Lady Beneath the Veil Read online

  ‘I do have a house of my own I inherited from my godmother, Lady Telford,’ he told Dominique as he helped her out of the chaise. ‘But it is a few miles out of town and so run down that I have never used it.’

  ‘I think this would be more convenient for you,’ remarked Dominique, looking up at the elegant facade. At that moment the door was thrown open and a liveried servant came out, beaming at them.

  ‘Master Gideon, welcome home, sir!’

  ‘Thank you. My dear, this is Judd, who has known me since I was a babe, which means he takes the greatest liberties.’

  The old man chuckled in a fatherly way.

  ‘Now then, Master Gideon, you don’t want to be telling Mrs Albury such tales. Welcome to you, mistress. Mrs Wilkins is waiting inside and will show you over the house.’

  ‘Perhaps she will begin by showing Mrs Albury to her bedchamber,’ suggested Gideon, taking her arm and leading her into the narrow hall. ‘We have had a long journey and I am sure my wife would like to rest before dinner.’

  ‘Aye, of course, I will do that, Master Gideon.’ A plump, rosy-cheeked woman in a black-stuff gown and snowy apron bustled forwards and dropped a curtsy. ‘If Mrs Albury would like to come with me, there is hot water already on the washstands and I will send Kitty up to help you dress. She is only the second housemaid, but she’s a good girl and has ambition to be a lady’s maid, but if she don’t suit we will send to the registry office for someone else.’

  ‘I shall be delighted to see how she goes on,’ said Dominique quickly.

  ‘Very good, madam. Now, which of these trunks is yours, and we’ll have them taken up immediately.’

  ‘Only one.’ They had brought only the trunk Max had sent with her to Elmwood and now Dominique met Gideon’s eyes in a mute appeal.

  ‘My wife is to have everything new, as befits a future viscountess,’ he said coolly. ‘She will manage with what is in the trunk and tomorrow we will set about replenishing her wardrobe.’

  The housekeeper looked a little shocked.

  ‘Very well, sir. If you would care to come with me, ma’am, I’ll show you to your room and we’ll unpack that single trunk of yours and see what there is for you to wear tonight...’

  Taking a mental review of the items she had seen in the trunk, Dominique hastily declined the offer.

  ‘You have more than enough to do, Mrs Wilkins,’ she said. ‘I am sure the maid you have found for me will be able to help.’

  * * *

  When Dominique came downstairs for dinner she was wearing one of the muslin gowns from the trunk Max had provided. The previous owner of the gown had been somewhat taller than Dominique, but Kitty had proved to be very useful with a needle and had soon taken up the hem. The unknown woman had also been more generously endowed and Dominique had had to cover the extremely low and rather loose décolletage by draping a fine muslin handkerchief across her shoulders, crossing the ends over her bosom and tying them behind her.

  When she joined Gideon in the drawing room he raised his brows and she felt obliged to explain.

  ‘I was delighted to leave off my travelling dress, but the trunk my cousin packed up for me was sadly lacking in suitable clothes. This is the most respectable of the gowns and even this required several petticoats beneath it before I was fit to be seen.’

  Gideon raised his quizzing glass and surveyed her. His lips curved into a grin.

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’

  She fingered the skirts, chuckling.

  ‘It is the finest quality, as is everything in the trunk, but most of it is highly improper. I think it must have been left behind by one of Max’s less-respectable guests. He is forever filling the house with lightskirts and actresses— Oh!’ She stopped, colouring painfully. ‘I—I beg your pardon, I d-did not think...’

  The cheerful camaraderie disappeared in an instant. Gideon’s grin was replaced by a polite smile. He waved one hand, as if to dismiss her words, but Dominique knew she had erred.

  * * *

  Gideon saw her stricken look and wished he could say something to comfort her, but the words would not come. He had never been one for dissimulation. How could he tell her it did not matter that he had married the wrong bride when it did matter, when he regretted it so bitterly? The woman he had courted, the bride he had expected, was tall and fair and buxom, with blue, blue eyes and a smoky laugh full of sexual promise. Instead he found himself married to a diminutive brunette with a damnably obstinate streak. She was pretty enough, perhaps, if you liked thin women.

