Web of Love

Chapter 22

MADELINE FOLLOWED ALLAN PENWORTH into the green salon when they arrived home in the gig. She clasped her hands behind her and did not help him to lower himself into a chair even though she could see that he was very tired.

“It was lovely to see you up there on the cliffs,” she said, “and to know that you had driven the one gig yourself. I am very proud of my patient, Allan.”

“And so you should be,” he said with a smile that she knew hid pain. “If it were not for your bullying, I would probably be lying comfortably staring at a ceiling in Brussels now.”

She laughed. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I credit you with far more spirit than that.”

“I am going to go home,” he said. “To Devonshire, I mean. It is time I faced the music.”

“I’m so glad,” she said. “Your mother will be happy.”

He grimaced. “I can just imagine it,” he said. “She will not be willing for me to lift a spoon for myself.”

“I’m quite sure you will soon show them that you are perfectly capable of wielding not only a spoon but also a knife and fork,” she said.

“I’ll be leaving here within a few days, Madeline,” he said.

She smiled rather sadly. “Will you?”

“Do you want me to have a word with your brother before I go?” he asked.

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll tell him after you have left. Allan, I feel that I want to cry, and yet this is the only way, is it not? Will you write to me at least? I don’t want to lose my star patient altogether.”

“I’ll write,” he said.

“I will not offer to help you to your room,” she said. “But that is where you must go, Allan. You do not quite know what to do with yourself, do you?”

He smiled. “I’ll go, nurse,” he said, “without argument.”

She walked out into the hallway with him and watched him make his slow progress up the first few stairs. She turned toward the library. Edmund had gone in there after their return with a bundle of letters in his hand. Perhaps there was one for her.

There was one-from Lady Andrea Potts, who was in Paris with the colonel. But Madeline had scarcely broken the seal and read the first paragraph before having her attention effectively diverted by the hurried arrival of her sister-in-law.

“I had just sat down with Christopher on my knee,” she said breathlessly, eager eyes directed at her husband, who was leaning against the mantel, smiling indulgently at her. “Where is it, Edmund?”

“Where is what?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, don’t tease!” she said. “My letter from James. Where is it?”

“Oh, that,” he said. “Now, let me see. Where did I put it?” He looked about him before patting the breast of his coat and withdrawing a letter from an inside pocket. “Is this it? Ah, yes. Addressed to the Countess of Amberley. You, my love. From Mr. James Purnell in Canada.”

“Oh, Edmund, give it to me!” she said in exasperation, snatching it from his hand and ignoring his grin. “This is two in one year. How splendid. Do you suppose he is all right?”

“I suppose he is still alive if he can write you a letter,” the earl said. “And I suppose you will find out the rest when you have opened and read the letter. How am I expected to know?”

“Oh!” the countess said, turning away from him while Madeline read over again for the seventh time the last sentence of the first paragraph of her own letter.

“He is in Montreal,” the countess said. “He has come out of the interior this year and is to work in Montreal for the winter.” She read on. “He says it is very strange to be back in Lower Canada after being inland for three years. The people and the buildings and the noises are difficult to get used to. Imagine, Edmund!”

Madeline no longer read the sentence. She merely directed her eyes toward it.

“Oh, Edmund!” The countess spun around to face her smiling, lounging husband, her eyes shining and excited. “He is coming home next summer.” She looked back to the letter. “He is bringing the furs to auction. He will be here for a few months. Oh.” She looked at him, speechless for a moment. “I am so excited.”

“Yes,” the earl said, “I had noticed. I imagine Madeline has had her suspicions too. Would you say Alex is looking forward to seeing her brother again, Madeline?”

“What?” Madeline said. “Oh, yes, I think so.”

“He has never seen the children,” the countess said. “I wonder if he even knows about Caroline yet. Or about Papa. Perhaps he does not even know that.”

“The physician only suspected heart trouble, Alex,” the earl said. “Your father has seemed quite well since last winter.”

“Oh,” she said, holding the letter against her and twirling around. “He is coming home at last. I must go and tell your mama. And Dominic if he is back yet.”

