Amanda Scott (22 page)

“What is it?” Anne asked.

Jane was clearly reluctant to continue, but finally she said, “I know that gentlemen view some things differently than ladies do, ma’am. They take their pleasure where they will, whilst insisting that their womenfolk stay pure and innocent. And I know, from my own old mistress, that some ladies are more distressed by that than others are. You mightn’t think it to look at me, but I served in the same household for ten years in Gloucester, and I saw my lady turn a blind eye to my lord’s activities, even to the mistress he kept for years in London and for whom he bought expensive trinkets that my lady ought to have had instead. Time and time, my lady would cry her eyes out by night and behave by day as if naught were amiss. I’ll not like seeing you suffer the same way, ma’am.”

An icy chill shot up Anne’s spine, but her voice was dead calm when she said, “Just what are you trying to say to me, Jane?”

“When I took that wrong turning, ma’am.” She looked straight at Anne, pausing, as if wondering whether to go on, but when Anne nodded, she said in a burst of words, “I saw his lordship there, ma’am, near the boat, talking with t-two females. And … and before I’d so much as turned away, he was walking onto the boat, up a sort of ramp from the dock, arm in arm with the pair of them.”

“I see,” Anne said, striving to retain her composure. In that moment she realized she ought to have paid more heed to her father, Lord Ashby, and Sir Jacob Thornton when each of them had talked so glibly about Michael’s rakish past. That he consorted with women of the sort that inhabited the
Folly
was particularly shocking, for she knew well that such women were often diseased and that the diseases they carried could be passed on to others, even wives.

That was, in fact, precisely what had happened to her grandmother’s sister. Great-Aunt Martha had died of syphilis passed to her by her libertine husband, a man who—according to Anne’s plainspoken grandmother—had particularly delighted in frolicking with trollops. The thought that Lord Michael might have doomed his own wife to such a fate was too dreadful even to contemplate.

“M
ISS ANNE,” MAISIE SAID
quietly from the doorway, “you had better be getting downstairs to your guests. Lady Hermione went on ahead a few minutes ago.”

Grateful to be rescued from the necessity of continuing the uncomfortable conversation with Jane, Anne went at once, and was given yet more time to compose herself by the fact that, before her arrival in the drawing room, Sir Jacob and Lady Hermione seemed to have entered into a spirited debate.

“I asked him what he thinks he’s doing in Derbyshire when to the best of my knowledge, Parliament is still in session in London,” Lady Hermione explained in her usual frank manner.

“And I,” Sir Jacob told Anne in a laughing voice, “said that having spent the months of February and March listening to a lot of fool arguments about marriage and divorce laws, all of which seemed fated to continue for much longer than my interest in them would hold, I pleaded ill health and brought myself home. And you will recall that I did go to Derby,” he added virtuously, “which was for the sole purpose of helping one of my fellow Whigs compose an amendment to the bill, which he will present to the House.”

“Ill health, indeed,” Lady Hermione said acidly. “You sound like your wife, Jacob. But what he will have us believe, my dear, is that Parliament, being once more thrown into disorder by the difference in Scottish and English laws, is attempting yet again to alter the Marriage Act which was passed after the Scottish Union.”

“With disappointing progress,” Sir Jacob said, eyeing Anne as usual as if he were mentally undressing her. “Marriage law is the sticking point, of course, as it always is. Our members are more sensible about divorce, which in England is the privilege of the rich—as it should be. In Scotland, divorce is the right of all except the utterly destitute, which is just plain foolishness, but at least Scottish divorces are not recognized in England.”

Lady Hermione said sharply, “Divorce in England, sir, is the privilege only of rich
men.
Parliament will accept a husband’s suit on the ground of his wife’s adultery, but they certainly will not accept a wife’s suit on that same ground.”

Casting her a look of dislike, Sir Jacob said, “Certainly not. How ridiculous! A husband, my dear Hermione, cannot present his wife with an illegitimate brat to raise as her own, at
her
expense. Consider that before you prate such nonsense to anyone else.”

“He’s got a point the better of you there, Hermie,” Lord Ashby said, “but ain’t it dashed hard for anyone to be divorced, Jake?”

