in fact, wish to be married at Wyverne House, Melia?’ Rafe said once they were safe in the semi-darkness of the carriage. ‘I can appreciate that you would have said almost anything that came into your head this evening to prevent our hosts from quite killing you with kindness, so I don’t know if what you told them was true.’
‘Perhaps we can leave this discussion until a later date?’ Sophie suggested quickly. ‘It is important, I agree, but there is no need for such haste, and I think Amelia really is tired, as you said she was. I know I am.’
‘Very well,’ he responded readily. ‘It is exhausting to be the object of such relentless benevolence, it’s perfectly true. I am positive they will give you a splendid wedding gift, Amelia – I heard Lady Aubertin muttering something about an epergne. Surely you need nothing more to begin married life with than a truly monstrous silver epergne to set between you and Thornfalcon at the dinner table.’
Amelia made some sound that could have been construed as agreement, and then thought better of it. ‘Rafe, please don’t question me, because I couldn’t bear it now, but the engagement isn’t real. It never has been, and I wish now that I had told you long ago. It was all a foolish ploy, to improve my reputation, and matters have become more and more involved, till we find ourselves in this ridiculous situation.’ She could feel Sophie stirring, and knew she was about to take responsibility for it all, perhaps risking Rafe’s displeasure, and that was the last thing she wanted – more unnecessary conflict to be set at her own door. ‘It’s my own fault, nobody else’s, but I will put an end to it soon enough, I promise you. Can we stop talking about it, I beg you? If you are angry with me for being so reckless and need to tell me so, for which I wouldn’t blame you, I am sure it can wait.’
Rafe was silent for a moment. ‘I understand you,’ he said gently, ‘and if Sophie and I should need to have a conversation on this topic, it shall be in private and nothing you should worry about for a second. But it’s the cursed legacy of our father, isn’t it, making our lives complicated again? Damn him to hell, I wonder if we can ever be free of him? No, I won’t say anything more, don’t worry. Charlie, I can hear you thinking furiously beside me, and I promise I’ll explain, but let’s spare Melia, shall we? She’s been having a very trying time.’
Amelia, finding herself very close to tears, made a noise that she hoped Rafe would know signified her grateful thanks for his forbearance, and turned her head to gaze sightlessly out of the window at the passing lights, the familiar streets rendered mysterious by the moonlight and the sharp-cut shadows. It was a lovely night still, but she felt thoroughly miserable and on edge, and could not appreciate it. There would be no marriage, and no ridiculous epergne to celebrate it. At least Rafe knew now – that was something to cling to. It was plain that Marcus, though he desired her – he had said as much, in memorable detail that she was bound to believe – would not allow himself to be drawn any further into the coil that she had made for them. The last thing in the world he wanted was to be trapped into marriage with her.Thatwas why he had called a halt to their… intimacy. And it seemed to her that desire by itself meant nothing; it was certainly not enough for him to base the rest of his life and all his future happiness on. Probably he, or any man, would desire almost any woman who flung herself at him as shamelessly as she had. The artists ought really to be making prints abouther, not other, much more blameless females. They merely threw themselves from horses; she forced herself into his arms and… and pressed herself against him. Seized his head and rubbed it… A moan of mortification escaped her.
‘What’s that, my dear?’ Rafe asked.
‘Nothing,’ she muttered. ‘Nothing at all. I merely have a slight headache.’
She went straight up to bed upon reaching home, and fell eventually into a restless sleep, full of confused and fragmentary dreams that sometimes showed Marcus doing all the things he’d said he wanted to do with her, and sometimes showed him pushing her away disdainfully so that she fell down endless flights of steps, from which he showed no inclination at all to save her this time. Lavinia was there too, laughing at her in cold triumph as she tumbled down and down with no end in sight. She was more tired when she woke than she had been the night before, and her feigned headache had become a reality. And all of it was entirely her own fault.
32
Lavinia, Lady Thornfalcon, sat in her blue and silver bedchamber that fine morning, busily writing notes. She had told the household in the strictest of terms that she must not be disturbed, and they were all of them accustomed to obey her without question, with one exception. She could hear that exception, her lovely daughter, shrieking energetically in the distance, but it did not disturb her in the least. The house was full of people, one of whom would no doubt deal with her, probably by bribing her with sweetmeats. Lavinia had more important matters to concern herself with. These matters, after all, concerned Priscilla’s future as well as her own.
There was a great deal to organise in a short time, and her Friends must be mobilised in her aid. Most of them had been waiting for such an opportunity, and would ask nothing better than to help their idol to achieve the happiness that they all agreed she so richly deserved. As she now had Rosanna Wyverne’s vital co-operation – for a price, naturally – she could set her plan fully in motion. The Wyverne girl would soon be ruined – her notorious stepmother would make quite sure of that. She would never be received in society again, nor would the rest of her family. Their reputation had been precarious enough already. All it needed to destroy it once and for all was – she tittered to herself genteelly at the thought – a little push. Perfect.
