Lord of Regrets (18 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Two nights later, Natasha stood in the marble-lined hall of Landsdowne’s house, handing her cloak to the footman. She was well aware that, despite her new gown, she hardly looked her best. Her eyes were dry and gritty from lack of sleep and the shadows beneath them were discouragingly pronounced. Nearly a fortnight of sleeping in Marcus’s arms and the comfort of five years of solitary slumber had been erased. In the dark midnight of her chamber, loneliness and longing kept her awake.

Courage calls the faithful ones
, she thought. She was a Templeton now, but her faith was hollow. She remembered clearly that day on Pall Mall, the way her parents’ friends had turned from her, the way John Underwood had stared incredulously. And she remembered her wedding day, the softness of the cashmere shawl, the brilliance of the candlelight, and Lady Alinora asking with such invasive curiosity about how it felt to be a courtesan.

The candlelight in Lord Landsdowne’s home was also brilliant this evening. The earl had assured her that none of the dinner guests would either know or care about the origins of her relationship with Marcus. All that mattered was that she was the newest Viscountess Templeton and the daughter-in-law of the Earl of Landsdowne. Perhaps not all of society would embrace her when and if they heard of her history, but tonight she needed to worry about none of that.

Yet, Natasha could not still her anxiety.

A deep sigh turned her attention to Kitty, who, for the first time in the few weeks Natasha had known her, did not seem to have her perfect poise.

“What do I not know?”

“What?” Kitty asked, startled.

“I feel as though I am entering the lion’s den.” The words felt truer after she said them, and Kitty’s dismissive smile seemed forced and thin.

“Should I caution you, Natasha?” she said, almost as if she meant to think the words rather than speak them aloud. “I simply wanted a Season in London, something to liven up the cold winter. I wanted my niece, Charlotte, to have a chance at happiness rather than withering away in the country. Yet here we are, caught in some web of Lord Landsdowne’s.”

“Web?” Natasha repeated. The word trapped her, as if the mere suggestion could have the power to imprison. Some latent instinct told her to flee, turn now, take this brief interlude of freedom and stretch it out.

“No, no, darling,” Kitty said with another one of those rare, deep sighs. “It is good he likes you. Perhaps he will change his mind about that foolish codicil. We are all dependent on him, you realize. Even Marcus.”

His name struck at her, and Natasha quickly slid down the thick iron wall that separated her daily thoughts from the inner maelstrom of emotion.

She grasped for something, anything that would bring her back up. She found it in the footman who guided them into the drawing room and announced them to the nearly dozen people gathered there.

Viscountess Templeton.
The footman meant her, not Kitty, who was the dowager now. Marcus should have been here at this moment. Her arm should have rested on his. No. This moment should not be happening at all. She should still be in Little Parrington. Or she should go back even further and never have met Marcus to begin with.

But would she trade Leona and every memory she had cherished for five years? Would she trade even the delicious reawakening of her body that night Marcus stole into her room all those weeks ago?

The answer came to her with a bone-deep shiver that she struggled to control as all the faces swung round to look at her. For a moment, Natasha could not see past a blur of candle flames, pale skin, rich winter-weight fabric, draperies, and gold-framed paintings. Then her eyes settled on the earl––not in his Bath chair this evening, but leaning heavily on an intricately worked and bejeweled wooden cane––whose heavy-lidded, considering gaze caught hers.

He stepped forward. Natasha heard the introductions, made small murmurs, struggled to keep faces with names, even though with such a small group, it should not have taxed her in the slightest. There were Lord and Lady Grayson, who were both of an age with the earl, then Lord Langley, his daughter Lady Jane Langley, and a rather brooding but handsome man, Lord Carslyle.

These men and women were elegant and erudite, and she found herself stretching to keep afloat in their conversation. They referred to Marcus constantly, as if they had nothing else to converse about with Natasha. Awkwardly, she stood at the side of a conversation in which Lord Langley and his daughter heatedly debated whether the question of Poland was of the utmost importance in any future discussion of peace between the allies.

Lady Jane was younger than Natasha, had clearly never needed to struggle or worry about her future. She shared her opinions with the confidence of the elite, and Natasha watched in awe, wanting some of that haughtiness.

“Perhaps the Polish people should be asked what they prefer?” Natasha said tentatively, fearful of the sudden attention her question drew.

“Ah, but Lady Templeton, you are missing the point. Naturally, the people shall have autonomy. We are merely talking about what would be in their best interest. And in our best interest,” Lady Jane explained.

Lady Jane’s words stirred something inside Natasha, a discomfort, a sense that there wasn’t that much of a distinction. She wasn’t certain if she was rebelling on behalf of the Polish people or on behalf of herself. The thought of Marcus crashed into her mind, and her head ached.

“Would you like to take a stroll about the room?”

She seized on Lady Jane’s suggestion with gratitude. When the other woman took her arm, it felt strange, as if she’d been taken under her wing much the way Lady Alinora had done in Little Parrington. What would it be like to be one of these young women born with such assurance and sense of place?

