Disgrace and Desire Read online

  These sobering thoughts occupied her mind as she journeyed to Renwick Hall. Eloise became even more acutely aware of how society viewed her when she joined her hostess in the drawing room before dinner that evening.

  ‘My dear, how prompt you are,’ declared Mrs Renwick, coming forwards to meet her. ‘Everyone else is still at their toilette.’

  ‘Oh dear, if I am too early…’

  ‘By no means. I am glad of the company. Come and sit here beside the fire and tell me how you like your room.’

  ‘It is very comfortable, ma’am, and has a lovely view of the lake,’ said Eloise, disposing her skirts about her on the satin-covered sofa.

  ‘I knew you would like the blue bedchamber,’ smiled Mrs Renwick. ‘I regret that we could not find an adjoining room for Mr Mortimer. He sent me word that he will be joining us in the morning. We have had to put him in the bachelor wing, on the far side of the house. With such a house full of guests, I am sure you will appreciate that we have to allocate all the bedchambers in the main building to our married guests.’

  Looking into her hostess’s kind face, Eloise’s heart sank at this tacit acceptance that Alex was her lover. She took a deep breath.

  ‘That is as it should be, ma’am. As a matter of fact, I wanted to ask your advice. I have been thinking for some time that I should have a companion when I am in London. I thought I might ask Allyngham’s cousin, Margaret Cromer. We have lost touch a little in recent years but I hope she will consider my request. I have always been a little in awe of her, but I know she is a good friend of yours, ma’am, and wanted to ask you what you thought of the idea before I write to her: do I presume too much, do you think she would accept?’

  ‘Meg Cromer? Oh. I had thought you preferred not to have a chaperon! That is, I mean…’

  ‘A widow has a great deal more freedom than a single woman,’ said Eloise, taking pity on her hostess’s confusion. ‘I am aware that there is already a great deal of talk about me, although I hope you will believe me when I say that it is all unfounded. And Mr Mortimer…Mr Mortimer is a good friend, but I have imposed upon him long enough. I think I should go on more comfortably now if I had some female company.’

  ‘You do not think…’ Her hostess looked down at her hands. ‘Have you considered that marriage would give you a great deal more protection, Lady Allyngham? I am sure there can be no shortage of eligible suitors…’

  Eloise shook her head.

  ‘You are very kind to say so, but I have no wish to marry again.’

  ‘No, of course,’ replied Mrs Renwick quickly. ‘It is very early days, and I believe Lord Allyngham to have been the very best of men. It would be difficult to find his equal.’

  ‘I would not even attempt it,’ replied Eloise. ‘I am resigned to a single life, but that does not mean I need be bored or lonely. I have a large estate at Allyngham. That brings its own responsibilities, and I intend to travel, now the Continent is safe again, but for the present I need to make a life for myself, and that necessitates spending some little time in London and I find I am growing tired of being labelled the Wanton Widow.’

  Mrs Renwick nodded.

  ‘You are very right, Lady Allyngham, you would be subjected to much less comment if you had Meg as your companion. And you have no need to write to her because she is staying here with me at the moment. So, you may ask her as soon as you wish. She is a stickler for convention, of course: her reputation and character are of such high standing that I feel sure her presence would be an advantage to you.’

  ‘That is why I thought I might invite Cousin Margaret to come with me when I leave here and return to London.’

  ‘Very wise, my dear. Talk to her while you are here. As a widow of several years’ standing she is a very independent person, but I am sure she would be happy to stay with you for a few months. But I hope that does not mean you intend to cut short your visit here. I am looking forward to such a happy time, for we have invited only close acquaintances on this occasion—and here is one of Mr Renwick’s oldest friends, now. Major Clifton, you are in good time, sir!’

  Chapter Eight

  Eloise’s head snapped around. She watched Jack Clifton walk into the room, tall and elegant in his black swallow-tailed coat and buff pantaloons. He looked relaxed and at his ease, and she schooled her own features into a look of bland indifference as she rose to her feet. More people were coming into the room and Mrs Renwick hurried away to greet them, leaving Eloise with the major.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded as he bowed to her.

