Regency Scoundrels And Scandals
Her hands were shaking so much that Eva could hardly unlock the door. She managed it at last, turning as she opened it for one last look at him. ‘How can I forget?’ she whispered. ‘I love you.’ It was safe to say it, he could not have heard her, the orchestra was just drawing a particularly noisy country dance to a triumphant conclusion amidst enthusiastic clapping. The dancers coming off the floor engulfed her, swept her away from the door as the Rhône had carried her, dizzy, weak, unable to fight her way to the edge of the room.
‘Eva!’ It was Bel, tugging her arm. That hurt; she remembered vaguely Jack gripping her just there, a hundred years ago. ‘Come and sit down.’ She steered Eva to a chair in an alcove. ‘What happened?’
Eva could only shake her head, dumbly. Words seemed to have deserted her. ‘You need a drink.’ Bel looked around her. ‘Why is there never a waiter when you need one? Theo! Yes, I know it is you, no one else in London is that tall with auburn hair, you numbskull. I need two glasses of champagne, at once. And a glass of brandy. Shoo!’ She pushed the indignant young man off into the throng. ‘My scapegrace cousin Theo,’ she explained. ‘Did he say no?’
Eva nodded.
‘Why? Why on earth would he say no?’
‘Because he does not love me, I suppose. Because I made a mull of it, because he does not want to end up as an adjunct to his wife in a foreign court.’
‘You told him you love him? No?’ Eva shook her head. A whisper he could not hear did not count. ‘Why ever not?’
‘Because I thought he realised that was why I was asking him, and then he told me he did not love me, so what was the point?’
‘He told you?’ Bel stared at her. ‘In so many words? He actually said I do not love you?’
‘He had told me he would not marry me and then he said his answer would be the same whether or not he loved me. I think.’ She shook her head, too stunned by the whole experience to trust her memory any more. The young man—Theo, was it?—came back with a waiter at his heels. Bel took a brandy glass, pressed it into Eva’s hands and then scooped the two champagne flutes off the tray. ‘Thank you, Theo.’
She waited until her cousin had retreated, then said, ‘Drink it!’ Eva tossed back the brandy, reckless now for something to take the edge off the pain, while Bel took a reviving drink of champagne, then removed the empty brandy glass and substituted the other flute for it. ‘I will be drunk,’ Eva protested.
‘Good. I’d get tipsy and then go home if I were you, there isn’t any purpose in waiting here for the unmasking, you’ll only be miserable.’ Bel sipped her drink, brooding. ‘He may well think better of it in the morning,’ she offered at length.
‘I doubt it. I hit him.’
‘Good.’
They brooded some more, the brandy and wine burning dully through Eva’s veins. She recalled the last time she had been tipsy—a most infrequent happening in her well-regulated life. That had been with Jack in the inn and she had been utterly indiscreet. She felt more than indiscreet now, she felt desperate for action, to get away, not stay trapped here in this foreign country, miles from home.
‘There’s Lord Gowering,’ Bel observed. ‘See, in the red-sequined mask with one shoulder higher than the other. He directs all the agents in the Foreign Office, though you wouldn’t think he was a spymaster to look at him. I have half a mind to go and tell him he should sack my brother for not taking care of you.’
The tall, stooping man was heading in their direction. ‘Introduce me,’ Eva said suddenly.
Bel shot her a startled glance, but got up and accosted the man. He bowed over Eva’s hand. ‘I had not expected to see you here, your Serene Highness. I understand we have to thank you for some very interesting armament designs. You are none the worse for your journey, I trust?’
‘Perfectly recovered, I thank you, my lord. So much so that I wish to leave immediately for the Continent, with my son. I believe the butler and footmen at my present lodging are your men—I would like to borrow them for the journey.’
‘But, of course, ma’am.’ She gestured to the seat beside her and his lordship took it. ‘There will be no difficulty with papers, naturally, but we had not expected you to wish to return so soon.’
‘I am anxious about my brother-in-law, the Regent,’ Eva explained, hearing her own voice fluently explaining how her son wanted to go home very badly, how she felt quite rested now—all as though there was some ventriloquist behind her speaking these words while she writhed in dumb misery. It must be the brandy. And years of training.