It seemed to Lavinia most unlikely that Marcus would wish to marry the chit when her good name lay in tatters, since it was ridiculous to imagine that he cared for her in the slightest, but it really didn’t matter one jot. That was the beauty of it; people were so easy to manipulate for one of her intelligence and insight. She had taken the silly girl’s measure in an instant, and was almost positive that she was the sort of idiot who would nobly insist on ending her engagement once she was ruined, rather than dragging the man she loved down into the dirt with her. Lady Amelia would cry off, and since Marcus didn’t give a damn about her, he would hardly insist on leading her, unwilling, to the altar. He couldn’t – he was a gentleman, and must accept her rejection without argument. Gentlemen were so restricted by their ridiculous honour, which was wonderful as it left a large field open to those who were constrained by no such considerations. To those who were prepared to be utterly ruthless to get what they wanted.
He’d then be free, and Lavinia would redouble her own efforts at seduction, and eventually, she could not doubt that she would be successful. If Marcus found her warm and naked in his bed one night, she thought, with the Wyverne girl lost to him forever, he would not have the strength to resist her. She had not failed to notice that he dared not lay a hand on her now, not so much as a finger, and not, she thought complacently, because he found her repulsive. That was a preposterous idea. The reverse was true: if once he touched her, desire would overwhelm him and he would be hers entirely again.
Hewashers, and always would be. She would give him a son, as quickly as possible, and there would be no more ridiculous talk about the marriage being voided; Papa was an influential man, and had promised he would make certain of that, no matter how many bribes he might have to pay. She would betheLady Thornfalcon again, with all the status of a wife and not a poor, sad widow, and this time she would remain so. There would be no more need for accidents; she and Marcus would be blissfully happy, as they always should have been, the last eight years forgotten. Ambrose had loved her – worshipped her – as was her right, but he had been so dull, loving the country, never wanting to spend the Season in London. She had warned him that he shouldn’t oppose her, because people who opposed her never prospered, but he had ignored her warning and now he was dead. Really, it had been his own fault.
And if she and Marcusweren’tblissfully happy, after a year or two and a son or two, well… she had rid herself of an inconvenient husband before and got away with it. If necessary, she would do so again. But this time, only once her position was entirely secure. No more mistakes. If his mother and sister stood in her way, they too might find themselves unexpectedly unwell. The girl Helena was irrelevant and could easily be married off to somebody or other, preferably somebody who lived a good long way away in some tumbledown castle in Scotland – she would see to that as soon as possible. And the old lady was quite feeble enough already, which would make it even easier. A slip on the stairs – well, perhaps not that, but she would think of something. She was so clever and resourceful. And nobody in the world had the slightest suspicion of it. She had run rings round that bumbling Bow Street Runner; she ran rings round everyone.
She was writing what was effectively the same note a score of times, pressing hard with her pen to underline significant parts, and would have her maid or one of the other servants deliver them – discreetly, of course. She wasn’t so foolish as to put her name to the missive, and was disguising her hand as she wrote. If she should later be charged with responsibility, though she was sure she wouldn’t be, she would be able to deny it without blinking. And really, even if she had to admit authorship, there was nothing criminal in what she proposed. There would be a touching family reunion in a very public place – again, she smiled at the thought – and all she was doing was inviting a few friends to witness it.
The notes said:
Supporters of Lavinia! You have spoken fine words in praise of your Persecuted Heroine, but it has not been enough. It is time for her suffering to be put to an end. If you attend the Opera House Masquerade on Saturday, you will be present to witness a shocking event that will change everything for the better. An Unworthy, Base Wretch of a Female will receive her just desserts, and you shall see it happen.
All the Poor Unfortunate Lady you so love could ask of you is that you tell the world of what you have seen. To bear witness will be enough. Victory is near, and you may, if you have the courage, play a part in it that will never be forgotten.
I am confident that She may depend on your enduring affection.
A Friend
33
Amelia’s downcast state did not improve over the next few days, which were a dizzying whirl of social engagements – balls, breakfasts, dinners and picnics. When they were at home, a great number of calls were made on her and Sophie, and cards were left for their attention by ladies who had never previously paid them such honour. The doorknocker was never still, and the mantel was thick with invitations for yet more events in the coming weeks.
The attack on her seemed to have brought about a noticeable change in the way she was viewed by the greater part of society. Perhaps even some of the more sensible Friends of Lavinia could see that things had gone too far, and welcomed this opportunity to pull back and to moderate their behaviour before any more harm was done. Mr Pennyfeather had not been seen or heard of in a while, and Sophie had agreed that this must mean that his enquiries had petered out into nothing, as they had always suspected that they might. Probably, it was for the best – she had had enough of scandal.
