Authors: Dearly Beloved
Britain reacted to the victory with joy, then with shock when details of the ensuing treaty were received. The Convention of Cintra removed the French from Portugal, but also repatriated the captured French army in British ships and allowed the enemy to take all of their loot with them.
Wellesley's brilliant accomplishment was overwhelmed by public furor at the treaty terms, and all three British commanders were being recalled for a military inquiry. Gervase cursed with exasperation as events developed. As the most junior of the commanders, Wellesley had not done the actual negotiating even though he had signed the Convention. It was bitterly ironic that the general's career might be lost in a political melee not of his making.
At Aubynwood, events were no better. Gervase's guests ate and flirted and rode, enjoying country pleasures while settling affairs of state. The Count de Veseul drifted about with an expression of secret satisfaction. In a fit of perversity, Gervase had invited the decorative and predatory Lady Haycroft, since he was in need of a new mistress, but her highly practiced overtures repelled him.
He'd also invited Francis Brandelin because he felt the need of having a friend near. Even that was a mixed blessing because he couldn't see his cousin without wondering if the younger man was one of Diana's lovers. He could have asked but did not. He didn't want to hear the answer.
Talking politics with George Canning was less painful than brooding about his personal life.
The two men were descending the main staircase when a diffident knock sounded at the door.
The handful of guests milling about the front hall didn't notice, but Gervase snapped to attention when a footman opened the door and he heard the sound of an unforgettable female voice.
With a soft clarity that carried, Diana said, "Good day, Hollins. Please inform my husband that Lady St. Aubyn has arrived."
Musical though Diana's voice was, a cannon shot could not have produced a stronger impact. Gervase wondered for a moment if he was hallucinating, if he had been thinking so much of her that his mind had conjured up a phantom, but everyone below was staring at the newcomer, so she must be real.
Beside him, Canning said, "Well, well,
well,"
on a note of rising admiration.
Diana stood serenely indifferent to the effect she had produced, a shaft of sunlight gilding her hair, her head high and a relaxed smile on her exquisite face. Gervase watched in shock, feeling a gut-wrenching mixture of black fury that she had invaded his home, reluctant admiration for her effrontery, and aching desire at the sight of her loveliness.
Hollins recognized her from the Christmas visit, and there was a palpable pause while he evaluated her words. Everyone in the household had known what was going on between the master and the beautiful Mrs. Lindsay, and most had approved. It was quite possible that Gervase had married his mistress without mentioning the fact to his staff.
Deciding to err on the side of caution, the butler bowed, "I shall inform his lordship." He turned and disappeared from view.
Lady Haycroft was in the group below. Strange how vulgar her overgroomed blondness appeared next to Diana's gentle beauty. In a voice harsh with surprise, the widow said, "Impossible! St. Aubyn isn't married."
Diana turned to her with an expression of mild surprise. "Have you ever asked him if he is?"
"Why... well... of course not." Lady Haycroft stopped temporarily at a loss. "Have you just married?"
"Not at all," Diana said with undiminished good humor. "We have been husband and wife any time these last nine years. I've spent much of that time living quietly in the north. Our son's health was delicate when he was younger, but he is so much stronger now that finally I can join my husband."
Her voice acid with malice, Lady Haycroft said, "It's said that St. Aubyn has a mad wife locked up in Scotland."
"Heavens, is that what people say?" Diana gave a sweetly humorous laugh that entranced all the men below.
"I never cease to be amazed at how word of mouth can alter even the plainest of facts. I did grow up in Scotland, but I've never been either mad or locked up."
With delicate suggestiveness, she added, "My husband has often said how much he would like to keep me to himself. Perhaps that's where the rumor started."
As Lady Haycroft stared in defeated astonishment, Diana smiled graciously. "It was very bad of me not to be here to greet our guests, but I was delayed in Yorkshire. I do hope you'll forgive me. Surely you are Lady Haycroft? My husband has mentioned you to me, and there could not be another blond guest as lovely."