‘Very well, ma’am, I will have papers for the staff sent to you first thing tomorrow. I wish you a safe and speedy return home, and we will hope to see you again in London when travelling conditions are a little less…exciting.’
He bowed himself off, leaving Bel staring at Eva. ‘What am I going to tell Sebastian?’
‘Nothing,’ said Eva flatly. ‘Nothing at all if you can help it. Bel, thank you for your support, your friendship. I would have loved to have you as my sister.’
‘And I you. Oh, Eva, don’t give up on him.’ Bel took Eva’s hand and squeezed it.
‘I think for my own sanity, I must do so.’ Eva stood up and shook out her skirts. ‘Could you tell our hostess that I have a migraine and had to slip away?’ She hesitated, Bel’s hands in hers. ‘Goodbye, Bel. Look after him for me.’
As she hurried away through the crowd, she caught Bel’s wrathful parting words. ‘Box his ears, more like.’
Jack stayed where he was after Eva had gone, waiting for his reddened cheek to subside enough to show himself again. The marks of her fingers would probably be there in bruises tomorrow; she had hit with intent to hurt him, and succeeded.
How he had had the strength to do the right thing and turn her down he had no idea. At least she had said nothing about loving him—he did not think he could have coped with that. She was lonely in that great castle, who could blame her? What they had shared had been a revelation for her, but they could not recreate those feelings, not in the humdrum world of court life.
It would be a disaster if they married and he loved her too much to risk it. Jack began to pace, the part of him that was trying to be fair, trying to understand, giving ground again to his pride and his temper. What had possessed her? He should have been the one doing the asking, not her. He should be the one with title and wealth and position to offer, not her. He could not be bought like a toy, and a husband was not something that was easy to throw away when you tired of him, either.
Leave England? Leave the estate that he had inherited from his maternal grandfather? Leave the rolling countryside, the broad river valleys, the green hills for a foreign country where he had no role except to please the first lady? He wanted sons who would be Englishmen, he realised, not exiles in another country where their half-brother had a status wildly different from their own.
Damn it! She should have guessed all that, she should never have asked him. He was an English gentleman, not some foreign gigolo—
‘So you are skulking in here.’ Hell and damnation, it was his interfering sister. Jack glared at Bel and she whipped off her mask and glared back. ‘My goodness, that is going to mark,’ she observed, apparently with some satisfaction, walking up to touch her fingertips to his cheek.
‘Thank you, I do not need a second opinion on that,’ he said tightly. ‘I collect I have you to blame for this idiotic situation.’
‘I suggested the ball and this room,’ Bel said, sitting with some grace on the rumpled chaise. ‘You are entirely to blame for the situation being idiotic.’
‘You consider that I should have accepted her Serene Highness’s flattering offer, do you?’ He had never felt so out of charity with his sister.
‘As you love her, I would have thought that was a logical thing to do.’
‘Who told you I love her?’ He saw the trap the moment he put his foot into it. Bel looked smug. ‘I just did, didn’t I?’
‘I had guessed, that was why I wanted to help you both. Has it not occurred to you, numbskull, that she loves you, too? Or are both of you so determined this is all just about sex—’ Bel went scarlet, but pushed on ‘—that you cannot see what is in front of your faces? Do you really think a woman like that is going to do something as difficult as asking a man to marry her if she did not love him?’
‘She does?’ Jack discovered his legs were feeling decidedly odd. The only place to sit was beside his sister, so he sat on the end of the chaise next to her and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Damn this thing.’ He yanked off the mask and threw it on the floor. Bel just looked at him.
Eva loved him? He loved her, so it was not impossible, just something he had never dared to contemplate. She had wanted his lovemaking, his company, his friendship—was that not all she had wanted? Now his mind brought back the image of her face as she turned to him, her hand on the key of that door. What had she said, her lips moving, but no sound reaching him above the swell of the music?
He had learned to lip read as a useful espionage skill, but it needed a lot of concentration. This was Eva: she deserved that concentration. He closed his eyes, searched for the picture of her moving lips, his own moving as he tried out the words. How can I forget? I love you.
‘Why did she not say so?’ His sister, a woman, might be able to explain this mystery.