  Here he stopped himself. She was petite, yes—the top of her head barely reached his chin—but she was not thin. He remembered their wedding night, when they had both allowed their pent-up emotions to run away with them. He recalled how well her small breast fitted into his hand, how her tiny waist contrasted with the full, rounded softness of her hips. Their lovemaking had been as hot and passionate as anything he had ever experienced and her untutored ardour had fuelled his desire. He hoped he had not hurt her. He had always expected to take his virgin bride gently, to go slowly and teach her the pleasures of the flesh.

  Instead they had tumbled into a hedonistic, lust-filled coupling and he had risen at dawn bemused and mortified by his lack of control. He remembered glancing down at his sleeping bride, seeing her hair arrayed over the pillows in a dark cloud and feeling an unexpected tenderness for the innocent, fragile girl he had married. He had wanted to protect her—from the world, from himself. He had made a vow then, that he would conduct himself with proper restraint in future.

  And there could be no going back. Having consummated their marriage, he must now commit himself to it and put aside all thoughts of the actress—what had Max called her? Agnes Bennet. Gideon doubted he had truly loved her, but he had been captivated by her beauty and she had shown him a flattering attention that had put all sensible thought to flight. No, it had not been love. Gideon recognised that it was his pride that was hurt most and the woman now sharing his life had colluded in the shameful trick. For that he could never forgive her. Of course, there was no reason why they should not be happy enough and have a comfortable, civilised existence together. Many couples entered into arranged marriages and rubbed along well enough, but it wasn’t only her deceit—he could not ignore her French blood.

  It was twelve years since his brother James had died at the hands of the French mob and the pain of that loss had never left Gideon. His father had trained him to take his place, to become his heir, but James had been everything Gideon was not, quiet and studious, but with a charm of manner that made him universally loved—not for him the rakehell existence of a young man on the town—and Gideon knew how unworthy he was to fill James’s shoes.

  Dinner was a strained affair. They were achingly polite to each other and by the time the covers were removed Dominique was glad to leave Gideon to enjoy his port in solitary state. She realised sadly that, however friendly he might seem, Gideon could not forgive her for her duplicitous actions. It had been a cruel trick and she should never have taken part, but when she had agreed to it she had been in turmoil. Blackmailed by her cousin and half in love with the man behind whose eyes she glimpsed a sadness that set him apart from the others, while at the same time detesting the man who would run with Max and his self-seeking, hedonistic crowd. However, standing beside him while Max gloatingly explained the deceit, the hurt and humiliation Gideon had suffered was quite clear to her, if to no one else.

  Sitting alone now in the drawing room, she felt thoroughly ashamed and knew she should be grateful that he treated her with any kindness at all. Thoughts of their wedding night returned and she wrapped her arms about her, as if to hold the memory close. Desire had made her reckless and she had given in quite freely to the passion that had swept them up, but she knew—from what she had overheard from the gossiping servants and her own observations at Martle
sham Abbey—that it was different for a man. Gideon’s taking her that night had been no act of love, it had been simply lust, easily roused and as easily forgotten. She was not the woman he loved, merely a substitute.

  Dominique wondered if she dared go to bed, but decided the proprieties must be observed and asked Mrs Wilkins to bring in the tea tray when the master joined her in the drawing room.

  * * *

  When Gideon came in she was relieved to see that the shuttered look was gone and he addressed her in a cheerful, friendly tone.

  ‘I have been thinking, Nicky, I have not yet given you a wedding present. I shall take you to Rundell’s and you shall choose something for yourself, but in the meantime I found this—my godmother’s jewel case.’ He held out a small leather box. ‘Most of Godmama’s jewellery is at the bank, but you might like these trinkets to be going on with.’

  Dominique set the case on her lap and pushed up the clasp, her eyes widening as she opened the lid. The contents glittered in the candlelight. A profusion of gold and silver and coloured stones winked up at her.