The Earl of Amberley chuckled as his wife left the room. “I suppose a mere husband will have to take second place for a while next summer,” he said. “Do you remember Purnell, Madeline? But of course you do. He was here for a while during the summer of my betrothal to Alex. And who could forget the strange way he left in the middle of the night and the middle of a ball? Rather a strange character, wasn’t he? But very fond of Alex and she of him. Did you like him?”

Madeline considered. “He was very quiet,” she said. “I did not have a great deal to do with him. I scarcely remember him.”

“How is Lady Andrea?” he asked, nodding toward her own letter.

“What?” she said. “Oh, I haven’t finished it yet. I was listening to Alexandra. I am very happy for her. I think I’ll take this upstairs with me.” She smiled and left the room.

He was coming home. Oh, dear God, he was coming home. Or to England, anyway. Probably not to Amberley. His parents, Lord and Lady Beckworth, lived in Yorkshire. He would doubtless go there. Alexandra would travel there to meet him. Edmund and the children would go with her.

It was unlikely that he would come to Amberley.

If he did, she would stay away. She would go to Dom in Wiltshire, perhaps.

She would not have to see him even if he came. She did not want to see him.

Oh, God, he was coming home. Perhaps to Amberley. Perhaps she would see him again.

ELLEN WAS SMILING to herself as she unpinned her hair and shook it loose. She had been given her orders, and she would obey them. She would lie down and rest for an hour.

She would have done so anyway. She really was feeling quite tired. But it had been amusing and rather touching to have Dominic tell her in the gig on the way home that she must promise him to go to her room without delay, or he would carry her there. And to have his mother meet her in the hallway, take her arm through hers, and escort her to her room, scolding her gently along the way.

But she was not sorry she had made that climb. And really, they had done it in such slow stages that there had been very little exertion involved. And then, when they had reached the top and had to wait for one of the gigs to return for them, Dominic had made her lie down on the grass, spreading his coat beneath her in case there was any dampness left in the ground.

“But you will be cold,” she had protested. “This is October, Dominic.”

He had stretched out on the grass beside her, the dampness notwithstanding, and propped himself up on one elbow.

“I have survived worse,” he had said. “So have you.”

“Do you remember…?” And they had been off again into shared reminiscences, so that the arrival of the gig had finally taken them by surprise.

Ellen got into bed beneath the top cover and closed her eyes. She imposed relaxation on her body. They could surely be friends after all. And that would be enough. She would make it enough. It had been a happy afternoon. Blissfully happy.

The door to her room suddenly opened without any knock to herald someone’s arrival. Ellen turned her head to find Jennifer standing there, her face white, in obvious distress.

“What is it?” She pushed herself up on an elbow.

Jennifer closed the door and stood against it. “How long has it been going on?” she asked. “Since before Papa died?”

“What?” Ellen frowned.

“You and Lord Eden,” the girl said. “Were you lovers even when Papa was still alive? Were you?”

Ellen closed her eyes briefly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Jennifer…” she said.

The girl’s voice was shaking. “I suppose it is his baby you are expecting too,” she said, “and not Papa’s at all. It is, isn’t it?”

“I was never unfaithful to your father,” Ellen said. “Never, Jennifer. I loved him.”

“He never suspected, did he?” Jennifer said. “And neither did I. Papa thought that Lord Eden was always visiting because they were friends. But it was you and him, wasn’t it? And it is hardly surprising. I am only amazed that I was naive enough not to see it. Papa was not a handsome man, and he was much older than you. Lord Eden is the most handsome man I have known. How long has it been going on, Ellen? For years?”

Ellen shook her head. “Listen to me,” she said. “I know you are distraught and that you will not believe anything I say now. But listen, please. And when you have calmed down, you will know that I have told you the truth.”

She had never seen Jennifer sneer before. But she saw it now. “Papa believed your lies for years,” she said. “And I have always believed them. Let me see if I believe this one. I am listening.”

“Lord Eden-Dominic-and I are betrothed,” Ellen said. “And you are right. It is his child. I conceived it a month after your father’s death. While Dominic was recovering from his wounds in my rooms.”

“A remarkable recovery!” Jennifer said.