“I don’t suppose you understand yet, Lady Templeton, that this is what they do. You have married into the Earl of Landsdowne’s family, and he, my father, their closest friends, they are always discussing what
might
be. Of course, to understand that, one must know what
was
and what
is
.”

“Is that all they ever talk about?” Natasha asked. Marcus was so different, despite his grandfather’s influence. She forced the brief, unwelcome thought of him away.

“Do you know, I was quite surprised when I heard Lord Templeton was to be a diplomatic attaché. He seemed not the slightest bit interested in politics, in the world outside his estate.”

Natasha said nothing, saw Marcus’s face clearly in her mind.

“I must have been mistaken, but I usually never am about these things. I can judge a person instantly.”

Lady Jane pulled Natasha over to a pair of empty chairs.

“You, for example, I find interesting. You have lived in London most of your life, but you know nothing of society, of politics, of anything that makes this country great. You are a foreigner but you are English, too, by birth.”

It was all too similar to what Kitty had said derisively. Natasha looked over Lady Jane’s shoulder and around the room, filled with a dozen men and women of England’s finest society. Her parents were there, true, appearing uncomfortable. They
had
isolated themselves away from London even while living in the midst of it. But as the new Viscountess Templeton, and most likely someday the next Countess of Landsdowne, she could hardly isolate herself as they had done.

“I am going shopping for ribbons tomorrow,” Lady Jane said, abruptly changing the conversation. “I do hope you’ll join me.”

Panic struck Natasha silent. It was as if Lady Jane had known exactly what was in her mind, had decided to push forward and force Natasha to confront her fears. However abrupt, it was a kind invitation, but how could she accept? It was one thing to attend a carefully organized gathering, but to be seen together in public…

“Do say you’ll come. The weather is finally beginning to thaw, and I would love some feminine company.”

“Lady Jane,” Natasha said hesitantly, wondering if she was about to make a terrible mistake in this confidence. Perhaps John Underwood would hold his tongue. Perhaps the others who had known her, her parents’ friends, everyone, would–– No, she had to do this. “I would love to accept your kind invitation. However, I don’t think it would be equally kind of me to allow you to extend it without knowing of my reputation.”

“You have a reputation?” Lady Jane said with a laugh. “How impressive for someone who has only truly been out in society, oh, three hours?”

“I was Marcus’s mistress before I was his wife.”

There, it was said, and it was Natasha who had said it. Somehow that made all the difference. She hadn’t waited to be found out or embarrassed. A surge of excitement ran through her. Whatever Lady Jane said in response, it hardly mattered. This was a new beginning, a new life.

But Lady Jane was staring at her, not gaping, just staring, as if Natasha were an insect. In that way, the look wasn’t any different from Lady Jane’s usual expression.

“Five years ago, here in London. People know. People
will
know.”

“How amusing,” Lady Jane said. “I appreciate your forthrightness, Lady Templeton. I do prefer not to be surprised. Does Lord Landsdowne know? And the dowager viscountess?”

Natasha nodded. Lady Jane’s face was a perfect mask of politeness. Then that mask broke into a slight smile.

“I do hope that, as you have unburdened yourself, you will now say yes?”

Behind Lady Jane’s placid demeanor was something far more complex, but Natasha nodded once more. She was filled with a sudden sense of possibility, as if there might be a place for her here in London, a life independent of Marcus, despite bearing his name.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The next morning was a rare, bright blue, and the garden at the rear of the house, just beginning to come into its bloom, was still damp from the night. Natasha watched the puppy, off its lead, sniff about the pitiful flower beds as Leona tried to cajole her to play a game of fetch. Later, in the afternoon, Natasha would go shopping with Lady Jane and wear her best armor beneath her new fashionable clothes. But at that moment, it was a peaceful morning, a morning not dissimilar to many she had spent with her daughter in Little Parrington. Only, this garden was small, the walls high, and Natasha yearned for space.

She could leave. It had crossed her mind several times that with Marcus gone, there was no reason for her to stay in London, for even Leona to stay. Yet as miserable as she was, as angry as she still was at Marcus for having forced her to this point, this life was most likely better than an uncertain future.

“Puffin is being bad,” Leona said, running up to her. She said it in a serious tone, which seemed to ape the one Natasha used to admonish her.

“She is being a puppy,” Natasha said. “You need to be patient and continue to train her.”

“She doesn’t know she’s not supposed walk in the flower bed,” Leona said solemnly. “If we were home, she could go wherever she wanted.”

“Oh, come here.” Natasha reached for her, overwhelmed by how similar her daughter’s words were to her own thoughts. For all the distance between them, it was always this way with her daughter. Leona crawled into her lap, almost reluctantly. “Do you miss Little Parrington?”

“I miss Mr. Duncan. I miss Mary.” She paused. “I miss Mary the most.”

Natasha couldn’t say she missed those people, but she missed what they represented: a life of her own choosing, at her own liberty. A life with a safe identity, not weighted down by all her poor choices, by her family, by Marcus.