  ‘Th-thank you,’ she murmured, bemused. She pushed her fingers gently into the tangle and lifted out a handful of the jewels, letting them fall back into the box in a sparkling cascade. ‘They are beautiful, Gideon, thank you.’

  ‘Some of the stones—perhaps all—will be paste,’ Gideon explained, watching her. ‘I noticed that you wear no jewellery, but I thought these trinkets might amuse you.’

  ‘Amuse!’ She gave a little laugh. ‘They are much more than amusing. We brought very little to England, Papa disposed of everything to pay for the journey, including most of Mama’s jewels.’

  ‘No doubt she kept her most precious pieces to pass on to you?’

  ‘They have all been sold now. The attempts to find information about Papa have cost her a great deal.’

  ‘But surely Martlesham...?’

  Dominique shook her head.

  ‘While my uncle lived we were very comfortable, but once Max became earl he said he could no longer afford to fund Mama’s search for my father. She sold her jewels, gave him everything she had to pay the bribes the French officials demanded for information, but it all came to nought. Max thinks Papa is dead and would do nothing more than frank Mama’s letters.’ She bit her lip. ‘You have a penniless bride, Gideon.’

  ‘Martlesham told me as much before the banns were called.’

  Colour stained her cheeks, but she refused to look at him.

  ‘But then you thought you were marrying someone else...’

  An uncomfortable silence fell. Gideon felt a tug of sympathy and a keen desire to distract her from her unhappy thoughts.

  ‘May I?’ He reached down and pulled out a necklace gleaming with green fire. ‘This would suit you, the stones are the colour of your eyes. I remember Godmama wearing it and there should be some ear-drops in there, too...’

  ‘Yes, here they are.’ She looked up. ‘May I put them on now?’

  ‘Of course.’ He watched her, smiling at her enthusiasm as she carefully put the box down and went over to the mirror to fix the ear-drops in place. He followed her across the room. ‘I was right, the colour does suit you. Let us add the necklace.’

  She laughed. ‘First I must remove the kerchief.’ She reached around and began to fumble with the knot at the back.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Gideon untied the lacy ends and pulled it carefully away from her shoulders.

  Without the concealing fichu it was apparent just how badly the dress fitted. Its original owner had obviously been of much more generous proportions than the waiflike creature who stood before him. Even with the drawstrings pulled tight the décolletage was extremely low, exposing the gentle swell of her bosom and more flesh than was becoming. Even as the thought entered his head he knew he was being unfair. Many ladies wore dresses as revealing as this, possibly even more so.

  A glance in the mirror showed him that his wife was uncomfortable. One hand had come up to her breast, as if to protect herself from prying eyes and a faint blush mantled her cheeks. He smiled, wanting to reassure her as he carefully put the necklace around her throat. She tilted her head, lengthening the back of her neck, and as he brushed aside the dark curls his fingers grazed the delicate ridge of her spine. He wanted to place his lips there, then to trail a line of kisses across the soft whiteness of her shoulder, where the candlelight played upon the exposed skin. But she had trembled as he struggled with the catch. She was clearly frightened of him—why should she not be, since he had taken advantage of her innocence in such a way? Besides, to kiss her now would be the action of a lover and he could never be that.

  He removed his hands and stepped back.

  ‘There. You have a beautiful neck and the emeralds enhance it.’

  She seemed to stand taller at his compliment and his breath caught in his throat when he met her eyes in the mirror. They twinkled with a shy smile that far surpassed the gleaming emeralds.

  How long they would have remained there he did not know, for at that moment the housekeeper bustled in with the tea tray and the mood was broken. Nicky reached for her kerchief, but he held it away.

  ‘No, you look very well like that, so there is no need to cover up again. Unless you are cold?’

  ‘Not in the least, sir. There is a good fire in here, you see.’