“There was nothing between us before that,” Ellen said. “He was your father’s friend. I was his wife. And I was faithful to him entirely from inclination. I loved him. Afterward, when Dominic was with me, we turned to each other for comfort, and this child was conceived. What we did was wrong. We both owed your father’s memory better than that. I have lived through terrible pangs of guilt, and even accused myself of infidelity at first. But I was not unfaithful, Jennifer, and I would not have been if your father had lived. Neither would Dominic. He is a man of honor.”

“You’re a slut and a whore!” Jennifer said quietly.

Ellen got hurriedly to her feet. A shaking hand came up to cover her mouth. “You will know when you have had time to think,” she said, “that you are being unfair, Jennifer. I wish you had not found out like this. Did you suspect when we were together this afternoon? I have been trying to find a way to tell you. Your grandfather and your aunt know already, though they do not know the identity of the father. I will talk with Lady Amberley or her mother-in-law. Perhaps they can help you. I know I can’t at the moment. I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t need anyone’s help,” Jennifer said. “I am not a child to be comforted with a hug. I lost Papa just a few months ago. But I still had you. I loved you as if you really were my mother, though you are young enough to be my sister. I am glad you are neither, Ellen. And I am glad at least that Papa never knew what was going on under his very nose. His wife and his best friend! It would have killed him.”

Ellen bent her head and closed her eyes. After a few moments she heard the door of her room open and close again.

Half an hour passed before she felt calm enough to go in search of the dowager Countess of Amberley.

LIEUTENANT PENWORTH FOUND JENNIFER half an hour after that in the music room. She was sitting at the pianoforte depressing keys seemingly at random with one finger.

“You are going right back to basics?” he said. “Wouldn’t scales be more productive?”

She put her hands palm-up, one on top of the other, in her lap and looked down at them.

“I must have said something particularly clever,” he said, hobbling closer to her on his crutches, “if I have silenced you.”

“Go away,” she said quietly.

He stopped behind the bench and looked down at the cluster of dark ringlets at the back of her head. “Why do I have the feeling that what you are really saying is ‘please help me’?” he said. “What’s the matter?”

“Go away,” she said.

He sat down slowly and carefully on the edge of the bench. “I have lost some of my body parts,” he said. “But I still have two perfectly serviceable shoulders left. Do you want to use one of them?”

She put one hand flat along the keyboard and pressed down all the keys beneath it. Then she slammed the hand down twice more. “Leave me alone,” she said. “Just leave me alone!”

He looked at her hand for a few silent moments before positioning his crutches under his arms and starting to get up.

“Don’t go!” she said. And she spread both arms along the keyboard and laid her forehead down on her hands. The noise was quite deafening until it faded away.

He set one hand lightly against the curls and sat quietly.

“Ellen’s baby is not Papa’s,” she said. “It is Lord Eden’s and they are going to be married. And Papa has not been dead four months yet. And I have no business saying this to a near-stranger.”

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Sometimes it is easier to talk to a stranger. You are badly hurt?”

“Papa worshiped her,” she said. “I think he loved her more than he loved me. And she pretended to love him. But she deceived him. With his closest friend.”

“I saw them together,” he said gently. “Your father and your stepmother, I mean. It never seemed like pretense to me. Are you sure this was going on before your father died?”

“She swears it was not,” she said. “But she is a liar as well as everything else I called her. I hate her. And him. But her more, because she deceived me too. I loved her.”

“Perhaps she is telling the truth,” he said. “Eden was with her, wasn’t he, after he was wounded? There can be a powerful bond between a wounded man and the woman who nurses him. I know. It happened to me too. Perhaps there was nothing between them until then. I have the greatest respect for Mrs. Simpson. And for Eden. I don’t think they would have done that to your father.”

“Were you in love with Madeline before you were wounded?” she asked.

“Not really.” He moved his hand to her shoulder as she sat up again. “I admired her a great deal. But then, I admired several young ladies, yourself included. I fell in love with her afterward-for a time. We have ended our betrothal now.”

She looked sharply around at him.

“We have not quarreled,” he said. “We have merely agreed, rather sadly, that what happened in Brussels was not a very real or lasting experience. We would not suit. We realize it now. Strange things can happen in those sorts of circumstances, you know. Perhaps even what has occurred with Eden and your stepmother. Give her a chance to show you that she is not what you called her-I can imagine what that was. But don’t assume without further proof that what has happened since your father’s death was also happening before then.”

