Текст книги "A Secret Affair"

Автор книги: Mary Balogh

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

8

HANNAH WAS SEATED on the window seat in her private sitting room at Dunbarton House, her legs drawn up before her. It was one of her favorite poses when she was not on public display, but she was reminded of that first night at Constantine’s the week before. This seat was wider, though, and padded with comfortable cushions, and it was daylight and the window looked out on a long green lawn and colorful flower beds rather than on the street. It was a lovely day. Yet here they were, indoors.

“You are quite sure you do not want to go out, Babs?” she asked, turning her head to look at her friend. Typically, while she sat idle, Barbara was sitting very straight-backed on her chair, working diligently at an intricate piece of embroidery. “I feel guilty for keeping you inside.”

“I am quite happy,” Barbara said. “There has been nothing but a whirlwind of activity since I arrived here, Hannah, and I am feeling almost overwhelmed by it all. It is pleasant to have a quiet day.”

“But there is the Kitteridge ball tonight,” Hannah reminded her. “Are you sure you are up for it?”

“Of course,” Barbara said. “If I do not go, then you cannot, Hannah.”

“Because I will be unchaperoned?” Hannah asked with a smile.

“Even you would not be brazen enough to attend a ball alone,” her friend said, looking up.

“I could dash off a letter to Lord Hardingraye or Mr. Minter or any of a dozen others, and I would have a willing escort in no time at all,” Hannah said.

“Not Mr. Huxtable?” Barbara raised her eyebrows.

“After our appearance together last evening at the theater,” Hannah said, “even though you and the Parks and Mrs. Park’s brother and Lord and Lady Montford were there with us, I do not doubt that drawing room conversations throughout London this afternoon have firmly established us as lovers. Nevertheless, there is still the game called propriety to be played, Babs. Mr. Huxtable will not be my escort tonight even if no one else will be and I am doomed to remain at home.”

“Oh, I shall come,” Barbara said, picking up her work again. “There is no need to write to any gentleman.”

“Only if you are sure,” Hannah told her. “You are not my paid companion, Babs. You are my friend. And if you would like an evening at home, then so should I.”

“I must confess,” Barbara said, “that having attended one ton ball with you, Hannah, I am quite eager to attend another. Am I becoming quite… decadent, do you think?”

Hannah smiled at the top of her head.

“You have a long, long way to go before you can legitimately apply that epithet to yourself,” she said. “Unlike me.”

The sunshine beaming through the window was making her feel drowsy. She had woken up at five this morning and had roused Constantine to bring her home, but it had been well after six before they had actually left. She had been quite right about the danger of actually sleeping with a man, especially a man who had somehow got up during the night without waking her and removed all his clothes. They had both been warm and sleepy and amorous, and they had already been tangled together. A whole hour had passed very pleasantly indeed before they got out of bed.

“Was it very difficult,” Barbara asked after a few minutes of silence, her head bent over her work, “to change from who you were to who you are, Hannah? After you married, I mean.”

Hannah did not answer immediately. Barbara had never asked such a question before.

“Not at all,” she said eventually. “I had a very good mentor. The best, in fact. And I did not at all like who I was. I liked who I became. I like who I have become. The duke taught me to grow up, to value myself as I was created to be. And he taught me how to be a duchess, his gift to me. He taught me to be independent and self-reliant. He taught me to need no one.”

That last point was not strictly true. She had not realized quite how much she needed him until he was gone. And he had never told her that she needed no one. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had always told her that she needed love and the precious cluster of persons that would surround that love when she found it-her little community of belonging, he had called it. He had assured her that she would find it one day. He had taught her in the meantime not to be needy, but to rely upon her own inner strength to resist grabbing at any pale substitute for love.

Like sex, she thought now, closing her eyes briefly. It was far more intoxicating than she had expected it to be. It would be very easy to come to rely upon it, to live for the hours at Constantine’s house when all her needs could be satisfied.

But not all. She must never forget that. She must never make the mistake of believing that the needs Constantine satisfied in her were the fundamental needs of her being.

They had nothing to do with love. He had nothing to do with love.

“I liked you, Hannah,” Barbara said. “Indeed, I loved you dearly. I often remember how wonderful it was to have you always close, just a brisk walk away across fields and meadows. And I often wish you were still there.”

“I would soon find myself abandoned if I were,” Hannah said. “You will be marrying your vicar soon.”

“He is not exclusively my vicar,” her friend said with a smile for her embroidery, “though he is exclusively my Simon. I love him dearly, you know. He is bookish and intelligent and quite incapable of holding a frivolous conversation, though he does try, the poor dear. He wears eyeglasses and is losing his hair a little at the forehead and temples even though he has not quite reached his middle thirties yet. He is perhaps an inch shorter than I am, though when he is wearing riding boots we are of a height with each other. And he has the kindest smile in the world-everyone says so. But he has a special smile just for me. It pierces right through to my heart.”