‘Because she is shy, because she was afraid you would reject her, because she rather thought her idiot lover might have some inkling without having to be hit over the head with it,’ his loving sister snapped.
‘Oh.’
‘So, what are you going to do about it?’ Bel demanded after they had sat in silence for minutes.
Jack sat staring at the crumpled scrap of black fabric at his feet. ‘Nothing.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
‘What! Jack, you love her—now you know she loves you and you still say you will do nothing?”
‘Bel, she is a Grand Duchess, for goodness’ sake. I am a younger son.’
‘Of a duke,’ she retorted. ‘Your breeding as a scion of one of England’s oldest houses is as good as anyone’s in this country. You know what you are, Sebastian John Ryder Ravenhurst? You are a snob.’
‘A what?’ Jack twisted round on the chaise to stare at her.
‘A snob,’ Bel repeated. ‘An inverted snob. You refuse to justify your own position, to stand up for who and what you are because she has that title. One she married, not one she inherited, mind you. One of these days you could be a duke—your son certainly will be.’
‘Bel!’ She had truly shocked him now.
‘You think I do not understand about our brother and his situation? If he is happy, I am certainly not going to judge him. And you are an English gentleman; the Mauborgians should be grateful to have you as their Grand Duke’s stepfather.’
‘Mauborgeois,’ Jack corrected absently.
‘So, what are you going to do now?’ Bel demanded again, ignoring his interjection.
‘Nothing,’ he repeated.
‘Nothing.’ His sister sprang up and regarded him, hands on hips. ‘Nothing. Because your pride will not accept you having to stand one step behind your wife on state occasions. Because you will not compromise on how you live your life. Because people might talk. I could box your ears, Sebastian Ravenhurst, but a better woman got in first.’
The door slammed behind Bel. Jack stayed where he was, staring at the painted panels, trying to make some sense of his feelings. His head ached, his face ached, his heart…ached was an altogether inadequate word for how that felt. With a groan he flung himself back full length on the chaise cushions and found his nostrils full of the scent of Eva.
Pride, compromise, status, love. It was a word game, a riddle he had no idea how to read.
‘How long may I stay in Maubourg?’ Freddie demanded as the carriage rolled over London Bridge.
‘Until the new term. This is not the end of school, young man, you know your papa wished you to be educated as an English gentleman.’ Eva carried on settling all her things for the journey. Books into door pockets, her travelling chess set on the seat, some petit point in her sewing bag. Freddie’s seat was cluttered with packs of cards, books, something he was whittling out of wood and a box of exercises Herr Hoffmeister insisted he took with him. They were doomed to stay there, Eva suspected—the tutor was taking a holiday, much to Freddie’s well-suppressed glee.
‘Why did Papa not let me come home for holidays?’ Freddie persisted.
‘I think because he wanted you to be thoroughly English,’ Eva explained. ‘Then when you were older you would have all the contacts you needed for diplomacy, and your English would be perfect.’ Which it was. Now, they had slipped back into a mixture of French and the Maubourg dialect; she did not want her son arriving home sounding like a foreigner.
‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you, too.’ She suppressed the nagging suspicion that Louis had wanted their son to grow up with less feminine influence, or even that, as Napoleon’s influence grew, he had doubts about having married a half-French bride. Whatever it was, he had never chosen to explain himself to his wife, merely citing her tears as evidence that Fréderic was better off at school. ‘Still, now you are so much older, I am sure Papa would have wanted you to spend your holidays in Maubourg.’
Freddie nodded thoughtfully. ‘And I can study with Uncle Philippe so I will learn how to be a proper Grand Duke.’
‘Yes, my love.’ She smiled at him, tears of pride shimmering across her vision so that he became a blur. Last night, amidst the chaos of the preparations for their sudden departure, she had found no opportunity to shed the tears that filled her heart for Jack until she had reached her bed, and then, alone at last, she had wept for what might have been, but now never could be.
‘Uncle Philippe is a very good Regent, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘But he doesn’t know about things like sport and adventures and things like that, does he?’
‘No, I don’t think those interest him.’ Her brother-in-law was the scholarly one of the family.
‘I do wish you were going to marry Mr Ryder after all,’ Freddie said.