“You are being kind to me,” she said. “Why? I never lose an opportunity to be rude to you.”

“Perhaps that is why,” he said with a smile. “Perhaps I have needed someone to be rude to me. Too much kindness has been driving me insane.”

He removed his hand from her shoulder as the door to the music room opened behind them. He turned to see the dowager countess enter. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows significantly.

“I am going to choose a book in the library,” he said, pulling his crutches beneath his arms again.

The dowager watched him leave the room, while Jennifer sat with bent head again, examining the palms of her hands.

“Well, my poor child,” the dowager said, taking the place on the bench that Allan Penworth had just vacated and putting an arm about the girl’s shoulders, “it would seem that my son and your stepmother have been causing you some pain.”

THEY WERE ALL INVITED that evening to dine with the Courtneys. Just an informal gathering, Mr. Courtney had assured them genially when he had come over the previous day, in the rain, to issue the invitation, to keep the young people amused. He said nothing about the older people, but everyone knew that Mr. Courtney liked nothing better than a lively social gathering, especially when it was in his own home.

He insisted on calling his home a farmhouse and his drawing room a parlor. In reality, he was a prosperous tenant farmer, a fact that was reflected in the size and grandeur of his home. But Mr. Courtney was not one to put on airs. His only real ambition had ever been to marry his only daughter well, and he had achieved that three years before, when she had married the younger brother of Baron Renfrew.

Even Lieutenant Penworth decided that he would join the party. He shared a carriage with Madeline, Lord Eden, and Ellen. Jennifer, who had neither looked at nor exchanged a word with Ellen since the afternoon, traveled in the other carriage with the earl and his wife and mother.

Lord Eden touched Ellen’s hand while a footman was helping the lieutenant into the carriage and Madeline was hovering over him.

“Trouble?” he asked quietly.

She nodded.

“You told her, then?” he asked.

She shook her head. “She guessed. But not quite accurately, I’m afraid.”

They did not have a chance to say any more. The other two had settled into their places, and the conversation became general.

The Lampmans had also been invited for dinner. The Mortons, the Cartwrights, the Carringtons, and the Misses Stanhope joined them later in the evening, and Mr. Courtney announced that there would be dancing in the parlor for anyone who cared to indulge in some exertion.

“No offense meant, ma’am,” he said in his hearty voice, taking one of Ellen’s hands between both his own large ones, “you being in mourning and all. But Susan has been feeling low, and Mrs. Courtney and I thought that a little informal dancing with friends would be showing no disrespect for the dead.”

“No offense is taken, sir,” she said, smiling at him. “And a little dancing would be very pleasant.”

Miss Letitia Stanhope had agreed to play the pianoforte, having quite recovered from her chill. Mr. Colin Courtney was to play the violin, though he had made it clear to his father that he would dance a few times with his young wife.

Lord Eden danced the opening set with Lady Lampman and the second with his sister-in-law. He had taken several uneasy looks at both Ellen and Jennifer and judged it wise to stay away from both for the first part of the evening, anyway.

He led the elder Miss Stanhope into a vigorous country dance, and soon had her blushing and shrieking and assuring him that someone of her years could not be expected to twirl quite as fast as the young girls.

“But you were always a dreadful tease,” she said breathlessly during a pause while they made an arch for another couple to twirl down the set. “You and Sir Perry, both.”

“Not twirl fast, ma’am?” he said. “Someone of nine-and-twenty not able to twirl fast? I find it hard to believe.”

Miss Stanhope shrieked again and called him a rogue.

He was breathless himself by the time the set had come to an end. He stood by the open door of the parlor to benefit from some of the coolness from the hallway beyond. Susan collided with him there on her way out of the room.

“Oh, my lord,” she said, looking up at him with large eyes, “I do beg your pardon. I did not see you standing there.”

Lord Eden smiled in some amusement. He thought he was too large a target to be invisible. It was amazing the number of times in the past several years that Susan had run into him.

“I was on my way outside,” she said.

“Not ‘outside’ as in ‘outdoors,’ I hope,” he said. “Is it not a mite chilly, Susan?”

