The Scarlet Gown Read online

  As the party rearranged itself, Ralph joined Lucy on the terrace.

  ‘You are very quiet tonight. Is anything amiss?’

  She shook her head, but he saw quite clearly that she was not her usual self. The sparkle was gone from her eyes and there was a slight droop to her mouth. Ralph longed to kiss away that troubled look, but he suspected he had put it there by questioning her about Adam Cottingham. Perhaps he should not have done so, but he had felt such a worm of jealousy in his soul when he had seen them together, a feeling so much stronger than anything he had ever felt for his wife.

  He was about to try and coax Lucy into a smile when he became aware of the conversation going on in the room behind them. Lady Preston was talking with Judith Cottingham but her high voice carried easily to the terrace.

  ‘It was quite understandable that Adversane should cancel the play last year.’

  ‘Mourning, d’you see,’ explained Sir James cheerfully. ‘He was besotted with Helene, of course, but I’m glad to see he’s over it now and back in the world again.’

  Damn the man, thought Ralph. Preston had been drinking heavily at dinner, and was now talking far too loud and free.

  ‘Aye, he’s back,’ Sir James continued, his words slurring a little. ‘And this year’s Midsummer festivities will be an ideal opportunity for Charlotte to become accustomed to society.’

  Judith murmured something which drew a laugh from Sir James.

  ‘Oh, no,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We won’t force her into a marriage, Mrs Cottingham. Are you worried she might make a mull of it, like her sister? No fear of that. Helene was always highly strung, of course, lived on her nerves. There’s no denying Adversane handled her very ill, but Charlotte won’t be driven to such desperate measures as her sister. Made of much sterner stuff. In fact, if only she’d been a few years older she’d have made a much better bride for Adversane.’

  Ralph turned, ready to put a stop to the conversation, but his sisters were before him. Margaret called for Sir James to join her at the piano for a duet and Caroline swept everyone into a discussion of what the pair should sing. Glancing back at Lucy, he saw that she was staring at him, her face as white as the trim on her gown. He was almost overwhelmed with an urge to protect her. He wanted to gather her in his arms but with everyone watching them he had to content himself with taking her hand.

  ‘I wish you had not heard that.’

  ‘It is not the first time, but to hear Sir James utter it, and so coolly.’

  ‘The magistrate recorded Helene’s death as an accident.’

  ‘Naturally, in deference to your standing, but that is not what everyone believes, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  He wanted to tell her what he thought had really happened that night, but what if he was proved wrong? Would those eyes now fixed so anxiously upon him fill with disgust and loathing to think he was merely trying to exonerate himself? When she pulled her hand free he made no attempt to stop her, even though it left him feeling bereft. Caroline came to the window.

  ‘Lucy, Ralph, do come and join us. You must sing another duet.’

  She took their arms, trying to move them inside, but Lucy held back.

  ‘Not tonight, Caroline, if you please. I—I have a headache.’

  ‘Oh, poor love.’ His sister was all concern. ‘It is this thundery weather. We will all feel better once there has been a storm.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lucy’s eyes flickered over him once more, their troubled look piercing his heart. ‘Yes, yes, I think you are right.’

  When she excused herself and left the room, Ralph wanted to follow her. He would abandon this charade, do anything to put the smile back in her eyes. Yet how could he? How could he allay her fears, offer her any happiness until he knew the truth himself? And for that he needed to go on with his plan.

  The others were calling for him to join them, and he was their host, after all. He forced his thoughts away from Lucy Halbrook. He was paying her well for her part in this charade, there was no need for him to feel concerned for her welfare. But even as he joined his guests he knew that he was fooling himself. Lucy’s happiness had somehow become the most important thing in his life.

