A Falling Star, page 24
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
*
‘I’ve changed my mind,’ Louise said to her maid, Christian. ‘I shan’t wear the blue tonight. This will suffice.’
Christian, who was no fool, eyed her mistress. She had had her suspicions ever since Louise had arrived in her chamber, flushed and bubbling over with laughter and excitement, but this was surprising. If Louise wished to impress her lover — and Christian had a very good idea as to his identity — then the peacock silk was the ideal choice. The tawny yellow, less fashionable, less daring, was also much less likely to inflame his desire — if, indeed, thought the maid with amusement, it needed inflaming any further.
She knew better than to argue, however, for Louise was not accustomed to having her wishes questioned. So she merely said calmly, ‘Very well, Mistress,’ and set about dressing her hair.
Louise sat at the table, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was as brilliant and glowing as if she had painted it, and her eyes stared back, huge and dark with remembered passion. Not love — though his touch melted her bones, though she wanted far more of him than one long kiss in a stable, she was under no illusions. Lust, and nothing more, would be her undoing, if she allowed it.
And she would not — yet — hence the change of gown. The peacock blue, which all but exposed her breasts, was hardly fitting for a quiet supper en famille, after all, even with the addition of her best lace-edged tippet, which revealed almost more than it hid. She had no intention of surrendering to Alex yet, anyway, if at all. That lingering embrace in the loosebox — she smiled at the aptness of the term — had whetted both their appetites, and left her in no doubt whatsoever as to the force of his desire, as well as hers. The knowledge was intoxicating: she, Louise Chevalier, who had once been a skinny, ungainly hoyden, the despair of her mother, had attracted this formidable and experienced man.
Fool, she upbraided herself, and wrinkled her nose severely at the glowing face in the mirror. He is a rake, which means that his powers of discrimination are less well developed than those of other, more scrupulous men — so is that any tribute to your charms?
No, she would not surrender, even in the face of the overwhelming, suffocating temptation which she had felt in the stable. But it would do no harm to let him think that she would, to keep him dangling, doling out a kiss here, a hurried fondle there, and perhaps deflate a little of that overweening arrogance in the process.
With a smile of pleasurable anticipation, Louise smoothed the folds of her bodice, adjusted her overskirt, and patted a stray curl into place. Then, as full of self-satisfaction as a cat, she stepped lightly down to supper.
Her grandmother, in ignorance of events in the stable, had not been looking forward to the meal. A variety of possible scenarios, all of which featured her nephew at his most drunkenly offensive, had filled her mind, and she was deeply worried about Charles. He, it seemed, had not been able to find Louise with the horses, but instead looked as if he had been vouchsafed a vision of Hell. Even Amy, hardly the most perceptive of souls, had commented on his strange looks and almost monosyllabic speech, and had been curtly rebuffed. And then there was Lukas, so small and alone amongst his warring adult relations, and as sensitive as all children to atmosphere and mood. She hoped, but somehow doubted, that Alex would repay the adoration which shone in every word that his son spoke about him.
She was astonished and pleased to find, as the supper progressed, that she had done her nephew an injustice, in this matter at least, Alex, very tall and imposing in his crimson and gold, took his accustomed place at the head of the table, with Lukas on his right and Phoebe on his left, Amy, Louise and Silence distributed beyond them, and Charles at the other end, in grim and lonely splendour, saying very little. It was Lukas, with his engaging chatter, at once polite and very direct, who held their attention. He talked about the tadpoles, and the pony he had been promised, and Louise was once more suggested as a tutor. ‘After all,’ Phoebe pointed out, ‘she is our equine expert.’
‘I’d be delighted to,’ Louise told Lukas. ‘But there are two problems. Firstly, I do not think that Gran’mère will be here for very long — a week or so, at most, and that’s hardly time enough. Learning to ride takes months, even years of practice. And secondly, your father has not yet bought you a pony.’
The boy’s small face fell, and he stared unhappily down at his plate. Louise touched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘But I’ll do the best I can, I promise you that.’