Game, set, and match. Lady Haycroft inclined her head in acknowledgment, her hostility undiminished, but unable to say anything more without appearing churlish. Gervase might have laughed at Diana's deft handling of the situation if he hadn't been so furious. If he had ever wanted proof of his wife's ability to warp the truth, she was providing it.
Forgetting his companion, he started down the stairs. At the same time, Francis came into view. He must have heard most of the conversation, because he walked up to Diana and gave her a light cousinly kiss. "Diana, how wonderful to see you. Gervase was not sure when you would arrive."
Such a greeting by St. Aubyn's cousin sealed her acceptance. The guests began to coalesce around Diana, eager to make her acquaintance and delighted to have been present at an occasion with such gossip potential.
Gervase reached the bottom of the stairs and stalked toward the group. People turned to stare at him, wondering if something even more interesting would take place.
He'd be damned if he would air his dirty linen in public. Inclining his head to his wife, he said coolly, "I trust your journey was a pleasant one, my dear."
Diana's head snapped around at the sound of his voice. Their gazes struck and held, and for an instant he forgot the guests that surrounded them, forgot his wife's treachery. He wanted to take her in his arms, taste her lips and loosen her hair, and make slow intense love to her.
She made a movement toward him, then checked it, fearful of her welcome. Closing the distance between them, Gervase took her arm in a punishing grip and led her away. From the calmness of his face, the onlookers would have assumed that he was giving a quiet, husbandly greeting, but his voice was low and furious as he demanded, "Just what the devil are you trying to accomplish with this? Whatever it is, you will not succeed."
Diana's drowning blue eyes met his, pleading and apologetic, but before she could speak, the door opened again and Geoffrey marched into the tense silence. Everyone in the hall looked from the dark-haired boy to the viscount, then back. It was possible to doubt Diana's identity, but not that of the heir to St. Aubyn.
With a temerity to equal his mother's, he walked through the guests to Gervase and offered his hand. "Good day, sir. It is good to see you again." Not an affectionate greeting, but quite in line for a well-mannered son of the nobility.
Geoffrey's
eyes
were very like Diana's, both in lapis-blueness and the anxious question in them. Gervase studied the boy's dark hair, the jaw line, the wide cheekbones, and wondered how he could have been so blind.
There was much that he could have said, but not here, in front of others. "Good day, Geoffrey. I trust you have been working on your Latin." His greeting was prosaic, but his handshake far from casual as he welcomed his son to Aubynwood.
Responding to the expression in his father's eyes rather than the actual words, Geoffrey beamed. "Yes, sir. And my Greek too."
Hollins returned with a footman. Perhaps he had listened at the door and knew in which quarter the wind lay. "Bring her ladyship's baggage from the carriage," the butler ordered.
Diana gave her husband a grave look. "Pray excuse me. The journey has been long and I am weary. I shall see you all later." She gave the other guests a charming smile.
As her glance circled the room, Gervase saw Diana tense for an instant. Following the direction of her gaze, he saw that the Count de Veseul had entered the hall and was regarding Diana with ironic amusement. Veseul, almost certainly a spy, likely his wife's lover.
Expression unreadable, she turned away from Veseul and climbed the stairs after Hollins. It took a moment for him to recognize that the meek maid following her was Madeline Gainford, who had entered unobtrusively. So his wife had arrived with her allies. Edith Brown was probably driving the damned carriage.
For a moment Gervase considered following Diana to her room and having the great blazing row she was asking for, but he refrained, knowing he needed more time to control his emotions before he confronted his wife and forced her to leave.
He turned to the accusing glare of Lady Haycroft, the eager widow who had believed her invitation to Aubynwood was encouragement. "How nice that your sweet little wife could join us, St. Aubyn," she said through gritted teeth. "I hope she doesn't find society too much a strain after life in the provinces."