‘Freddie! Whatever makes you think—?’
‘I thought you loved him. You were very sad when he went away and didn’t say goodbye. And the way he looked at you. I may not know much about these things,’ her nine-year-old son said with dignity as she gaped at him, ‘but I can tell when two people like each other a lot. I don’t understand why he didn’t ask you to marry him.’
‘Possibly because I am a Grand Duchess,’ Eva said more sharply than she intended.
Freddie nodded. ‘I did wonder about that. But then, he’s a duke’s son, isn’t he? One of the chaps at Eton recognised him and told me. I know it’s a long time since you’ve really been in England,’ he explained earnestly, ‘but it’s a very important family; perfectly eligible. Do you think I ought to write and give him permission?’
‘Freddie!’
‘It is a difficult question of etiquette,’ her son pondered, apparently oblivious to his mother’s horrified expression. ‘I shall have to ask Uncle Bruin. I mean, Mr Ryder is a lot older than me, after all.’
‘Twenty years,’ Eva said weakly.
‘Old enough to be a proper father, and young enough to be fun,’ the Grand Duke opined solemnly. ‘Just right, really.’
‘Freddie, promise me, really, truly, promise me you will not write to Mr Ryder,’ Eva begged.
‘Sure? Well, tell me if you change your mind, Mama.’ Freddie found his pocket telescope and proceeded to risk motion sickness by trying to use it while the vehicle was moving.
Eva slumped back in the corner of the carriage. Bel thought he loved her. Her own son thought he loved her. She had hoped he loved her. But Jack had not said it. Were they all wrong—or was he deliberately not telling her?
Two days later Eva was still pondering. They were travelling at a reasonable speed, one of the footmen up on the box beside the driver with a shotgun, the other man, with Grimstone, riding on either side of the carriage. There had been no problems, no apparent danger—it seemed Antoine’s plotting had died with him.
She looked out at the countryside, contrasting it with England and with Maubourg. She seemed never to have found a real home—their French château was a distant memory, she had been in England only a short while before Louis had married her, and Maubourg was hers by marriage, not by birth.
Jack struck her as a very English Englishman. She was not sure what that meant, but she had seen a change steal over him after they had landed, a sense that he was home, that he had taken a deep breath and relaxed. She had asked him to leave that without a single thought to how it would feel for him, without even asking what lands he held, how attached he was to them.
She had fallen in love with the man, without ever seeing him in his true context. How could she hope to understand him? How could she know what she was asking him to give up for her?
Layer upon layer, Eva realised as the carriage rumbled over the cobbles in Lyon three days further on, she had failed to understand Jack. She should not have made that proposal; instead, she should have told him she loved him and waited for his response. She should not have demanded, she should have found some way of letting him know it was all right to propose—if he did love her. And she should never have started this without thinking through how she could compromise her way of life to fit with his.
She still could not imagine how that could be achieved. There was the Rhône, swirling past the road. The river that had almost taken her life, if it had not been for Jack. ‘Not long now,’ she said cheerfully to Freddie, and fell back into thought about compromise. But how? There was her son, her duty—and a country hundreds of miles from England.
The first sight of the castle struck Freddie dumb. Eyes wide, he stared, then, as the carriage rumbled over the bridge and began to climb the steep streets to the great gate, he darted from side to side, searching for familiar landmarks, places he could recognise.
There was a clatter of hooves and Grimstone spurred ahead, going to warn the castle of their arrival. And then they were there; guards were spilling out through the gate to line up on either side, townspeople coming running to see what was afoot.
The carriage drew up, the footman let down the step and reached to hand Eva down. ‘No.’ It was Freddie. With a dignity she did not realise her small son possessed, he said, ‘Excuse me, Mama,’ and climbed out first. Then he stood by the side of the door and held up his hand for her to take, making a little ceremony out of her appearance.
His expression as he looked at her was pure pride. Pride for himself, pride in her and a glowing pride at being home where he belonged.
Pride. Eva hung back as Philippe appeared in the gateway and walked steadily towards his nephew. Freddie started forward, almost at the run, then collected himself and walked up to his uncle.
‘Your Serene Highness, welcome home.’ The man bowed to the child and suddenly all the dignity was gone. Freddie threw his arms around his uncle’s neck.