‘There’s a farmer at Combe Hay who often has ponies and small horses for sale, or so Dan Pardice tells me,’ Alex said. ‘You and I can ride over tomorrow and see if he has one that would suit you. It’s not far, and the weather seems set for another sunny day.’
The transformation of Lukas’s pale, rather pinched face was breath-taking. A less inhibited child might have leaped up to hug his father: he only smiled, but it was the pure joy in it that brought a ridiculous lump to Louise’s throat. ‘Oh, can we — can we? Can I ride Pagan with you?’
‘I was planning to take the bay — Pagan is still keeping company with his mares. But I’m sure one of the grooms will let you ride pillion behind him. What sort of pony would you like?’
The rest of the meal was given over to equine topics, and became almost a three-cornered conversation between Alex, his son, and Louise, with occasional comments from the other three women. Charles, at the opposite end of the table from his enemy, sat miserable and savage in front of food that tasted of nothing, and wine that might have been water for all the savour it had. His mind, bewildered and disgusted, was still reliving, over and over again, the stark little scene in the stable, the man and the woman wound so close together that they might have been one flesh, united by the corruption of lust.
He loved Louise: the friendship between them, growing in the months of her first sojourn at Wintercombe, had changed, almost without him being aware of it, into something far stronger. There were few young women in his circle of acquaintance, and the two he knew best of all, Amy and Phoebe, were so dissimilar as to seem almost members of different species. Louise, with her confidence, her wit, her sophistication and, above all, the open, friendly honesty of her manner, had enchanted him as if she were a creature from another world. His head knew that in this imperfect life she was not, and never would be, for him: she was destined for a good marriage to some wealthy Protestant, not to an impoverished Catholic without any prospects save the hopes and schemes which Bab and circumstance had sown in his mind. But his heart, so used already to yearning for things which he would never have, thought differently, and supplied his dreams with bright, joyous pictures in which Louise, with the lively innocence of her youth, consented lovingly to be drawn into his embrace.
And instead, she had apparently chosen Alex, the debauched unprincipled libertine, doubtless riddled with foul disease (although, most unfairly, his appearance gave no sign of it), the man who had deprived Charles of his inheritance and his future and his home, and laughed about it: and the man who had apparently already attempted, fortunately without success, to seduce Amy. In his heart, he had come to look on Louise as his, and her betrayal struck deep into his soul.
But perhaps Alex had seduced her. This thought, compared with those that had preceded it, was almost comforting. Charles toyed with the stem of his wine glass, watching the rich crimson claret, the colour of Alex’s coat, swirl delicately in the bowl. Might not his dear Lou, young and trusting and innocently friendly, have unwittingly led the older, unscrupulous man into believing that she would not repel his advances? And although his brief glance, all he could bear, had not shown him any signs of resistance, she was only a weak female and Alex a big man, over two yards high and powerfully built.
This idea was a very attractive one. Charles lifted his gaze to the face of his enemy, twelve feet away at the other end of the table. Alex was talking to his wan-faced little bastard: in the week since Lukas had arrived at Wintercombe, Charles had been unable to address any more than the most brief and stilted phrases to him, to the child’s evident bewilderment. In the flattering yellow candlelight, it was possible, grudgingly, to admit the man’s attractions. No wonder poor, deluded Amy had been so distressed at the thought that he might already be married. The question gnawed evilly at Charles’s mind. He had always been mild and cautious, eschewing violence as the mark of an uncivilised brute, but the status of Lukas’s unknown mother now loomed so large in his thoughts that, given the equipment and the opportunity, he would have racked the truth from Alex without compunction.
A plump, cheerful and very plain girl with the face and figure of a good-natured pig, who had been engaged as Lukas’s nursemaid, appeared to take him to bed. The child’s face fell, but he went with her docilely enough. Twinney brought more wine, bowls of sweetmeats, and a bottle of brandy. Usually, at this time, the women were accustomed to withdraw and leave Charles and Alex in lonely and hostile splendour. Silence, however, accepted more wine, put two sugar plums on her plate, and glanced round the table at her grandchildren and her niece. She waited until Twinney had left the room, and then fixed Alex with a stern and unwavering eye. ‘He’s a very nice little boy, and his manners are beautiful — a miracle, given his parentage and upbringing. It’s obvious that he’s your son — but on which side of the blanket?’
