Lady Beneath the Veil Page 5

  * * *

  She did not have long to wait. The thud of the front door, footsteps and the rumble of voices in the hall warned her of his arrival. She remained at the table, trying to look calm. He strode into the room, his greatcoat swinging open, his face alight with the effects of fresh air and exercise. He greeted her civilly, but she saw the sparkle fade from his eyes, replaced by a closed and shuttered look. She glanced away, trying not to feel hurt. She gestured to the table.

  ‘There is coffee here, sir, and it is still warm, if you wish for it.’

  ‘Thank you, yes. Mrs Chiswick is bringing in a fresh pot, but that might be some time.’

  He threw his greatcoat over a chair and came to sit down. Dominique poured coffee into a cup and Gideon accepted it in silence. She wondered if she should say something and was relieved when the bustling entrance of Mrs Chiswick made speech unnecessary, at least for a while. They managed to get through breakfast with mere courtesies, but when the table had been cleared and they were alone again, the silence hung heavily between them.

  ‘We need to talk,’ Gideon said at last.

  Dominique looked around her, seeking an escape from the suddenly oppressive room.

  ‘It—it is such a lovely morning and I have not yet seen the gardens. Would you mind if we walked outside?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  She picked up her cloak and they made their way to the shrubbery, where the high walls sheltered them from the biting east wind. They walked side by side, taking care they did not brush against each other. So different from last night, thought Dominique, when they could not touch each other enough. It had to be mentioned. She launched into speech.

  ‘About what happened—’

  ‘A mistake,’ he interrupted her. ‘And one I deeply regret. I apologise, madam, most humbly.’

  She answered him firmly, ‘I am as much to blame as you.’

  ‘Perhaps, but the consequences for both of us are disastrous.’ He paused. ‘You realise the marriage cannot be annulled now.’

  ‘Surely, if we return to Martlesham—’

  He silenced her with an impatient wave of his hand.

  ‘Do you think anyone would believe the marriage was not consummated? The servants would be questioned. Mrs Chiswick prepared the bridal chamber for us, her husband saw me carrying you up the stairs and I’d wager any money the maid will check the sheets!’ He kicked a stone off the path. ‘No, last night’s folly is our undoing.’

  Folly! That was how he saw the most wonderful experience of her life. Hot tears prickled at the back of Dominique’s eyes, but she would not let them fall. She swallowed and clenched her jaw so that her voice did not tremble.

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  He looked up at the sky, the breath escaping between his teeth in a hiss.

  ‘Divorce will be my father’s suggestion. He abhors the French as much as I and will strongly oppose the connection. I believe he would even bear the ignominy of our family name being dragged through the courts.’

  Dominique shivered. Was this to be her punishment, to have her wantonness publicly paraded?

  ‘He could arrange the whole,’ Gideon continued thoughtfully. ‘But that would mean your taking a lover and I would have to sue him. A humiliating business for both of us, enduring shame for you. I will not countenance that.’

  ‘Then what?’ she asked. ‘Separation? I can go back to Martlesham and live with my mother—’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No. Too many people know the circumstances of our marriage. It is unthinkable that they will all remain silent.’

  ‘That is true,’ she agreed, bitterly. ‘Max has always delighted in bragging about his jokes.’

  ‘And the chance to make me a laughing stock will prove irresistible.’

  Dominique stopped.

  ‘What shall we do, then?’

  ‘Brazen it out.’ He turned and looked down at her. ‘We will continue with the marriage.’

  She stared at him, her world tilting alarmingly.

  ‘But...’ She swallowed, struggling to push out the words. ‘It will be a sham. You love someone else.’

  That an actress would be even more unacceptable as the wife for the future Viscount Rotham did not concern Dominique, only that he loved the beautiful blonde. Gideon waved aside her objections.

  ‘There are many such marriages in our world. It does not follow that it must be unhappy. We need only present a united front for a few months, perhaps a year or so, until the gossip has died down.’

  ‘I have no dowry.’

  He laughed, but there was no humour in it.

  ‘Money is one thing the Alburys have in abundance.’

  ‘Then your father will say we are even more ill matched.’

  He shrugged. ‘Father will come about, especially once you have provided a grandson to carry on the family name. And after that—if you want a lover you will not find me unreasonable, as long as you are discreet. That should not be a problem for you, since you grew up in France. These arrangements are understood there.’

  Not in her world. Dominique thought of her mother, still so very much in love with one man, after all these years.

  ‘Well, madam, what say you?’ Gideon asked her. ‘Are you prepared to continue with this marriage?’

  After the slightest hesitation she nodded.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’

  After all, what choice did she have?

  * * *

  It was early evening by the time the post-chaise bowled into Martlesham village and drew up at a line of cottages. Gideon handed out his wife, then followed her through the nearest door. He was too tall to enter without stooping, but he was relieved when he entered the small sitting room off the narrow passage to find that the ceiling was considerably higher. The serving maid who had admitted them retired to the nether regions of the little house to fetch refreshments, bidding Dominique to go in and greet her mother. The maid had subjected Gideon to a frowning, silent stare before disappearing. He was well aware that she had been a party to the hoax and he had no doubt that she was agog to know how matters stood now. He gave a mental shrug. If his wife wanted to tell her, then he had no objection. In fact, it concerned him very little: he was about to make the acquaintance of his mama-in-law.