"Lady St. Aubyn is remarkably adaptable." He spoke without inflection, then excused himself to his guests and went to the stables. Despite the fact that he was not in riding clothes, he took his fastest horse out for a furious gallop across Aubynwood.
The physical activity helped a little, but he still churned with bleak anger and despair. Having Diana among his guests, having to be courteous, knowing that she would be sleeping under the same roof… the prospect was unendurable.
As he allowed his blown and sweating horse to slow its pace, he wondered what the devil his lady wife wanted.
* * *
Hollins led Diana to the mistress's room, the same she had stayed in before, with its hidden passage to the master suite. After he left, she removed her bonnet and sank onto the bed, shaking with reaction. She had carried off the scene downstairs well, until Gervase had appeared, his eyes like shards of angry ice. How many of her airy explanations had he heard? And how much had he resented them?
Massaging her temples, she told herself to be happy that she'd surmounted the first hurdle and had a precarious foothold at Aubynwood, but much worse lay ahead. As she had guessed, Gervase would try to avoid a public scene, but he might have his servants bundle her off in secret. Or would he consider that too cowardly and feel he must deal with her himself?
He had been as angry as she expected, but there had been desire in him as well. She was sure of that. In private, passion might build bridges that could not be forged in public.
Veseul's presence had shocked her almost to immobility. Now that he knew she was Gervase's wife rather than a courtesan, he would likely leave her alone, but he still frightened her. Memories of his obscene liberties and his behavior at the Cyprians' Ball were so vivid that she shuddered.
She brushed her fingertips across the haft of her knife, where it lay quiet and deadly in its leg sheath. She'd worn the knife because they were traveling. Ordinarily she would not have gone armed at Aubynwood, but with Veseul on the premises, she would wear a knife all day and sleep with one under her pillow. And she would lock the door whenever she was alone in her chamber.
The thought made her rise. If Gervase walked in now ready to do battle, she would be unprepared. She escaped to the nursery wing and helped Geoffrey and Maddy settle in, taking pleasure in the illusion of normalcy.
Her son was delighted to be at Aubynwood, satisfied with his father' reception, and in short order he was off to visit the stables. Taking her maid's role seriously, Madeline descended to ensure that Diana's clothing was properly unpacked, brushed, and bestowed.
Diana considered sending a footman to find Gervase's cousin, but Francis found her first. She almost hugged him for the kind concern on his face when he intercepted her on the main staircase. She settled for squeezing his hands in hers. "Francis, I'm so glad you're here!"
"So am I," he said with a warm smile. "Obviously you are in need of allies." Tucking her arm under his elbow, he led her across the hall. "Difficult to find privacy anywhere in the house. Care to walk with me while you explain what is going on?"
Avoiding the formal gardens, they took a winding path down to the ornamental lake. Though they had not known each other for long, what had passed between them had created an unusual degree of intimacy. There was a rustic wooden bench at the edge of the little lake. He steered her to it so they could sit down, his hand resting on hers with light comfort.
It was a profound relief for Diana to talk to someone who knew and cared for both her and Gervase. She gave an expanded version of what she had had told Geoffrey. Because Francis was an adult, he understood what she was not saying.
He listened in grave silence until she was done. "So you really are married to Gervase, in love with him, and he can't forgive you your deception. What a tragic, ironic waste."
She glanced into his blue eyes, then looked away quickly, afraid his sympathy would cause her to break down. "You've known him all your life, Francis. What made him react so strongly? Some anger I can understand, but not this blind, unforgiving fury."
"I don't know, Diana." Francis shook his head. "He has been a good friend and cousin to me, but in some ways he is a mystery. Most English gentlemen keep their emotions hidden far from the sun, but Gervase goes beyond that."
He plucked a sprig of speedwell from the ground and rolled it between his fingers, considering. "In spite of his competence and success, there is a quality of tragedy about Gervase. He has always served others, in both small things and great, but never because he expects gratitude. He can't even accept thanks. I think he feels unworthy of anyone's good opinion."