Alex, the constraint of Lukas’s presence removed, had already poured himself some brandy. His blue gaze equally implacable, rested on his aunt. ‘Is that any business of yours?’
‘Perhaps not directly,’ Silence said mildly. ‘But it is the business of people whose lives and expectations are affected by it — not to mention those who are, with the most selfless motives, endeavouring to procure you a wife.’
The irony in her tone was not lost on Alex, who raised his eyebrows at her. ‘Oh? And who might they be?’
‘Philip Cousins, for one,’ Phoebe said unexpectedly. ‘You told me yourself that he had offered to trawl Somerset for suitable ladies. I’m sure it’s his business if he’s unknowingly helping you to commit bigamy.’
‘Philip is a competent enough lawyer to be quite alive to all the possibilities,’ Alex pointed out, in the lazy drawl which always raised Charles’s hackles. ‘Besides, he already knows about Lukas. I went to Bath two days ago and told him.’
‘The truth?’ Silence enquired.
‘Of course. Certain alterations to certain documents were required.’
‘Then if you’re prepared to tell him, why in God’s name won’t you tell us?’ Charles demanded suddenly.
‘Mischief,’ said Alex, behind his glass. He took a swallow of brandy and continued. ‘The pleasure of seeing you all squirming on the hooks of your own greedy ambition. And I may as well inform you now, pretty Amy, that whatever ideas you may have allowed into your silly little head, I have no intention of marrying you, though you were the last woman on earth.’
There was a stunned pause. Amy gasped and got to her feet, her face suddenly distorted by disbelief and anguish. She stared at Alex, and he smiled, inclined his head, and raised his glass to her. ‘You’ll find a husband, my sweet, who’s far more to your liking. Look on it as a pleasurable interlude. And at least you’re still virgo intacta.’
Amy gazed at him in acute distress, her full red lips trembling uncontrollably. Then she gave a sudden, convulsive sob, and fled to the door. Her desperate running footsteps died away into the evening quiet. Louise, appalled by Alex’s behaviour, and disgusted with her own, avoided looking anyone in the eye.
‘That was remarkably cruel of you,’ Silence said, and her voice, abruptly, showed the steel so rarely displayed beneath that deceptive air of calm and ancient wisdom. ‘I doubt you did it for her own good, so I can only imagine that for some obscure reason you enjoy hurting those who cannot defend themselves. Your great-grandmother was the same — not an attractive trait. And I would like very much to know, as I am sure Charles would, whether you spoke the truth concerning her virginity.’
Alex laughed derisively. ‘Of course I did. Credit me with a little sense, Aunt. Would I so readily give Charles an excuse to murder me? I merely stole a few kisses, that’s all. Is it my fault that she built such a palace of illusion on very sandy soil? I thought it best to curb her rampant daydreams before they grew to unmanageable proportions, that’s all.’ He gave his aunt the sudden, impudent smile that was so charming, to the susceptible. ‘Amy is not the wife for me, and you know it. Far better to nip her pretensions in the bud now, and save much greater grief in the future.’
‘We have strayed somewhat from the point,’ Silence said, aware that it would be impossible to win this particular argument, which, unless ended now, threatened to continue all night. ‘You have yet to tell us about Lukas. And, in case it concerns you, I’ll say that to my mind, whether his mother is your wife or not should make no difference to our attitude to Lukas himself. His parentage is hardly his fault, after all.’
‘I agree,’ Alex said. He leaned back, surveying her, his face a little flushed. ‘But while you are unlikely to visit the sins of the parent on the child, Aunt, there are others at Wintercombe, I regret to say, if not further afield, who will not be so generous. And, as you say, he is a charming child, and I will not have him hurt.’
‘Nor will he be,’ said Louise suddenly. ‘Do you think it makes any difference to me, whether he is your legitimate son or not? He is Lukas, and that alone should matter.’