  The little sitting room was comfortably if sparsely furnished. A couple of armchairs flanked the hearth, where a cheerful fire blazed and a small table stood by the window, its surface littered with papers. A silver inkstand rose from the centre of the chaos, like an island amid a turbulent sea and to one side sat a lady in a dark woollen gown with a tight-fitting jacket. She was hunched over the table, writing furiously, and did not appear to notice their entrance.

  ‘Maman?’

  Madame Rainault looked up. Gideon detected some likeness to his wife, but the lady’s fair complexion and light eyes reminded him more of Martlesham, save that she had none of the earl’s blustering arrogance. She wore a muslin cap over curls which were sprinkled with grey, and her eyes held a distracted look, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. She seemed to struggle to focus as she put down her pen and smiled.

  ‘Dominique, my child. Are you back from the Abbey so soon? I had thought to have all these letters done before you returned.’

  ‘Maman, I have something to tell you.’ Gideon found himself pulled forwards by a small but insistent hand. ‘This is Mr Albury, Maman. He—we...’

  As the words tailed away he stepped forwards and picked up Madame Rainault’s hand.

  ‘Enchanté, madame.’ As he bowed over the thin fingers he realised how long it was since he had spoken in French and he had to fight down the painful associations before he could summon up a smile. ‘What your daughter is trying to say is that she has done me the honour of becoming my wife.’


  Madame Rainault withdrew her hand and regarded him, bewildered.

  ‘Your wife? But when, how?’

  He felt a touch on his sleeve.

  ‘Perhaps, sir, I should talk to my mother alone.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I will go on to the Abbey. I need to arrange to have the rest of my luggage packed up and sent on to me.’ He hesitated. ‘Unless you wish to see your cousin?’ He received a darkling look in answer and gave a wry smile. ‘I thought not. I will be back as soon as I can.’

  * * *

  His arrival at Martlesham caused no little consternation. It was the dinner hour and Gideon told the butler not to disturb his master, but to send Runcorn up to his room immediately. It took very little time to explain the situation to his valet and give him his instructions.

  * * *

  Half an hour later he was ready to leave. He found Max waiting for him in the hall.

  ‘Albury. Back from your honeymoon already? Is my cousin not with you?’

  ‘I left her with her mother,’ said Gideon, pulling on his gloves.

  The doors to the dining room were open and the guests were beginning to wander out.

  ‘Ah, tired of her already?’ The earl grimaced. ‘Can’t say I’m surprised, she’s too tight-laced and proper to please a man.’

  Gideon was already furious with Max for the way he had cheated him. Now, when he heard the earl’s insulting description of his young relative, Gideon was aware of a burning desire to knock the fellow’s teeth out. But he had decided he would beat Max at his own game, so he concealed all signs of anger and merely raised his brows a fraction.

  ‘Really? Are we talking about the same woman, Martlesham?’ He noted the look of uncertainty in Max’s face and smiled. ‘We are going to London. I need to buy my wife a new wardrobe before I take her into Buckinghamshire.’

  The uncertainty was replaced by amazement.

  ‘You are taking her to Rotham?’

  ‘Of course, that is her due.’

  ‘B-but the viscount hates the French. He will refuse to acknowledge her.’

  The thought had occurred to Gideon, but Max’s shocked tones angered him and he responded with more than a touch of hauteur.

  ‘He will be obliged to do so, since she is the wife of his heir.’

  Williams came mincing forwards, quizzing glass raised.

  ‘Now look here, Albury, we all know the marriage is a farce, it was never intended to go this far. Bring the gel back here and let Martlesham sort it all out—’

  ‘But there is nothing to sort out,’ replied Gideon, smiling again. ‘I am exceedingly happy and I have you to thank for it, Max.’ He patted the earl on the shoulder as he passed him. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have to collect my wife. I have booked rooms at the Globe and we have an early start for town in the morning.’

  ‘The Globe!’ Williams dropped his quizzing glass. ‘But that’s devilishly...’

  ‘Expensive, yes.’ Gideon smiled. ‘Only the best for Mrs Albury!’

  He walked out, leaving them gaping and speechless behind him.

  * * *

  When he arrived back at the cottage, Lucy, the maid, accorded him a grudging curtsy and a slightly less-hostile look, from which he guessed that she had been apprised of the current situation. His wife he found in the sitting room with her mother. They were side by side in the armchairs, which had been drawn together. As Gideon entered the room Madame Rainault rose.

  ‘Dominique has explained it all to me, Mr Albury, including my nephew’s part in your marriage. It was a very wicked trick, sir, but I understand you intend to stand by my daughter. However, if you cannot be kind to her, then I pray you will leave her here with me.’

  ‘Maman, you know that is impossible!’

  ‘Madame, I give you my word that your daughter will receive all the kindness and consideration I can give her. As my wife she shall want for nothing.’

  Madame Rainault’s anxious eyes searched his face and at last, satisfied, she held out her hands.