Her needle was suspended above her work. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes shining as they gazed at her embroidery and saw a man who was physically far away.

Hannah felt a twinge of envy.

“I am very happy for you, Babs,” she said. “I know you thought you were doomed to spinsterhood even though you had several quite eligible offers over the years. But you waited and found love.”

“Hannah,” her friend asked, her needle still in the air above her work, “do you ever wish you had waited?”

The flush deepened in her cheeks, and she lowered her needle again.

“No,” Hannah said softly. “No, never for a single moment.”

“But-” Barbara set the cloth down on her knee before she had worked even one more stitch. “But you were in no fit state to make such a momentous decision at that particular time. You were so terribly upset. Justifiably so.”

“I had a guardian angel,” Hannah said, “and his name was the Duke of Dunbarton. I told him that once. I thought he would choke on his port.”

“But Hannah,” Barbara said, “he was so old. Oh, I do beg your pardon.”

“He was only fifty-four years older than I was,” Hannah said with a half-smile. “Only old enough to be my grandfather. Indeed, he once presented me with numbers that proved I could quite reasonably have been his great-granddaughter. You might as well give up, Babs. I will never admit that I married him in haste and regretted it ever after. I married in extreme haste and never regretted it for a moment. Why should I have? I was pampered and rich, and I was elevated into this world.” She gestured at the room around them with one arm. “And now I am free.”

She turned her head rather sharply to look out through the window.

Tears? Tears?

“Hannah,” Barbara said, “you ought to come back home. You ought-”

“I am home,” Hannah said, interrupting.

Her friend gazed at her with unhappy eyes.

“Come for my wedding,” she said. “You can stay with Mama and Papa. The cottage will be nowhere near up to your usual standards, but I know they would love to have you. And it would make my wedding day complete if my dearest friend was there. I know that Simon wishes to meet you. Oh, please come.”

“He will not wish it when he knows what I have become,” Hannah said. “And I would be dealing deceitfully with the Reverend and Mrs. Leavensworth if I were to stay beneath their roof as I am. Theirs is a different world from the one I inhabit, Babs. Yours is a different world. A more innocent, more moral world.”

“Come anyway,” Barbara said. “They will love you for yourself, as I do. I am straitlaced and puritanical, Hannah. I am still a spinster who has grown up very close to the church. If you were to shake me, I daresay I would become invisible within a cloud of old dust. I hate what you have done to yourself in the past week or so because I do not believe you are happy. And I believe you will only grow unhappier as your liaison with Mr. Huxtable progresses. You think you want pleasure, when what you really want is love. But I digress, and I promised myself that I would never scold you or reproach you. Come to my wedding anyway. Is it not time to come back? It has been more than ten years.”

“That is entirely the point,” Hannah said. “I am living in a different lifetime now, Babs, and in a different universe. The old ones no longer exist for me. I do not want them to exist.”

“What does that make me?” her friend asked. “A ghost?”

“Oh, Babs,” Hannah said, and she had to turn her head away again to hide the tears welling in her eyes, “don’t ever abandon me.”

She heard a rustling behind her, and then she was being enfolded in a tight hug. They clung wordlessly to each other for a while, Hannah feeling very foolish indeed. And, strangely, almost as griefstricken as she had felt on the day the duke died.

“Silly goose,” Barbara said in a voice that was not quite steady. “Why would I drop your friendship when you are so rich? And when you take me to ton balls and insist upon buying me a perfectly frivolous bonnet every time I wangle an invitation to London from you?”

Hannah swung her legs over the side of the window seat and brushed her hands over the muslin skirt of her dress.

“It was a particularly splendid bonnet, was it not?” she said. “If you had not allowed me to buy it for you yesterday, Babs, I would have bought it for myself, and where would I have put it? I already have a whole dressing room and the guest room adjoining it positively bursting at the seams with clothes-or so rumor has it, and everyone knows how reliable rumor is.”

“I have the guest room adjoining your dressing room,” Barbara said, straightening up and turning to fold her embroidery.

“You are greatly to be pitied,” Hannah said. “It must be extremely difficult, Babs, to get through the door, even if you walk sideways.”

Barbara laughed.

“Will you come to my wedding?” she asked softly.

Hannah sighed inaudibly. She had hoped that matter had been dropped.

“I cannot, Babs,” she said. “I will not go back. But perhaps you and your vicar would like to come and spend at least a part of your honeymoon with me in Kent.”

A maid came into the room at that point, bringing their tea, and the conversation moved on to other topics.

She was not unhappy, Hannah thought. Barbara was quite, quite wrong about that. And she was not going to become unhappier. How could she when she was not unhappy to start with?

She could hardly wait for tonight, after the ball was over. The need she felt might be a superficial one, but it was very powerful nonetheless.