  He raised his brows.

  ‘Renwick invited me. Do you think I should remove myself because you do not want me here? I am a guest, madam, as you are. You will have to make the best of it.’ He bared his teeth. ‘Smile, madam, we are in company; you do not want anyone to suspect an intrigue, do you? Or perhaps, considering your reputation, it is of no matter to you.’

  ‘Your being here is no matter to me, Major,’ Eloise flashed back at him. She gave him a smile as false as his own and swept away to meet the other guests.

  With the exception of Alex Mortimer, the party was complete, and when Eloise sat down to dinner it was with the almost certain knowledge that her tormentor from Vauxhall Gardens was amongst the guests. She glanced around the table as the servants came in with the first course. She discounted Mr and Mrs Renwick from her list of suspects and, reluctantly, Major Clifton. Lord and Lady Parham were inveterate gossipmongers, but she did not think either of them capable of such subterfuge. Sitting near her were two other couples, both related to Mrs Renwick, plus Sir Ronald Deforge. Then there was a gentleman called Graham with an unfortunate taste in florid waistcoats and her late-husband’s cousin, Mrs Margaret Cromer, an iron-haired lady whose forbidding countenance was relieved by a decided twinkle in her grey eyes. At the far end of the table was Mr Renwick’s sister, her clergyman husband and two pretty daughters. Eloise knew them slightly, but since Mr Briggate and his family had travelled from Dorset to join the party at Renwick Hall she hoped she might discount them.

  With a sigh she turned her attention to her dinner. In truth, she had no idea whom she should suspect. She must not relax, even for a moment. She pushed a piece of chicken across her plate, sadly aware that her appetite had disappeared.

  After dinner the ladies withdrew to the long gallery, where fires blazed in the two fireplaces. They disposed themselves gracefully on the elegant sofas while they talked and gossiped, and during a lull in the conversation Eloise wandered off to look at the numerous pictures that covered the walls.

  ‘We have some very fine paintings here, Lady Allyngham,’ said Mr Renwick, leading the gentlemen into the room at that moment. ‘However, they don’t show to advantage in the candlelight: you are best looking at them during the day.’

  ‘I should like to do so,’ she replied.

  ‘And I should be delighted to escort you,’ replied her host, smiling. ‘Or let Clifton be your guide; he knows as much as I about the pictures here at the Hall.’

  ‘You flatter me, Charles,’ said Jack. ‘I do not claim to be an expert.’

  ‘But you have an eye for a beautiful work of art,’ returned Mr Renwick.

  ‘And for a pretty woman,’ added Mr Graham, walking by.

  ‘And that,’ Jack replied gravely.

  He was about to turn away. Eloise said quickly, ‘You consider yourself a connoisseur, perhaps?’

  ‘Of art, madam, or women?’

  ‘Oh, Clifton is decidedly a connoisseur of women!’ laughed Mr Renwick, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

  ‘I take leave to question that,’ muttered Eloise, so quietly that only Jack could hear her. She found his dark, unsmiling gaze resting on her.

  ‘I have enough experience to know when beauty is merely a sham, a bright veneer to cover a tarnished character.’

  Colour flamed through Eloise’s cheek. She turned away, furious with herself for challenging him. It was a game she could not win. She fixed her
eyes on a large portrait, pretending to study it while she struggled to regain her composure.

  ‘What—’ Jack was standing at her shoulder, his words quiet in her ear, ‘—has the Glorious Allyngham no laughing riposte for me?’

  She drew herself up and turned to him, masking her anger with a glittering smile.

  ‘I am amazed, sir, that you claim any expertise at all when it comes to our sex. In my experience you show no aptitude at all and see only what you want to see!’

  With no more than a small inclination of her head Eloise moved away, back to the relative safety of the crowd.