  * * *

  Lucy passed a sleepless night, caused by the stuffiness of the room, she told herself, but she knew it had more to do with Adam’s declaration as they walked back together from Ingleston. The thought that Adversane was still in love with his wife and wanted to recreate her presence made Lucy uneasy, but it was nothing to the revulsion she felt at the idea that he had deliberately caused his wife to end her own life. Lucy was convinced now that they had not been a happy couple but she could not believe Ralph had intended to be cruel. And yet...why did Helene run off to the Rock alone after the play?

  She tossed and turned in her bed, Adam’s accusation gnawing at her mind. After all, what did she know of Ralph? She had seen that hard, implacable look in his eyes, guessed he could be ruthless, when he chose, but at that point she sat up in bed, saying aloud to the night air, ‘No. I know he would not do such a thing.’

  Not deliberately, perhaps, but his harshness might easily overset a more gentle nature. Unfortunately that was all too easy to believe.

  And as she lay down again, another thought, equally unwelcome, returned to haunt her. That he was still in love with Helene—so in love that he could not bear to let her memory go.

  * * *

  There was no storm that night and by the next morning the heat in the house was oppressive. Lucy rose, heavy eyed and irritable from lack of sleep. There were no orders from Ralph so she chose a fine muslin gown worn over a gossamer-thin petticoat.

  Ruthie regarded her doubtfully.

  ‘Well,’ Lucy demanded, ‘what is it? Why do you look at me in that way?’

  ‘I never saw my mistress wearing such a gown.’

  ‘Well, thank goodness for that!’

  ‘There was a muslin like it in the linen press,’ Ruthie continued. ‘I remember seeing it when Miss Crimplesham and I packed up all my lady’s things. She took them with her when she went back to be lady’s maid to Miss Charlotte.’

  ‘Well, at least there is something that won’t remind him of her,’ Lucy muttered to herself as she went off to breakfast.

  * * *

  With the threat of thunder in the air no one wanted to ride out that morning and the guests gave themselves up to less energetic pursuits. Lucy decided to try out her new paint box. She ran upstairs for an apron to protect her gown and took her things to the empty morning room, where the light was good. Byrne brought in the old easel Lord Adversane had found for her, and after suggesting diffidently that she should avoid setting it up on the master’s treasured Aubusson carpet he retreated, and she was left in peace.

  The view from the window was very fine, but there was a heaviness in the air that dulled the aspect so she reached for her sketchbook to find a suitable subject. Flicking through the pages, she found herself staring at the craggy likeness of Lord Adversane.

  A wry smile tugged at her mouth. No watercolour could do justice to that harsh countenance; it needed the strong lines of pen and ink, or the heavy surety of oils. She moved on and soon found a small sketch she had made of a drift of cotton grass, the delicate tufts standing white against the dark boggy ground. Her hand went to her cheek, feeling again the soft downy touch of the fronds upon her skin. That was what she would paint.

  Lucy worked quickly, but painting was not engrossing enough to keep her mind from wandering. Adam Cottingham’s words kept coming back to her but each time she dismissed them. She was sure Ralph could not be so ruthless, even if he no longer cared for his wife.

  How can you be so certain?

  The question, once posed, had to be answered. She could not ignore it. Ralph’s kindness to her, his wit, their shared moments—even
when they disagreed violently—had given her more pleasure than anything she had ever known.

  ‘I love him.’

  She spoke the words aloud to the empty room.

  Love. What did she know of that? This was nothing like the love she felt for her parents. Apart from the painful grieving when Papa died, that love had always been a comfort. There was nothing comfortable about her feelings for Ralph Cottingham, fifth Baron Adversane. She wanted to rip and tear at him, whether it was a difference of opinion or—a shiver ran through her—in the dreams that disturbed her rest. Then she would imagine him in her bed, her hands touching his naked body, her mouth covering his skin with kisses, tasting him.

  She shifted restlessly. This was beyond her experience. It could not be right to feel such violent emotion for a man she had known but a few weeks. It was not sensible. It was not safe. The sooner she left Adversane and its difficult, disturbing master the better.