She did not believe she would ever tire of Constantine’s lovemaking. She would have to, of course, by the time the Season ended. But that was long in the future. She did not have to even start thinking about it yet.

She got up to pour the tea.

***

A NOTE WAS DELIVERED to Constantine’s house early in the afternoon from Cassandra, Countess of Merton, Stephen’s wife, inviting him to dine at Merton House before the Kitteridge ball. He had no other engagement and was pleased to send back an acceptance.

He had tried a number of times over the years to resent, even to hate, Stephen, who had inherited Jon’s title and had turned up at Warren Hall at the age of seventeen as the new owner, bringing his sisters with him. They had all been strangers to Constantine, who had not even known of their existence until Elliott and his solicitors had searched the family tree and found a distant heir. Even then it had not been easy to track him down to some remote village in Shropshire.

Constantine had been sick with hatred before he met them. They were coming to invade his home, to trample upon his memories, to take over what ought by rights to have been his. More important than all that, Jon was buried on land that now belonged to a stranger.

Even afterward he had hated them for a while.

But how could one hate Stephen once one got to know him? It would be like hating angels. And his sisters were equally hard to dislike. They had been so very pleased, all of them, to discover him. They had embraced him as a long-lost member of their family. They had been sensitive to how he must feel about the whole succession.

Margaret and Duncan, Earl of Sheringford, had also been invited to dinner, Constantine discovered when he arrived at Merton House. Margaret was the eldest of the three sisters, the one who had held the family together after the early death of their parents. She had remained stubbornly single until they were all grown up. Only then had she herself married. Her choice of husband had seemed disastrous at the time. But the marriage had survived and apparently flourished.

Constantine relaxed and enjoyed dinner. The food was good, the company and conversation congenial. Until they retired to the drawing room afterward with an hour or so to kill before they must leave for the ball, he did not even suspect that there had perhaps been an ulterior motive in inviting him.

“Cassandra and I went to call on Kate this morning,” Margaret remarked as Cassandra poured the tea. “Nessie came with us too. Kate is in a delicate way again after all this time. Did you know, Constantine? She is both delighted and queasy in the mornings. She told us about the pleasant evening she and Jasper spent at the theater yesterday.”

Ah, Constantine thought.

“I did not know about her condition,” he said. “I daresay they are both pleased.”

They had got to talking about him during the morning visit, he would wager. He waited for them to say it.

“We got to talking about you,” Margaret said.

“Me?” he said, all amazement. “Am I to feel flattered?”

“You are in your thirties,” Margaret said.

Hmm. What angle were they going to take with this? They could hardly come right out and scold him for taking the Duchess of Dunbarton as a mistress, could they? As genteel ladies, they could not admit to knowing any such thing, or even suspecting it.

Margaret was doing the talking, of course. Cassandra was busier than she need have been with the teapot. Stephen and Sherry were trying to look as though they thought this was just another harmless topic of conversation.

“Yes, well,” Constantine said with a sigh, “the powers that be will not allow one to remain in one’s twenties for longer than ten years, Margaret. It is really quite unobliging of them.”

They all laughed, even Margaret, but she was undeterred from her purpose, whatever it might be.

“We all agreed, Constantine,” she said, “that you ought to be considering marriage. You are our cousin, and-”

“Second cousin,” he said. “Second cousin-in-law to Cassandra.”

“He is in his charming mood, Meg,” Cassandra said. “As opposed to his brooding mood. He is determined to take nothing seriously.”

Stephen sipped his tea. Constantine exchanged a blank-eyed stare with Sherry.

“I take the idea of marriage very seriously indeed,” he assured them. “Especially my own. And more especially when it is being suggested to me by a deputation of my female relatives. This is a deputation, I gather? Is there any lady you particularly wish me to consider?”

Margaret opened her mouth and shut it again. Cassandra merely smiled. The gentlemen both sipped their tea.

“Or anyone you particularly wish me not to consider?” he suggested.

Cassandra laughed outright.

“I told you he would instantly know what this was all about, Meg,” she said. “But really, Con, all we want is your happiness. I have been a member of this family for only a year-less, actually-but I too want to see you happy.”

“Beware a happily married woman,” he said. “She will scheme and plot to force everyone else to be happy too.”

Stephen grinned and Sherry chuckled.

“And there is something wrong with that?” Margaret asked, visibly bristling. She was looking at Sherry.

“Katherine saw the way the wind blew at the theater last evening, did she?” Constantine asked. “And did not approve of what she saw? And you all concurred with her opinion this morning? It would be interesting to know if Vanessa did too.”

“You have a favorite almost every year, Constantine,” Margaret said as she sat back in her chair, her cup and saucer in hand. “They have all been pleasant ladies. I particularly liked Mrs. Hunter the year Duncan and I met and married.”