  ‘Indeed there is,’ agreed Mrs Wilkins, setting the tray down on a small table. ‘The mistress used to say this was the cosiest room in the house when the fire was burning.’ She glanced back at the nervous housemaid following her into the room.’ That’s right, Jane, put that down here—it’s the spirit kettle,’ she explained as the maid set down the shining silver pot and its burner on a small square wooden stand beside the tea table. ‘It hasn’t been used since the mistress died, but I thought it should come out again, now we have a new mistress in the house.’

  ‘How thoughtful of you, Mrs Wilkins.’ As the servants bustled away Dominique returned to the table, throwing Gideon a look that was brim-full with mischief. ‘Since Mrs Wilkins has gone to so much trouble you will have to take tea with me this evening, sir, even if you do consider it to be maudling your insides.’

  He grinned, pleased to have their previous easy companionship restored. He took a seat on the opposite side of the hearth, where he could watch her. It was very restful, he thought, to be sitting at one’s own fireplace with no need to go out for company or entertainment.

  * * *

  Dominique took great trouble brewing the tea. Gideon must have seen his mother do this a hundred times and she did not want to fall short of his expectations. And when she at last held out a cup to him, she had to try hard not to feel self-conscious in her low-cut gown. The emeralds, be they paste or real, rested heavily upon her neck and gave her a certain amount of reassurance. Gideon had given them to her and he was smiling now, so she was confident she was not offending him. She recalled the touch of his hands on her skin when he had fastened the necklace. It had caused such a leap of desire that she had found it difficult to keep still. If they had been sweethearts, she thought she would have turned and kissed him to thank him for his thoughtfulness, but they were strangers, thrown into marriage, so she must be careful not to put herself forwards.

  * * *

  ‘My sister Gwendoline is in town,’ he said, settling back in his chair. ‘I shall visit her tomorrow to explain our situation and ask her to take you shopping.’

  Dominique almost dropped her cup.

  ‘You—you will tell her about our marriage?’

  ‘Of course. There is no point in hiding it. As soon as Max and his cronies return it will be all over town anyway.’

  ‘I suppose you are right. But will she want to help me?’

  ‘She is my sister and will want to dispel any gossip.’

  Gideon replied with
calm certainty, but Dominique was not so sure.

  * * *

  It was in a mood of trepidation that Dominique went downstairs to greet her visitor two days later.

  She was immediately struck by the likeness between brother and sister, the same auburn hair and hazel eyes, but although Lady Ribblestone was tall she could not be described as lean. A gown of the finest cream displayed her ample figure beneath the holly-green pelisse that hung open from her shoulders, while a matching bonnet of the same dark green silk sat jauntily on her burnished curls.

  ‘So you are Gideon’s bride by mistake,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘Yes, Lady Ribblestone, I—’

  ‘Oh, no formality, please, you must call me Gwen.’ The lady came forwards and hugged her. ‘And what shall I call you?’

  ‘Dominique—that is, G-Gideon prefers to call me Nicky,’ she said, emerging, startled, from the scented embrace.

  ‘Now, why should he do that, when Dominique is such a pretty name?’

  ‘I—it is French...’

  ‘Ah, of course.’ A shadow crossed Gwen’s countenance, but she recovered quickly and gave another blinding smile. ‘Gideon tells me you are seriously in need of clothes.’ Dominique found herself being scrutinised from head to toe. ‘Well, perhaps it is a little out of fashion, but it is not that bad.’

  Dominique glanced down at her walking dress and gave a rueful smile.

  ‘Perhaps not, but it is the only thing I have.’

  ‘What? My dear girl, you must explain everything.’

  And suddenly Dominique found herself on the sofa beside Lady Ribblestone, telling her about her sudden departure from Martlesham and the trunk Max had sent with her, full of improper garments. Immediately Gwendoline demanded to see them.

  ‘I am sorry to say it, my dear,’ she said as they made their way to Dominique’s bedchamber, ‘but I cannot like your cousin. If this whole sorry business has given Gideon a dislike of the earl’s company then some good has come of it. And Gideon’s marrying you, of course.’