  ‘I believe you will do your best for her, sir, and I commend her to your care. Put on your cloak, Dominique, it is only a few miles to the Globe, but it is growing dark and there is no moon tonight.’

  Mother and daughter exchanged kisses.

  ‘Maman, I wish...’

  ‘Go along, my love, I shall do very well here with Lucy to look after me. Besides, I have work to do. Now the new treaty with France is signed I am hopeful I shall begin to make progress. I have at last had word from one of my old friends and I am writing to him now, for news of your father. Lucy shall take it to the post office. She takes all my letters there now, instead of asking my nephew to frank them for me. I was never sure that he sent them on, you know...’

  Madame Rainault was still talking as she waved them off. As his bride settled herself in the carriage, Gideon thought he saw the gleam of a tear on her cheek. He said, to distract her thoughts, ‘What news of your father? I thought he was dead.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘He disappeared, soon after he sent us to England in ninety-three. He wanted to protect the king and queen, but the revolution had gone too far. Many moderate Girondins were executed, or imprisoned at that time. When we lost touch, Maman began writing to everyone she could think of in France, trying to find out what had happened. She has been doing so ever since.’

  ‘Ten years and you have heard nothing?’

  ‘No. Max thinks Papa is dead, but my mother does not believe that.’

  ‘And you?’

  Her face was no more than a pale oval in the fading light, but he saw her chin go up.

  ‘I never give up hope, sir.’

  * * *

  The Globe was a prestigious hostelry and the couple were made to feel their lack of servants and baggage, until Gideon’s haughty manner and generous purse convinced the landlord that this wealthy viscount’s son was merely eccentric. Gideon had sent a runner ahead of him to bespeak a suite of rooms, which included, as Dominique discovered as she explored their apartment, two bedrooms.

  ‘It is de rigueur for married couples, so no one will think anything amiss,’ explained Gideon. ‘And I did not want to impose upon you.’

  ‘You are very kind, sir.’

  ‘Gideon,’ he corrected her gently.

  ‘Gideon.’

  The lackeys had withdrawn and they were alone again, a situation that Dominique found disconcerting, despite their intimacy the previous night. Gideon came closer. His hand came up, as if to touch her cheek, then dropped away again.

  ‘I want you to be comfortable,’ he told her. ‘Is there anything I can do, madam, that will help?’

  She clasped her hands together.

  ‘There is one thing, sir.’

  ‘Yes?’

  She raised her eyes to his.

  ‘If—if you could call me Dominique.’ Silence met her words and she hurried on, ‘You never use my name—well, only once.’ She blushed furiously at the memory. ‘I do not think we can be c-comfortable if you continue to call me madam.’

  She was looking down, and saw his hands clench into fists.

  ‘That is one request I am afraid I cannot fulfil, my dear.’

  ‘Oh.’ She blinked to clear the tears that had suddenly sprung up. ‘N-no doubt you think of Dominique as that b-beautiful actress.’

  He did not contradict her. After a moment’s tense silence he said, ‘It is not only that. It is a French name.’

  ‘And—and is that so very bad?’ she asked him.

  He hesitated, no longer than a heartbeat, but she noticed it.

  ‘Yes, my dear. I’m afraid it is.’

  He turned towards her, his face polite, smiling, but that shuttered look was in his eyes, telling her he was
unreachable.

  They retired to their separate rooms that night. Dominique did not sleep, but lay tense and still in the middle of the bed, listening. She convinced herself that she was dreading a soft knock at the door, but when it never came she realised just how disappointed she was. Yet what could she expect? Gideon had never wanted to marry her; he was in love with the actress who had taken her place. So much in love that now he could not even bring himself to use her name.

  * * *

  At breakfast the following morning Gideon was all consideration. He escorted her to her chair, poured her coffee and helped her to the freshest of the toasted muffins before sitting down to his own meal.

  ‘You are right,’ he declared. ‘I cannot continue without a name for you.’

  She bridled instantly.

  ‘I have a perfectly good name, thank you.’

  ‘You have indeed.’ He smiled at her and she found her anger melting away. ‘I have been thinking about it.’

  ‘You have?’

  Had he stayed awake to relive their night together, as she had done? The little flare of hope quickly died.

  ‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘We could shorten it to Nicky. A pet name, if you like.’

  ‘My grandfather, the old earl, used to call me that.’

  ‘There we have it, then. I shall call you Nicky—but only with your permission, of course.’

  She gave him a shy smile.

  ‘I should like that, si—’ She noted his sudden frown and corrected herself. ‘I should like that, Gideon.’

  * * *

  By the time they reached London Dominique thought they were getting on famously. They laughed at the same things, shared a love of music and poetry, talked for hours, like true friends. But not lovers. Gideon was polite and considerate, but nothing more, and Dominique, afraid to risk the fragile bond between them, lay awake in her lonely bed and ached for him to come to her. It would not do, however, to admit such a longing, so she hid it behind a smile and accepted as much companionship as her husband was willing to give.

  Chapter Five

  Her new home was a neat house in Brook Street, which Gideon informed her belonged to his father.