“Is it Henderson? Is that it? Did he get after you when you went home? There must be another man.”
“No, of course not,” she said quickly, fearing a duel or at the very least a good beating from this newly violent husband.
"Is there someone else, someone I don’t know about?”
“No, it has nothing to do with anyone else. It’s you. Us,” she modified.
“If that’s true, if you’re telling me the truth—”
“I’m not a liar!”
“Well then,” he said firmly, “we can work it out. Come on, we’d better get back.” Already in his mind he was working it out. Into the empty room beside Belle’s. She loved him. She did. She might not
like
him, but she loved him. And to think, only last night she had looked at him with unveiled hatred, but he had turned her around, as he always knew he could if he only could get to her.
They rode back to Ashbourne at a slower pace, side by side at a canter through the forest on the bridle path. Oliver felt he had taken a giant step, and spoke temptingly of Guinevere and the course at Belwood, of the saloon waiting for a woman’s touch. He omitted any mention of London, sensing that danger lurked in that quarter. Belle asked a few questions, enough to signify some interest at least, and when they entered Ashbourne, Lady Dempster saw through her lorgnette what looked very much like a happy couple.
Belle went abovestairs immediately to bathe and change, but Oliver first went after Kay.
“How did it go?” she asked.
His smiled encouraged her. “We’re getting there,” he replied. “Kay, I think it’s time you let me change rooms.”
“Did she say so?” Kay checked.
“I didn’t mention it, but I don’t think she’ll mind.”
“Oh no, you don’t pull that trick on
me,
Master Jackanapes.”
“I tell you it’s all right. We’re practically reunited.”
“What did the trick?”
“Juno proved more efficacious than books. She’s a bruising rider, by the way.”
“No, Oliver, it would be too shabby for me to slip you in there behind her back.”
“Dammit there’s a lock in both rooms. She can barricade herself in if she doesn’t like my being there. Please, old girl.”
Kay wavered. “I wash my hands of it,” she said with an arch smile. “But if you go and do it behind my back, of course, how should I know? But I shall claim total ignorance of the whole if she asks me, and so I warn you.”
“Thanks, cuz,” he said, shouldering the whole responsibility with the lightest heart in the world. He went off to inform his valet to change his gear while everyone was at dinner, and not to bother changing the names on the door, thinking by this simple ruse to pull the wool over Dempster’s eyes, and she with her dresser on the alert for any such goings-on. His valet nodded solemnly, his face a perfect mask of indifference. “Yes, your grace,” he said, as though the matter of his master being rejoined to his wife were a matter of not the slightest interest to him, and every servant at Belwood waiting for his first letter from London, to hear if she was there. Even before making the change, he slipped down to the stables to let the groom in on the secret.
Chapter Eight
To indicate that Oliver was half reinstated with his wife, he was allowed to sit nearer to her at the table. Not beside her so that they must converse, but across from her, so that he could overhear every word she said, and with his ears turned her way, she didn’t say much.
For the pleasure of having a view of his wife, Avondale had to endure Signora Travalli at his side as his own partner. She was pretty and voluble, two assets that were generally appreciated in one’s dinner partner, but as her every word was unintelligible, conversation with her was naturally trying.
Mr. Henderson was shrunk to a very shadow of a man, hiding away well below the salt and hardly uttering a word except when spoken to. His mind was riveted on forming an excuse to leave the house party early. He wished his mama would drop him a line, so that he might twist it into an excuse to go home at once. His hopes were high that on the morrow he would hear from her. It would be his third day away from home, providing ample time for her first missive to reach him. He didn’t doubt she would have written him the afternoon of the day he left.
It became more difficult to hide after the ladies had left the table. He would no sooner get himself installed behind a wide back than the owner of it would stroll to the sideboard for a glass of wine, and expose him to Avondale’s gaze. Every time he glanced toward the duke, those gray eyes were raking him. He became so rattled that he bolted from the room not fifteen minutes after the ladies’ departure. He had decided to blow his cloud outside in the garden, but as he moved so swiftly, Avondale could not discover which way he had gone, and went off to the saloon to keep an eye on him.