‘Should — but in this bigoted country, it is often the child who suffers,’ Alex pointed out. ‘A more enlightened attitude prevails on the other side of the Channel. Here, even though our late King made bastards the fashion, the mentality of Cromwell’s time tends to prevail outside the Court. If the world believes Lukas to be my lawful heir, not only is he saved from malice and wagging tongues, but I am saved the bother of finding myself a wife.’
‘Your argument’s spurious, and you know it,’ Silence said roundly. ‘You’ve never given a toss for gossip, and Lukas is too young to be affected by it — though I admit that in five years or so it might be different. Meanwhile, we are all of us, for our different reasons, most concerned to know. Is that woman in Amsterdam your wife?’
‘What do you think?’ Alex said immediately.
By this time Louise, were she in her grandmother’s place, would have been hard pressed not to wring his neck. But Silence only looked at him, a long, assessing stare tinged with an expression that was almost one of regret. ‘I don’t think that even you would be fool enough to marry such a creature,’ she said at last, consideringly. ‘Phoebe has heard a little about her from Lukas. And marriage in haste, repentance at leisure, has never seemed to be your style. So, on the balance of probability, I would say that she was your mistress, rather than your wife.’
Alex laughed. ‘Oh, dear Aunt Silence, your reasoning does you great credit.’
‘Well?’ Charles demanded urgently. ‘Is she right?’
Alex looked down the table at him, the smile fading suddenly. ‘Of course she’s right, you half-wit,’ he said derisively. ‘Johanna is a lady who is very pleasant to view, but not at all nice to know. In her eyes, Lukas was a mistake, whose sole advantage was as a pawn to tie me to her permanently. Unfortunately, she did not realise that I would not stoop to such depths, even to gain a legitimate son. I provided for Lukas and for her, more than generously, but I refused to marry her, despite her entreaties.’
‘There are some who would say,’ Silence pointed out coldly, ‘that you had an obligation to marry the unwed mother of your child.’
‘If I had, she’d have set horns on my head before the week was out. Johanna is incapable of virtue or faithfulness,’ Alex said, a glint in his eyes showing that he was well aware of the irony. ‘Both before and after the few months when she was my mistress, she enjoyed a string of lovers to keep her in her accustomed style of lavishness. Lukas was an inconvenience, a nuisance, and she treated him disgracefully, as Phoebe will attest — he has confided in her a little.’
‘But if she didn’t want him, why did she not send him to you?’ Silence asked.
Alex shrugged. ‘She is jealous, perhaps. The child hero-worships me — God alone knows why — and she did not want to make him happy so easily. I don’t know. She is a fiery and unpredictable woman. And also, I think, she still entertained some hope, while Lukas was in her keeping, of enticing me back to her bed.’
‘Even though she obviously dislikes you?’ said Phoebe, in tones of some doubt. Alex glanced at her, and smiled. ‘Any feelings we had for one another began and ended in her bed. It’s not a particularly flattering testimony to my prowess, either, when you learn that none of her other lovers was a day under fifty.’
Louise stifled a mad impulse to laugh, took too big a gulp of wine to cover it, and choked. At once Alex, pleasantly solicitous, leaned across Lukas’s empty chair and gave her a buffet, not in the least gentle, across her shoulders. It hurt, but it achieved its purpose. She coughed, swallowed, and wiped her streaming eyes. Charles, staring at her with all his yearning agony displayed, sat unnoticed at the end of the table.
‘Are you all right?’ Silence said to her granddaughter. As Louise, still speechless and gasping, nodded, she turned to Alex, who was downing the rest of his brandy. ‘It’s not a particularly edifying tale, but I believe it. If the stories that Phoebe has been telling me are true, and since they came from Lukas rather than from you, I have no reason to doubt them —’
‘Thank you,’ said Alex, with a generously insolent smile.
‘If they are true,’ Silence continued, ignoring his interruption, ‘then you have one thing to your credit, and that is your removal of Lukas from his mother. Let us hope that here he will find the happiness that has so far been missing from his life. And perhaps the presence of a young and impressionable child will prompt you to put some long-overdue restraint on your behaviour.’