  The door opened and she looked around quickly, expecting to see the object of her wicked thoughts coming in. Instead, it was Lady Preston. Lucy summoned up a smile.

  ‘If you are looking for company I am afraid there is only me and my poor art here, ma’am.’

  ‘It is you I wish to see, Miss Halbrook.’

  Lucy put down her brush but before she could speak Lady Preston launched into an attack.

  ‘You think to fill my daughter’s shoes in this house, do you not, Miss Halbrook? I advise you to think again, and reflect upon what you are doing.’

  ‘Lady Preston, I—’

  ‘He has chosen you because of your likeness to Helene.’

  ‘Really?’ Lucy could think of nothing else to say, since she could not deny it.

  Lady Preston’s lip curled. ‘Oh, you may have fooled Adversane, but you do not fool me. Very clever of you to style yourself upon my daughter. How did you do that? Talked to the servants, I suppose, and to her friends. And of course now you are at Adversane there is her portrait to guide you.

  ‘Very clever, miss, but think carefully, before it is too late.’ The matron came closer. ‘He does not love you, my dear. It will all end in tears. You see, Charlotte promises to be as beautiful as her sister, and in a year or two, when she has matured, she will be her equal. Then what will you do? Adversane will not want you, a pale imitation, when he can have the real thing.’

  ‘Lady Preston, if Lord Adversane wishes to marry me—’

  ‘Oh, I am sure he does, at present, because you have bewitched him. He sees Helene every time he looks at you. But how long will that last, do you think? You are nothing like the glorious creature that was my daughter. And when he does see through the charade, sees the poor little dab of a creature he has married, what then?’

  Lucy began to shake. Suddenly there was no pretence. Suddenly she felt she really was Ralph’s fiancée. She called upon all her resolution to speak calmly.

  ‘Perhaps we should allow Adversane to be the judge, ma’am.’

  Lady Preston snorted.

  ‘He is so in love with Helene he cannot see beyond the superficial likeness at present, but that will change. You cannot replace her, however much you try to imitate her. Do you think I have not realised? But you will not catch him with such wiles and stratagems. You are not Helene. You do not have her goodness, her sweetness of temper.’

  ‘Perhaps not, but Ralph—’

  ‘You dare to call him by his name? What have you to offer him? It was Helene he loved. He will tire of you, Miss Halbrook, and then what will you be? His wife in name, perhaps, but rejected, ignored.’ Her lip curled. ‘You have only to observe poor little Judith Cottingham. Do you wish to be like her, cowed and unhappy, pitied by everyone and desperate for the slightest attention from her husband? Better to go now, miss, while you at least have your dignity.’

  The venom in the woman’s eyes sparkled like knife-blades. Lucy had no defence. The knowledge that she had fallen headlong in love with Ralph had left her weak and confused. There had been a spark of hope, barely acknowledged, that Ralph might come to care for her. Now that was most effectively destroyed. It had never been very strong; more a faint, distant dream tucked away in her heart, but Lady Preston’s words had sliced right to her core and cut it out, leaving her so raw that she felt the tears welling up.

  Without a word, she ran from the room, her last glance showing that Lady Preston was wearing a satisfied smile. Lucy hoped to reach her room without seeing anyone, but as she crossed the Great Hall, Ralph was emerging from the entrance passage. He could not fail to see her distress but she did not stop when he called to her. Instead, she flew up the stairs. When she reached the Long Gallery he was merely yards behind her. If only she could reach the safety of her room!

  He caught up with her even as she opened the door. Ruthie was pottering about in the room, but a curt word from Adversane sent her scurrying away. He closed the door behind the maid and turned to look at Lucy.

  ‘Now, you will tell me what has overset you.’

  His voice was as brisk as ever, but she knew him well enough to hear his concern. It brought forth from her another bout of tears. He gave her his handkerchief and waited in silence for her to speak.

  ‘I beg your pardon. I am being very foolish. It was L-Lady Preston. She says you only want me because I look like Helene, which I know anyway, and since this is all a charade it makes no odds...’