‘Uncle Bruin! We’re back!’ He twisted round. ‘Mama, see, Uncle Bruin is well again.’
‘Yes, so he is.’ Eva came forward, both hands held out to Philippe. ‘Thank Heavens for it.’ But in the back of her mind the word lingered. Pride. Pride and honour. So important to men, so easily forgotten by women who loved them.
‘I am so sorry I left you,’ she murmured to her brother-in-law as he took her arm to take her into dinner, hours later.
‘It was the right thing. Your place was with Freddie, and by going you threw all Antoine’s calculations into disarray.’ The Regent patted her hand as he helped her to her seat next to him at the round table the family used when they dined informally alone. With Antoine gone, there was just the three of them now. Philippe’s wife had died many years before, leaving him childless.
‘You look well,’ Philippe observed as the soup was served and the footmen retired to give them privacy. ‘It may have been an odd holiday, but it has done you good to get away.’
‘For the first time in over nine years,’ Eva said. ‘Yes, it was a…change. And the long days in the open air were invigorating.’
‘I never understood why you did not go away before.’ Philippe passed her the bread.
‘Louis preferred that I did not travel,’ she began.
‘Louis has been dead almost two years,’ his brother reminded her gently. ‘You have been very obedient to all his wishes.’
Yes, she had, Eva realised. The rule that Freddie must stay in England, the rule that she did not travel. Yet Philippe was a more-than-competent Regent, it was hardly that she needed to be there all the time—only when Freddie was here in the holidays. And the rest of the time he was in England…
Compromise. Suddenly, in her mind’s eye, she could see a compromise, a plan she could lay before Jack. He might still reject it—and her. But she had to go to him, put things right somehow, even if all that meant was that he felt he could write now and again to Freddie.
‘Freddie. Philippe.’ They broke off in the middle of an intense discussion about Napoleon’s tactics at Waterloo that involved the salt cellars, a mustard pot and a bread roll, and turned to her politely. ‘Would you both mind very much if I go back to England?’
‘When?’ Philippe looked startled, but her son’s face was one big grin.
‘Tomorrow. There is something I need to do.’ She smiled back at Freddie. ‘Someone I need to see.’
Eva was apologetic to her escort. She could take Maubourg men with her on the journey back, she offered. Grimstone and his two companions must be travel weary and saddle sore.
‘No, ma’am.’ The butler-turned-bodyguard was adamant. ‘The guv’nor would expect us to stick with you, however long it takes. Where are we off to now, if I might ask, ma’am?’
‘England,’ Eva said firmly. ‘Straight back to London.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ The butler managed an estimable straight face. It sat oddly with his battered pugilistic features. ‘Whatever you say, ma’am. Back to London it is, then.’
She did not leave until well on in the afternoon the next day. Partly it was because she wanted to enjoy the sight of Freddie rediscovering the castle, partly because she wanted to be completely sure that Philippe was well, but also because she was determined to retrace the route she and Jack had taken and to stay in the same inns. So, unless she was going to arrive ludicrously early at the first one, she needed to delay her departure. She was not certain what she would do when they reached the area where they had slept out under the stars, but she would deal with that when she came to it.
It was about six in the evening when the carriage, driven by a very bemused driver, deposited the Grand Duchess of Maubourg on the threshold of one of her more humble inns.
It was the same innkeeper who greeted them and he blinked a little at the sight of her again so soon, and with only servants at her back and no husband. But he did not recognise her true self this time, either, cheerfully ushering in Madame, lamenting that her esteemed husband was not travelling with her, and assuring her that the same bedchamber as last time was free. They had no other guests, he explained, directing her escort to a spacious attic room, although a hunting party was due in two days. What a fortunate occurrence that Madame could have the whole place to herself; he would light a fire in the parlour, for he was sure rain threatened and the temperature was dropping, did she not agree?
The promised rain came not as a shower but as a torrential downpour that made her think of the night before the battle. Then she had had only an open-sided hovel and straw to keep her dry and warm. And Jack’s long body curled around her. But now she was in a snug parlour, surrounded by the carved woodwork and brightly painted earthenware the Maubourg peasants excelled at producing.