Her cheeks would probably bloom with a thousand roses if he asked her to explain exactly what she meant by favorite, Constantine thought.

“I liked her too, Margaret,” he said. “That was why she was my favorite that year. But I hope you are not about to ask me to consider her as a bride. She married Lord Lund two summers ago.”

“And presented him with an heir last year, I believe,” Sherry said. “You are wise not to go pining after her, Con.”

Margaret gave him an indignant look.

“The Duchess of Dunbarton is beautiful,” she said. “No one can dispute that. She draws all eyes wherever she goes, and it is more than just her beauty that does it. She is really quite fascinating.”

“I hear a but in your voice,” Constantine said.

Cassandra took over.

“Kate was of the opinion that the duchess has decided to make you her favorite, Con,” she said. “And what the duchess wants, apparently, she usually gets. But she is said to be fickle in her preferences. Next week or the week after it is likely to be someone else.”

She was looking decidedly uncomfortable and turned her head to frown at Stephen, who was grinning at her.

“She does indeed have a reputation for being somewhat fast, Constantine,” Margaret said. “And I believe it is well deserved.”

What would they say, he wondered, if he told them that the duchess had been a virgin until a little more than a week ago, and that she had lost that virginity courtesy of himself?

“And you are afraid I will end up hurt and brokenhearted if I succumb to her wiles this week and perhaps next?” he asked. “I will be no match at all for someone of the duchess’s, ah, experience? Even though I am frequently said to be the devil himself? I am touched at your concern.”

He was feeling vastly amused.

“Oh, dear,” Cassandra said, setting down her cup and saucer with a clatter. “This was not how we planned to approach the subject, was it, Meg? Kate will be quite vexed with us. Of course you can cope with her grace if she should become your, er, favorite, Con. Indeed, I daresay there are people warning her against becoming involved with you. What we intended to say, or to hint or suggest, purely out of filial fondness for you, you must understand, is that perhaps it is time you turned your attention away from mere flirtation and toward matrimony. You are extremely eligible. And really very handsome indeed, though I am not sure that is quite the correct word to describe you. You draw admiring eyes wherever you go-just as the duchess does.”

“We have rather made a mess of things, Constantine,” Margaret admitted. “We meant to oh-so-subtly nudge your thoughts in the direction of marriage rather than… Well.”

“Perhaps,” Sherry suggested, “we ought to talk about tomorrow’s weather, my love. Or last week’s. Or next month’s.”

She smiled and then laughed aloud with what sounded like genuine amusement.

“May we forget about the last five minutes and start again?” she asked.

“Heaven forbid,” Sherry and Stephen said in unison.

“What I want to know,” Constantine said, “is what Vanessa had to say about all this.”

Vanessa, the middle sister, had been a warm friend of his until she married Elliott, now Duke of Moreland. Then, in trying to get at Elliott in the asinine, somewhat childish way in which he had tended to conduct their long-standing quarrel in those days, he had inadvertently-but quite predictably-hurt and humiliated her, and she had been barely civil to him since.

It had not been his finest moment. In fact, it had easily been one of his worst. He was dogged by guilt and shame every time he saw or even thought about Vanessa, in fact.

“To be honest, Con,” Cassandra said, “we had the discussion while she was up in the nursery taking a gift to Hal and paying homage to Jonathan. Cassandra had brought him with her.”

Hal was Katherine and Monty’s four-year-old son.

Stephen had actually written to Constantine after the birth of his son to ask if he would mind terribly much if they called the baby Jonathan. Constantine had minded very much indeed and had almost written back to say so in no uncertain terms. But he had stopped to think of how delighted his brother Jon would have been. He had been almost able to hear the boy’s excited, ungainly laughter. So the new heir to the title was Jonathan.

It had even felt strangely comforting to know that when he had made his duty call here to see the baby after his arrival in town.

“We ought not to have said anything,” Margaret said. “Duncan and Stephen have been odious enough to laugh behind their hands ever since we came from the dining room, and you are no better, Constantine. You have chosen to be amused.”

“Better that than his choosing to be wrathful, Maggie,” Sherry said.

“You see, the trouble is, Con,” Stephen added, “that my sisters expected to be matchmakers to their hearts’ content for years yet with me. But I was disobliging enough to fall in love with Cass last year when I was only twenty-five, a mere babe in arms. You are the only one left, even if you are a mere cousin, so you must be prepared to be cared about until you marry a worthy woman and settle down to live happily ever after. If you were really wise, you would do it this year and live in peace forever after.”

“Except,” Constantine said, “that I would be married.”

“Enough!” Margaret got firmly to her feet. “There is a ball to attend, and I would hate to arrive so late that the receiving line had even been abandoned.”

And that, Constantine thought, was the end of that. For the time being, anyway.

And his family did not approve of this spring’s mistress. Or favorite, to use the euphemism with which the ladies could be reasonably comfortable.