The ladies were surprised to be joined so soon, and by only one gentleman. Every eye was on him as he entered, observing how he scanned the room as though looking for someone. It wasn’t Belle, either. His eyes slid right over her and kept going. Lady Dempster trained her lorgnette on him, her lips parted in a watching smile. She thought it must be Kay he was looking for. Perhaps the port had run out, or been bad, or more cigars were required.
There was suddenly a motion behind him, someone being shown in at the front door. Lady Dempster had to arise from her seat to see who it was, but she begrudged no exertion in her pursuit of news. She had got a chair beside Belle for the purpose of quizzing her about the afternoon’s ride. She turned to her now, holding back a hearty laugh.
“What fun!” she said in a loud whisper to Belle. “Mrs. Traveller is here. They didn’t know
you
were to be here, my dear, and have set up this meeting. And you catching them dead to rights, same as
he
caught you and Henderson. So that’s who he was looking around for! Wanted to warn her away. I wouldn’t have missed this for the world, and if Kay didn’t stage-manage the whole, it’s more than I know.” She turned to relay the precious joke to Mrs. Sloane, who looked at Belle with a rueful smile of sympathy.
Belle first thought she was going to faint. Her mind blanked out entirely, and it was only luck that kept her on her chair. It was too much to have this to contend with on her first venture back into the world. Oliver alone had been bad enough. She was still half afraid of his aristocratic face, too fast to sneer, but to have his girl friend too under the same roof was just too much. He had planned all along to meet that woman here, and had
dared
to make love to herself that same day. Had begged her to go back to him, implying things had changed, that they would stay at Belwood.
She
would be stuck off at Belwood was more like it, while he roared around London with this woman.
Her only redemption was anger. She was too mad to faint dead away, almost too mad to look to the doorway, but her eyes were drawn there involuntarily, and she saw what everyone else was seeing—Mrs. Traveller beaming at Oliver, taking his arm and talking to him in an excited and intimate way. Yes, this was why he had torn himself away from the port hour, to come and greet his vulgar, fat lover, in front of the whole room.
Lady Hathaway’s anger was not great enough to keep her from fainting. It was her vinaigrette that saved her day. She pulled it from her pocket and unscrewed the lid to take a good, long sniff, before everyone. Lady Dempster, with her eyes darting all over the room to gauge everyone’s reaction, went off into not very silent whoops of mirth, and said she would have crossed the Channel to see this. Kay looked to Belle, a desperate appeal in her eyes.
Don’t spoil my party,
she wanted to convey, and soon dashed to her side to convey it in words. “She was not invited!” was all she got out, which sent Lady Dempster into fresh peals of glee.
“Not invited! She had the temerity to come without an invitation! Avondale put her up to it. She has the brass of a canal horse, that hussy,” the old gossip confided to Belle, who glared at her in silence. “Don’t pout, miss. You can’t say a word against him, for you came with Mr. Henderson yourself.”
Here was some shred of face-saving. She had Arnold to hold up to these devils and pretend he was her beau.
Mrs. Traveller was soon into the room, where she could be inspected in more detail by them all, most particularly the Duchess of Avondale, who was extremely curious to see how her aging charms were holding out. She was still bordering on the fat, but had not passed over the border; she was still attractive in a mature, sensual way. She was swathed in a voluminous blue pelisse that gave only an indefinite idea of the figure beneath, but it could be seen well enough to indicate its general conformation. Over her blond curls she wore a dashing bonnet, weaving an ostrich plume behind her. Even at a distance of a few yards her overpowering scent could be noticed.
“Darling, don’t kill me!” the unexpected visitor called in a loud voice to Lady Hathaway, then began walking toward her. Kay maintained just enough sense to walk forth to meet her, otherwise she would have been directly on top of Belle. They met in the middle of the room, and Mrs. Traveller talked on, in a carrying tone.
“I am not staying—only a poor refugee throwing myself on your mercy for one night. You must give me lodgings.”
Lady Dempster jostled Belle’s elbow and said, “There, your husband has warned her away. What did it tell you? What did I tell you? You may depend on Avondale to wrap the whole up in clean linen.”