“It should be,” Sir Jacob said. “If it were not, every man who desired to get rid of his wife would take a mistress and desert the wife, thereby driving her to apply for divorce. And if it were so simple, wives would soon become uneasy about their position, which would create suspicions, endless quarrels, and a separation of interests between husbands and wives, all of which would be detrimental to the peace of the family and security of women.”

“Good God,” Lady Hermione said disdainfully, “how noble you make it all sound! The Scots are clearly wiser about such things.”

“Nonsense, it is a very good thing that their divorces are not recognized here and a great pity that we cannot say the same for their marriages. Are you aware, dear ma’am, that a couple may travel to Scotland and contract a clandestine marriage, which must then be held valid by English courts despite the fact that the same clandestine marriage performed in England would not be valid? The Scottish law of marriage, I promise you, is such as no rational lawgiver could ever approve, for it demands only a declaration by both parties that they wish to be viewed as husband and wife. One must, after all, have a concern for property as well as for morals in such things. And even you must agree that the danger to property is enormous when an English heiress can elope to Scotland for the sole purpose of contracting a clandestine marriage, and thus avoid the provisions of that very Marriage Act you mentioned, which strongly forbids such marriages.”

Bagshaw entered to announce that dinner was served, and Anne, aware that Michael had been silently watching her while the others argued, encountered her husband’s gaze when she stood up. He was dressed more formally than usual, in a maroon velvet coat and cream-colored knee breeches, and he looked even more handsome than usual. She saw in an instant that he was remembering their earlier encounter, and no sooner did her eyes meet his than the sensations he had awakened in her body began to tease her again.

He offered his arm, and while her mind strove to overrule her body’s yearnings, she obediently laid her hand upon it. When he placed his hand atop hers, its warmth stirred more imaginings. As she took her seat at the table, however, her imagination suddenly presented her with a picture of him lying with a diseased harlot, and unbidden, a second vision leapt from deep in her memory of Great-Aunt Martha, her face ravaged by the symptoms of syphilis.

That Michael might prove to be another such man as her great-uncle was appalling, and the thought of sharing her bed with him again, that very night, before she knew the truth of Jane Hinkle’s observations, was unbearable. But how she could avoid him if he commanded her—She could not. She was his wife, bound by her sacred duty to obey him.

“You are very quiet this evening, Lady Michael,” Sir Jacob said suddenly.

Her head jerked up, seemingly of its own accord, and she stared blankly at his florid countenance for several seconds before she said, “I … I was thinking.”

“Private thoughts, or do you mean to share them?”

“Share them?” She glanced around the table at the other interested faces turned toward her. The notion was ludicrous.

“Can’t think why you’re dining here again, Hermie,” Lord Ashby said abruptly. “Must be the third time in a fortnight.”

“Do you disapprove, Ashby?” the redoubtable dame demanded.

“How you do take a fellow up! I ain’t so uncivil—not but what I shall know where to lay the blame if Michael begins carrying on about the price of beef or eggs, or some such thing.”

Michael had been watching Anne, but he said to his uncle, “I won’t let you abuse Lady Hermione, sir. The price of food is as nothing when compared to sulphur and iron. I saw today that you have begun to fill that damn-fool balloon again. I thought I told you after you took Andrew up that I’d frank no more purchases of inflammable air.”

“So you did, lad, so you did. But the fact of the matter is that unless we English stay on our toes, those misbegotten Frenchies will get the better of us in the air. That wouldn’t do at all, and so you must agree.”

“I don’t. I can see no good to be had from balloons, or aerostats, or whatever you choose to call them. They look like children’s toys, and they act like children’s toys, and until you can make them behave properly, that’s all they will ever be.”

“But isn’t that just what I’ve been telling you?” Lord Ashby demanded. “I’ve a notion that a new sort of oar will be just the ticket, don’t you know, but until I can try it out, we’ll never know. As to my aerostats costing more than this house to run, for all you know, my discoveries may lead to great riches one day.”

“Well, until they do, you’d better find another way to finance your experiments,” Michael said, “for the estate will no longer stand banker for them.”