“And I miss Papa,” Leona whispered, “and Puffin misses him.”

I miss him, too
. The thought had hardly crossed Natasha’s mind when she squashed it down. There was nothing to miss.

“All right, Miss Leona,” she said with forced cheer, pushing her daughter off her and standing up. “It’s time for you to get back to your lessons.”

Natasha spent the rest of the morning in a haze of anxiety. She had heard nothing more of the chance meeting with John Underwood, and Kitty assured Natasha that if there
were
gossip, they would surely hear of it. Yet even as she sat with Kitty, in a relatively companionable silence, she worried about the afternoon’s outing. As she had revealed nearly all to Lady Jane the day before, she expected no more embarrassment on that front. Still, there was the sense of stepping into the greater unknown, vulnerable and unprotected.

A tumult of noise––horses, carriage, voices both male and female––pierced the silence. A breeze swept into the room, bringing with it the scent of late winter, of a coming thaw. Bringing with it Marcus’s cousin, Charlotte Hardwicke, and her maid.

“Charlotte! I have missed you, dearest.” Lady Templeton stood up to embrace Charlotte, more animated than Natasha had ever seen her. It was clear immediately that the relationship between these two was closer even than Kitty had seemed to Marcus.

“I’ve missed you as well.” Charlotte released Kitty and turned to Natasha. “And you must be Lady Templeton.” She said it sweetly but there was an undertone to her words. “Where’s Marcus?”

For a moment, she envied the affection that Kitty clearly bore for Charlotte. Natasha’s embarrassment eased into jealousy. By the time Lady Jane arrived, sweeping in with her usual cool breeze, Natasha was grateful.

“You act as though I’ve saved you from a fate worse than death,” Lady Jane said with a laugh once they were outside and out of earshot.

Natasha laughed as well, covering her embarrassment and her surprise at a clear example of Lady Jane’s self-professed powers of observation.

“I hardly know them,” she admitted, feeling guilty at smearing anyone’s name.

“Don’t worry, Lady Templeton. I shan’t hold it against them.”

They passed by the gas lamps on Pall Mall.

“I heard Westminster Bridge is lighted as well now,” Natasha commented, feeling that this was a topic that would surely interest the other woman.

Jane jumped into the conversation with a knowledge that was quickly becoming expected by Natasha. This was a woman who knew much of everything, who found the world around her fascinating. “Amazing is it not, the advancements we have made. Marchmont engages in experiments regularly. Lately, however, his interest is specific to the human body. Ah, but he wasn’t there, the other night. He is one of the Eight.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “The Eight?”

“Have you heard of them? Has not Marcus said anything? The other night a good half of that group were present.”

“His grandfather’s friends, yes. But they have no official capacity.”

Jane laughed. “How terribly bourgeois you are for one with noble roots. I don’t see why it should be up to me to educate you. Apparently, however, you must be made into a wife fit for a rising diplomat.”

“Marcus?” Natasha said incredulously.

“He will be,” Jane said confidently, “I assure you. Lord Landsdowne is most persuasive. Ah look, there is Lord Carslyle.”

Natasha remembered Carslyle vaguely. He had been invited to Lord Landsdowne’s dinner the night before; he was of the inner circle.

In the brighter light of day, Natasha saw that he was of an age with Marcus and handsome in a brooding sort of way. Compelling really, with deep-set eyes that seemed to observe everything. He approached the carriage, rested his hand on the side of the conveyance as he looked up at them.

“Good afternoon, Lady Jane, Lady Templeton.”

“Lord Carslyle, what brings you to Pall Mall?” Jane asked with the easy familiarity of an old acquaintance.

“A purchase,” he returned. His smile, which did not quite meet his eyes, included Natasha as well. He didn’t elaborate, and Natasha glanced down the street wondering what his purchase was.

“This meeting is most fortuitous,” Jane said. “For it has become my obligation to see that Lady Templeton takes to our society.”

Her obligation
. The words struck Natasha as odd, and for the first time since being grateful to escape from the house where Kitty and Charlotte had reunited, she grew wary.

He helped them down from the carriage, even though the groom was standing to the side awaiting that task. The ease of his polite regard startled her with its simple pleasure. Even in their youth, nothing had been polite between her and Marcus. Every moment had been impulsive passion and foolishness. Even at the end.

Even when he found her again.

It was hard to pretend she did not want him still. Did not miss the feel of a man now that her body had been reawakened to his touch.

The way Lord Carslyle was still touching her. She wondered what it would be like to be married to a man like him, to have those careful, smooth hands on her bare skin. The cold sense of wrongness struck her in her throat.

She shook her head at her thoughts as they crossed the short distance to the shop. Her companions’ conversation had turned to a
soirée
both Lady Jane and Carslyle were attending the following night.

“I’ll make certain you are invited,” Lady Jane insisted to Natasha. “After all, it is Marchmont’s wife who is the hostess.”

Carslyle nodded with the slightest hint of a smile. “Till tomorrow night then, Lady Templeton.”