“I was to meet my husband at the inn, and he didn’t come,” Mrs. Traveller went on. “I am without funds—am I ever any other way?—and mercifully remembered you live nearby. I had no idea you were entertaining, or I would have sent word first and asked you. Any cubbyhole will do for me. Let me have three chairs and a bolster by the fireplace.” She then threw her arms around Kay in a theatrical gesture of welcome and laughed.
“Why didn’t you invite me, darling? It looks an excellent party.” Mrs. Traveller scanned the room as she spoke, waving to this and that one as she recognized them.
Further confusion was added as the other gentlemen began to straggle in from their port. “Oh, we can do better than a chair by the fireplace,” Kay said, rallying from her state of shock. “We’re not quite filled to the rafters. It’s only a small party.”
“We know where she’ll end up,” Lady Dempster whispered aside to Belle, meaning of course in Oliver’s room.
“Come and I’ll see if I can’t find a room for you,” Kay said, and rushed her unwanted guest from the room.
“I haven’t had a
bite
to eat,” Mrs. Traveller was heard to say as she left. Avondale still stood at the doorway, still looking around for Henderson too, though no one noticed it now. Mrs. Traveller turned to him and said a few words on her way out. He nodded and smiled, and she went on out.
As though it had never happened, as though Mrs. Traveller had not come here at his urging and practically thrown herself on his breast, Oliver walked forward from the doorway and stood looking about for a chair beside Belle. None was vacant, but undaunted, he took up a standing position as close as it was possible for him to get to her, and said, “I wonder if Signora Travalli is to sing for us this evening. You missed her last night, Belle, and you particularly wanted to hear her. She’s very good. I caught only the end of her concert, and would like to hear her again.”
His wife stared at him in dumbfounded fascination. What kind of a man was he, that he could carry on as though nothing had happened, when he had just made a complete fool of both her and himself? She didn’t say a word. Her throat was constricted.
“Are you not feeling well?” he went on, and even injected a note of concern into his voice. Still, speech was impossible. She could only stare, such a look of utter contempt and misery that he was shaken.
“Belle, are you all right?” he asked, loudly enough that several heads turned to examine her, thus increasing her agitation.
“I’m fine,” she replied in a hollow tone.
“You look awful. Let me get you a glass of wine,” he said, and turned to do it.
“He’s a cool one,” Lady Dempster informed Lady Avondale.
She accepted the glass without a word and sipped it, while Avondale stood beside her. “May I have your chair, please?” he asked Lady Dempster. “I don’t think my wife is feeling well.”
It was the best chair in the room from which to view this unmatchable show, but Lady Dempster didn’t know how to refuse a direct request. “Certainly,” she said, and arose to take up his spot on the floor, from which she could see things just as well, if less comfortably.
“What’s the matter, darling?” he asked, leaning over and placing an arm behind her shoulders.
He was shocked at the expression she showed him. It was back to hatred, and he hadn’t done a thing. Her face was white, her eyes two dark pools of accusation. She leaned forward as though to avoid contact with him.
“Nothing’s the matter,” she answered in a fairly collected voice. “I feel a little warm, that’s all. I think I’ll walk a bit.”
“That’s a good idea,” he agreed, rising to offer her his arm. She disliked to touch it, but needed the support.
Once beyond hearing of the others he asked, “Belle, what is it? Are you ill?”
“Yes, I’m sick to death of you,” she told him in a fierce way, and bolted up the stairs.
He was right behind her. The fact of her turning on him as soon as Mrs. Traveller had arrived had not completely escaped him. He seemed to remember that Belle didn’t like the woman, but he could hardly be held responsible for her coming, and if that was what she thought, he meant to enlighten her immediately.
“Listen, if it’s Mrs. Traveller that has you in the boughs, it’s not
my
fault she came.”
“Don’t touch me, Oliver,” she said in a carefully controlled voice as he reached out a hand.
“I’m not poison,” he answered, stirred to anger.
“Yes you are. You’re deadly as a cobra,” she replied, and opened the door into her room, closing it in his face.
Her dresser was there, arranging things on the night table, and Belle said quietly, “You can go now, Marie. I won’t need you for a while.”