  It was still early so it came as no surprise when one of the younger members of the group suggested dancing. The party moved to one end of the room where the fine pianoforte was situated and footmen were called to roll away the carpet. With her nerves at full stretch, Eloise could not share in the general high spirits so she stepped up to her hostess and offered to play for the dancers. Mr Graham, overhearing her, immediately cried out at this, saying with a laugh, ‘Would you deprive us of the pleasure of watching you dance, Lady Allyngham?’

  ‘Would you deprive us of the pleasure of partnering you?’ added Sir Ronald Deforge.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Thank you, but I am very happy to play tonight.’

  Mr Graham was inclined to argue.

  ‘But, my lady—’

  ‘Someone else may take a turn at the pianoforte later,’ declared Mrs Renwick, the peacemaker. ‘I know Lady Allyngham to be an excellent pianist and it would be an honour to have her play for our little party.’

  Major Clifton carried a branched candlestick across to the pianoforte.

  ‘Out of sorts, Lady Allyngham?’

  She gave him a frosty look and turned her attention to leafing through the music piled on a nearby table.

  ‘I am not always so flighty as you think me, Major.’

  ‘Perhaps you are missing Alex Mortimer.’

  ‘Oh, do go away!’

  She ground her teeth as he sauntered off, laughing.

  Seating herself at the instrument, Eloise began to play. Her fingers flew over the keys, her lively playing accompanied by the happy laughter of the dancers.

  After an hour even the most energetic of the young people was glad to take a break and while they refreshed themselves with cups of wine, lemonade or ratafia, Mrs Renwick and her husband were persuaded to sing a duet. This was so successful that their audience clapped and cheered and demanded more. Mrs Renwick beckoned to Mrs Cromer.

  ‘Meg, my dear, come and join us to sing the trio from Così fan tutte. Do you remember, we saw it together at the Haymarket in the year Eleven and immediately purchased the music so we could learn it.?

  Margaret Cromer stepped up.

  ‘I remember it well and will sing it, with pleasure, if Cousin Eloise can play it?’

  ‘I can,’ said Eloise, waving her hand towards the side-table. ‘If I can find the music.’

  Before she could get up Jack picked up a large book and carried it across to the piano.

  ‘You will need someone to turn the pages for you, my lady.’

  ‘That is not necessary, Major Clifton, I shall manage.’

  ‘Do not be so stubborn,’ he murmured, placing the music before her. ‘Would you have the performance ruined because you will not accept a little help?’

  Knowing he was right, she set her jaw and began to play. The soft, haunting notes soothed away her anger. Soave sia il vento, ‘May the wind be gentle’. She knew the song well, a beautiful, sad farewell sung by two sisters to their soldier sweethearts. The ladies’ voices blended beautifully, with Mr Renwick’s rich baritone adding depth to the gentle, lilting melody. Eloise concentrated on the accompaniment, trying to ignore Jack standing so close, his arm stretching past her as he turned the pages. She was calmed by the music, and by the singers’ sweeping cadences rising and falling, imitating the gentle breeze of the Italian lyrics. She was almost disappointed when the last notes died away and the applause began. While everyone was praising the singers for their splendid performance, Eloise remained very still, enjoying the sinful sensation of Jack Clifton’s presence beside her, his lean body so close she could feel his heat. Energy emanated from him, making her skin tingle with anticipation. She jumped when he reached out to pick up the book.

  ‘Mr Mozart’s opera is clearly a favourite,’ he remarked, flicking through the pages. ‘Let me find you something…here it is.’ He replaced the open book on the piano and she looked at the aria he had chosen. ‘“Donne mie, la fate a tanti e tanti”,’ he read the title. ‘Perhaps you would like me to translate if for you: “my dear ladies, you deceive so many men…”’

  Abruptly Eloise stood up.

  ‘I can translate it very well for myself,’ she muttered, turning away from him.

  She forced her lips into a smile as Margaret Cromer approached her.