“It is warm in here,” she said. “Besides, there are three new kittens in the barn, and I don’t trust the dogs not to harm them, despite what Papa and Howard say. Poor little things. They are so helpless.” Her eyes became suspiciously bright.

“Well, then,” he said, “we must simply beat off the brutes with a stick, Susan. And you shall show me the kittens.”

“Oh, but you must stay here,” she said. “You will want to dance. I would not dream of taking you out into the cold, my lord.”

He smiled. “A few minutes will not ruin my enjoyment,” he said. “Especially when there are new kittens to be admired.”

“You are very kind,” she said as they left the room and went in search of their cloaks.

“How fortunate you have been,” she said with a sigh as they picked their way across the farmyard a few minutes later, Lord Eden holding a lantern aloft, “to have had such a loving family to come home to. And such a distinguished family, too.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is good to be back.”

“My husband was of a distinguished family too,” she said. “I miss him so, you know. It is so lonely to be without him.”

“Is it, Susan?” Lord Eden hung the lantern carefully on a nail inside the door of the barn and covered her hand with his. “Give it time. It has been less than four months.”

“I know,” she said, “but I feel so helpless and alone. He was very strong and dependable. He looked after me.”

He felt in his pocket for a handkerchief and held it out to her.

“Oh,” she said, her voice high and trembling, “I am so unhappy. I pretend, you know, so that no one will know and pity me. But I am so unhappy.”

She was in his arms suddenly, her hands spread against his chest, her face hidden against his waistcoat beneath his cloak. Lord Eden wrapped his arms about her and rocked her comfortingly.

“Hush now,” he murmured. “No one would blame you for crying, Susan. It is perfectly natural.”

“Oh,” she said when she could speak around her sobs, “you are so kind. You were always so very kind to me.”

When she lifted a tear-stained face to his, Lord Eden kissed it. He kissed the tears from her eyes and cheeks, and he kissed the pouting little mouth that he used to find so enticing.

“Oh,” she said, sighing and resting her head against his shoulder, “I always feel so safe with you.”

“And so you are,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “Come, Susan, you must show me these kittens, and then I will take you back inside. The sound of music will cheer you up again.”

“Yes, it will,” she said, looking at him with wide-eyed gratitude and stooping into a bed of straw to lift up the kittens one by one and lay them against her cheek. She crooned to them and kissed their fur.

Lord Eden watched her with a smile and reached for the lantern as soon as she had put the last one down again.

“I cannot go indoors yet, my lord,” she said. “I must look a perfect mess, and my eyes must be fiery red. I cannot let anyone see me like this. You go on in. I will stay with the kittens for a while. Take the lantern. I can find my way in the darkness.”

“How foolish to think I would abandon you, Susan,” he said. “But your eyes look perfectly fine to me. I have never known anyone who could cry as you can without getting red eyes as a result. We will walk slowly back to the house, shall we?”

She leaned heavily on his arm as they walked.

“We had better go in,” she said with a sigh. “I am sure we will have been missed, and everyone will be wondering what we are doing. If we stay any longer, some of them will be foolish enough to expect some sort of announcement.”

“Well, we certainly would not wish to put your reputation in such danger, would we?” he said, smiling at her. “Besides, Susan, everyone knows that you were so devoted to your husband that it will be a long time yet before you can think of choosing another. I think your good name is safe.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, “I am sure it is, my lord.”

“And then,” he said, “everyone knows that we were childhood friends, Susan, and will quite understand if we treat each other with greater freedom than strangers would enjoy. You do not need to worry about being forced into a situation in which you will have to receive my addresses. I would not allow you to be so harassed. Never, my dear. I have too much respect for our friendship.”

“Oh,” she said, darting a glance up at him as they entered the lighted hallway of her father’s house, “you are most kind, my lord.”

He smiled fondly at her and handed the lantern to a servant. “Think nothing of it,” he said. “What are friends for, Susan, but to help and defend each other?”

ELLEN HAD DANCED with Mr. Morton and Lord Agerton and Sir Peregrine. She had even succeeded in smiling and conversing. But every single moment she was aware of a brightly gay Jennifer, and constantly her ears rang with the accusation, “You are a slut and a whore.”