Sir Jacob laughed, made a mocking comment to Lord Ashby about the difficulties of high finance, and the conversation drifted into new channels for a time. Anne remained silent, letting the others’ talk flow around her, until Michael said suddenly, “Are you still thinking deep thoughts, my dear? You’ve scarcely eaten a bite.”

She hesitated, but knowing she must speak up before one or another of the more forthright persons at the table demanded again to know what she was thinking, she said quietly, “Well, I did have just a small notion about his lordship’s balloon, sir.”

Michael said firmly, “I’ve no wish to discuss that fool thing any more tonight, if you please.”

“Very well,” she said, “but you did ask me.”

“You did, lad, so you did,” his uncle said with a grin.

“He did, indeed,” Lady Hermione agreed.

Lord Ashby helped himself from a platter of sliced beef and said, “Anne girl, if you’ve come up with a notion for financing the venture, don’t keep it under your tongue. I must tell you, I’ve been thinking, myself, and I recall now that Montgolfier—He was the damned Frenchie who began the business of aeronautics, begging your pardon, ladies. Nearly had the French government convinced to try aerostats as freight haulers. Once we solve the trifling problem of steering, I should think we could finance our ascensions merely by carrying freight for a fee.”

The sound Michael made could only be called a snort, but Anne said hastily, “An excellent notion, sir! From what little I have seen of your talent for invention, I should think you will soon figure out precisely how to steer them.”

Lord Ashby looked gratified, but Michael said blightingly, “The whole business is nothing but damned foolishness.”

Sir Jacob was watching Anne again, and she wished he would not, but she was grateful for his support when he said, “Now, now, Michael, who shall say what is foolishness and what is not?”

“That’s right,” Lady Hermione said. “Why, even I can turn a balloon on its axis by employing the speaking trumpet to good effect, so it is not outside the realm of possibility that Ashby might design an oar that will work exactly the way oars work in the sea to direct boats.”

“Exactly so,” Lord Ashby said, beaming at her.

“You are all mad,” Michael said with a sigh. “You can’t steer an aerostat, because by its very nature it drifts at the mercy of the wind. So long as the wind does not shift, you can perhaps predict with some accuracy where you will come to earth, but if it does shift, you cannot row against it and expect to make progress, design you how many oars. The sky is
not
the sea.”

“Never said it was,” Lord Ashby said, “but you’re no expert, my lad, and I am. I tell you, one day we
will
steer the things, and when we do, you’ll be talking out the other side of your face.”

“That is just as possible, I suppose,” Michael said with a slight smile, “as that you will ever successfully steer a balloon.”

Lady Hermione said, “But your problem, Ashby, lies in finding the money you require to continue the experiments, does it not?”

“It does,” Lord Ashby said, returning his attention to Anne. “So what is this famous notion of yours?”

“And
your
problem,” Anne said, looking at Michael, “is to bring order to the various ventures upon which the Upminster finances depend, is it not?”

“Is that your problem, Michael?” Sir Jacob asked lazily.

Throwing him an enigmatic look in which annoyance seemed uppermost, Michael said, “That is a simplified description, certainly, but it lies close enough to the mark. Do we take it then that you have devised solutions to both problems, my dear? I must say you are very decisive today.” He smiled at her but she was quick to detect an edge to his voice even before he added, “Having set the whole house at sixes and sevens, do you now propose to do the same to my business affairs?”

“You make it sound as if I were encroaching, sir,” she said, half irritated by his comments but relieved, too, that he sounded only a little annoyed and had not flown right into the boughs.

“Do I?” His voice changed to a gentler note, relaxed and lower in his throat. “I did not mean to do that.”

“I only want to help.” Avoiding his gaze again, she found herself thinking that if the king of beasts ever purred, he must do so with a voice like Michael’s. The sound warmed her to her toes and made her wish she had not talked with Jane Hinkle. But even as the thought crossed her mind, the vision of Great-Aunt Martha’s diseased countenance intruded again, and shuddering, she knew she was glad Jane had spoken up, and hoped Michael had not already contracted some dreadful disease and passed it on to his wife.

Lord Ashby had been looking from Michael to Anne, and he said with some amusement, “Do tell us about your plan, my dear.”