  She trailed off, her head bowed. Distant thunder rumbled in through the open window as Ralph came closer.

  ‘You are wrong.’ He removed the handkerchief from her restless fingers and dried her cheeks. ‘This is no charade. Not any longer.’

  He caught her chin and gently turned her face up towards him. He kissed her eyelids, his lips drying the remaining tears before his mouth moved over hers. Lucy melted into him. It felt so right to be in his arms, as if it was her natural home.

  Suddenly, it did not matter if it was all a sham, if he thought he was making love to Helene. She wanted him. She would take whatever pleasure he offered her and hold the memory to comfort her through the empty years ahead.

  His kiss deepened, and her body stirred in response. The thunder rolled again, but she did not know whether it was that or desire that made the very earth tremble. Her lips parted at his insistence and his tongue was plundering her mouth, drawing out an aching longing from her very core. She could feel its tug deep in her belly and between her thighs. With something like a growl he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed where he lay down with her, covering her face with kisses before his lips roved down to the hollow at the base of her throat. Her body was singing as his hands explored its contours. Her breasts ached to be free of the restraining gown so that he might caress them. She could feel him, hard and aroused, pressed against her, only a few thin layers of cloth between them.

  She sighed and opened her eyes. She had slept in this bed for the past few weeks but now she saw it afresh. Everything looked different, brighter, the rich hangings, the elaborately carved posts—a sudden flash of lightning flooded the room and turned the folded silk above her head a deeper blue.

  As blue as the eyes in the painting of Lady Adversane.

  Quickly, Lucy shut out the thought. Thunder rolled again, like the distant grumble of angry gods. Ralph was kissing her breasts where they rose plump and soft above the edge of her gown. With one hand, he had pushed aside her skirts and was caressing her thigh. Her body responded, straining towards him. He would take her, she knew it. She wanted it as much as he.

  But he is making love to his wife.

  Lucy told herself again it did not matter—she was too hungry for his caresses to care. But even as her body yearned, ached for his touch, she knew it was not true. She did care. Very much. She struggled, her hands on his chest, trying to push him off.

  ‘Ralph—no—’

  Immediately he let he
r go and sat up.

  ‘What is it? What is wrong?’ His breathing was ragged, his eyes dark with passion. ‘Tell me.’

  Cold terror clutched at her heart. He would never forgive her for stopping him. She should not have let it go so far. With a sob, she scrambled off the bed and threw herself at the door. Even as the next rumble of thunder rolled through the house she was racing to the stairs.

  * * *

  She had to get out of the house, to get away. Lucy let herself out of the door and stepped out onto the drive. The sky was black and the first drops of rain were splashing down. A flicker of lightning illuminated the little wicket gate and she ran towards it, not stopping until she had reached the old ride, out of sight of the house.

  She was crying in earnest now, for herself, for Ralph, for Helene. She had no thought other than to get away and she hurried on, walking and running by turns. The steady rain soaked her, mingling with the tears that would not stop. The very heavens seemed to be crying in sympathy.

  Lucy barely saw Hobart’s Bridge as she ran across it, great gasping sobs racking her body. She wanted Ralph more than she had ever wanted anything in the world before, but only if he wanted her. She would not be a substitute for his wife. The thought brought on more tears, this time for the man she had left behind. If his love for Helene was only a fraction of what she was feeling, how on earth did he bear it, day after day?

  The violence of her grief could not last and when it began to abate she became conscious of her situation on the open moor, exposed to the elements. Her thin muslin gown was soaked through and the heavy rain was creating a thick grey mist that reverberated with the almost continuous roll of thunder. Lucy could see no more than a few yards in any direction and looked about her, wondering which way to go.

  A solitary figure appeared out of the mist. Ralph.

  Lightning flickered. She wanted to run, but what was the point? He was so close now there could be no escape. She waited for him to come up, flinching a little as the thunder crashed loudly overhead.