She still did not know if it would be wiser to seek out Jennifer and try to talk to her again, or to give the girl time in which to think. She had decided to take the latter course, on the advice of the dowager countess. Her future mother-in-law.

Strangely, she had not found it difficult earlier to pour out the whole story. Perhaps she had still been too distressed over her encounter with Jennifer to feel embarrassment at having to admit the whole truth to Dominic’s mother. Or perhaps the fact that that lady had crossed her sitting room and put an arm about her shoulders and called her her poor dear had had something to do with easing the situation.

“How very delighted I am to hear that you and Dominic are to marry, dear,” the countess had said, kissing her cheek when the story had all been told. “I was so very afraid that you would each be foolish enough to let the other go.”

“You can possibly want me as a daughter-in-law, ma’am?” Ellen had asked.

“I cannot imagine any lady I would want more for Dominic,” the other had assured her. “You will be a companion to him, not merely someone to protect. A companion as well as someone to love is what he has always needed, though he has been foolish enough not to realize it for himself until now.”

“I do love him,” Ellen had assured her. “I am not marrying him just because I am in an awkward situation.”

The dowager had clucked her tongue. “Well, of course you love each other,” she had said. “Now, I will go in search of your stepdaughter. She is a dear and sensible girl. She will need a little time to adjust to the new facts, that is all. Give her that time, dear. Don’t press her. And for now, leave her to me.”

So Ellen had left Jennifer to the dowager countess. And was not at all sure that she had not taken the coward’s way out.

“Dance with me, Ellen?” Lord Eden asked as Miss Letitia and Colin began to play a waltz.

She had planned to keep away from him for the rest of the evening at least. She did not want to make matters worse as far as her stepdaughter was concerned. But it was a waltz, and he was smiling at her, and she could not help but remember how wonderful the afternoon had been before they had arrived home.

“Yes,” she said, placing one hand in his and reaching up the other to rest on his shoulder.

“Is Miss Simpson very upset?” he asked as they began dancing. “From the almost desperate way she seems to be enjoying herself, I would guess that she is.”

“She believes that I was unfaithful to Charlie long before his death,” she said. “She refuses to listen to reason.”

“And if I talk to her, I will only make matters worse, doubtless,” he said.

She nodded. “Your mother had a talk with her this afternoon,” she said. “I went to her and told her everything, I’m afraid.”

“I’m delighted you did,” he said. “I am eager to have this thing right out in the open, Ellen. I want to set a wedding date.”

“Do you?” she said. “I don’t know, Dominic. It still does not seem right.”

He held her hand more tightly. “Oh, no,” he said. “You are not going to change your mind again now, Ellen. Absolutely not. But listen. Miss Letitia and Colin are making a truly heroic effort to sound like a whole orchestra. Let us enjoy the waltz, shall we?”

She almost wished after a couple of minutes that they had continued the conversation, however awkward it might have been. She did not know of a dance that could make one more aware of the man one was partnered by than a waltz. She remembered the time she had waltzed with him at the Duke of Wellington’s ball. The time when she had been pushed against him. When she had become physically aware of him for the first time.

She could smell his cologne again.

“What do you use to wash your hair?” he asked, his smiling green eyes seeming very close. “It must be something quite different from anything used by any other lady of my acquaintance. A very enticing fragrance.”

MR. COURTNEY TOOK a hearty farewell of each of his guests several hours later. But he had something more to say to the Earl and Countess of Amberley, in the strictest confidence. Mr. Courtney spoke sotto voce when speaking in confidence. But since his normal speaking voice was often compared by his fond neighbors to a soft bellow, it was hardly surprising that even his whispers were heard by every one of the departing guests.

Susan, it seemed, had just accepted the offer of Lord Agerton. Not that there was anything public or official yet, of course, the beaming father added for the edification of all his listeners and the mortification of his daughter. Susan would not be out of mourning until the following summer. But they might all expect a late-summer wedding.

“My daughter to be the Viscountess Agerton!” he said, fairly bursting with pride and goodwill. “Well, my lord, who would have thought it?”

Susan blushed and hung her head and peeped up into the face of her future betrothed.