  ‘You play most beautifully, Cousin, but you have a delightful singing voice, too. Will you not let us hear it?’

  ‘Thank you Meg, but I do not think—’

  ‘Oh, my dear ma’am, do say you will sing for us,’ declared Lady Parham, beaming at her. ‘Mrs Cromer has been telling me that you were used to sing regularly for the guests at Allyngham.’

  Eloise tried to decline, but other guests came up, adding their persuasion. Mrs Renwick took her hand and led her back towards the pianoforte.

  ‘Come along, my dear, you have played so well for us it is your turn now to shine—Mrs Cromer will accompany you, will you not, Meg?’

  ‘Of course, I should be delighted to play for Eloise—such a beautiful voice you have, Cousin! Now, what will you sing for us, my dear?’

  Eloise hesitated, looking around at the happy, expectant faces. To decline would be impolite. She smiled.

  ‘Something else from Mr Mozart, I think. The Marriage of Figaro.’

  ‘We have it!’ cried Mrs Renwick, pulling another book from the pile.

  Eloise nodded and looked at her cousin.

  ‘Can you play “Porgi, amor,” Meg?’

  ‘Oh heavens, my favourite aria!’ declared Lady Parham. ‘Do be quiet, everyone, and listen!’

  An expectant silence settled over the room as Mrs Cromer played the short introduction. Eloise ran her tongue over her dry lips and composed herself. Many of the guests had pulled their chairs into a semi-circle to watch. Her eyes strayed around the room, noticing tiny details such as Sir Ronald leaning forwards, hands on his knees, Mr Graham sitting at the back of the group, picking his teeth, Mr and Mrs Renwick sitting shoulder to shoulder. And Jack Clifton, standing a little apart, his face in shadow. She must forget them all.

  Eloise began to sing the Countess’s heartbreaking aria about the pain of losing her husband’s love. She had chosen to sing the English translation, but it was still beautiful and she closed her eyes, allowing herself to be swept away by the evocative words and music.

  Jack stood in the shadows and listened, entranced. He was familiar with the opera but it had never before had such power to move him. Eloise sang the countess’s role with dignity and restraint, her full, rich voice filling the long gallery. There was such longing in her voice, such sadness in her blue eyes that he could almost believe her sincere. Almost. As the last, lingering notes died away he found himself swallowing hard to clear some constriction in his throat. There was a moment’s silence, then the room erupted into cheers and applause. Lady Allyngham was blushing, accepting their praise with modestly downcast eyes. Jack scowled as Sir Ronald stepped up to take her hand and kiss it. Damnation, the woman had bewitched them all!

  There was a few moments’ stir and confusion. Renwick’s young nieces came up for their turn to perform and the mood lightened considerably as they sang a selection of folk songs. Jack watched Eloise move away from the crowd and he stepped quickly up to her.

  ‘So you identify yourself with the wronged countess, my lady.’ His tone was harder than he had intended. She cast one brief
look up at him and he was taken aback to see her eyes glistening with tears.

  She hurried past him without speaking and slipped out of the room while the company’s attention was fixed upon the young performers. In two strides Jack was at the door and following her along the cold stone corridor.

  ‘Lady Allyngham—Eloise!’

  She stopped at his words but did not turn.

  ‘Will you not leave me alone?’ she muttered as he came up to her. She was hunting for her handkerchief. Jack handed her his own.

  ‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to upset you.’

  ‘Did you not? I think you delight in upsetting me.’

  He heard the bitter note in her voice. There was a sudden upsurge of sound as the door to the long gallery opened again. Eloise looked up, startled. Jack caught her arm and pulled her to one side, into an unlit corridor. There was a half-glazed door at the far end, through which pale moonlight gleamed and fell in silvery squares upon the tiled floor of the passage. They stood silently in the semi-darkness, listening to the soft sound of footsteps hurrying past. When the silence settled again Eloise realised that he was still holding her arm and tried to shake him off.