Salt Bride (31 page)

“Do you think we would be missed if we gave our excuses and departed early?”

Salt was unable to hide his grin as they stepped forward at the butler’s announcement to the assembled company of the arrival of the Earl and Countess of Salt Hendon. He kept his square chin perfectly level and stared out into the void of dazzling light from hundreds of candles and colorful movement that was the noble crowd, yet he managed to wink at Jane. “Behave yourself tonight, Madam wife, and I’ll make certain the ride home is worth every dip in the road.”

Jane would have been hard pressed to give an accurate account of her first ball of her first London Season because from the moment she moved into the blaze of candlelight of the ballroom, with its blur of color and light, noise and music, and endless chatter, she was swept up into an evening of introduction, conversation, and dance. Not since the Salt Hunt Ball on her eighteenth birthday had she enjoyed herself so much. The four years of somber solitude and austerity as the charitable ward of the crippled merchant manufacturer Jacob Allenby were finally laid to rest with her husband by her side and the crème de la crème of Polite Society welcoming the new Countess of Salt Hendon with open arms.

Everyone agreed that the handsome colossus that was the Earl of Salt Hendon and his exceptionally beautiful and very graceful bride made the perfect couple. That is, everyone except the Lady St. John.

Diana St. John kept her distance from her noble cousin for most of the Richmond Ball while he remained by his wife’s side. She flitted from group to group seemingly oblivious to the Earl’s existence, which, friend and foe alike agreed, was most uncharacteristic. It was universally expected that at Society functions Lady St. John remained only one person removed from the Earl of Salt Hendon at all times. No one knew if he noticed her always in his orbit, or not. For the most part he seemed to treat her as if she was part of his shadow and got on with his life. Everyone wondered if she would remain part of his shadow now he had a bride, more beautiful and much younger than the handsome statuesque Lady St. John.

Resplendent in a Venetian red and gold sack back gown with three tiers of lace cascading from elbows to plump wrists, Diana St. John spent the entire time the Earl and Countess of Salt Hendon danced the minuet with her back to the dancers in conversation with the Italian Ambassador who kept his gaze leveled at her breasts, which were magnificently displayed in a low square cut bodice, a string of rubies and diamonds nestled in her cleavage. A confection of powdered curls, a gouache painted fan, and her distinct perfume were the finishing touches to her resplendent ensemble. She laughed, she chatted, and she was witty and full of life, so much so that more than a few guests commented on her high spirits. The only person to see through the façade was her brother.

Sir Antony had been bailed up by his sister in an anteroom off the main vestibule as soon as his well-shod foot touched the marble parquetry inside Richmond House, she demanding to know why she had not been invited to share the carriage ride with he and Lord Salt. Sir Antony suffered in silence her barrage of abuse. She was furious to be informed that the Earl had brought his wife to the Richmond Ball. To argue that their noble cousin had every right to bring his wife was pointless, so Sir Antony kept his opinions and his arguments to himself.

He never won with Diana, and he had long given up trying. He wasn’t by nature a coward, nor was he lazy, but he had learned from an early age that his elder sister had the ability to take a point of view and twist it to suit her own ends. It didn’t matter if her opponent had right on his side, by the time Diana had finished arguing, her opponent came round to her way of thinking, even if it was through sheer exhaustion and a need to escape her constant onslaught. Ethical considerations of right and wrong never entered her mind. It only mattered that she got her way. The only time Sir Antony ever saw her back down from a stubborn belief, indeed concede defeat in an argument, was with the Earl; and that was only because she had been besotted with their cousin since the schoolroom and would do anything to win his approval.

Many of their friends and family wondered why such a strong willed, handsome creature had settled on marriage with the mild-mannered Aubrey St. John. Sir Antony knew. St. John was Salt’s closest paternal cousin and best friend, and the pair was as inseparable as close-knit brothers. When it became clear to Diana that Salt would never offer for her, she chose the next best thing, or so she thought, in marrying Aubrey St. John. Lord St. John was not Salt, but he had been very much in love with Diana. The marriage was a disaster from the beginning, not least because, for all her outwardly overt sexual playfulness Sir Antony suspected his sister was frigid.

The marriage quickly soured, even before the birth of the twins, and Sir Antony was in no doubts that it was Diana who had pushed a wedge of mistrust between her husband and the Earl, and so firmly that it was not until St. John was dying that the two men were reconciled. St. John had not said much about the rift at the time but once, when in his cups, he had confided to Sir Antony that Salt had counseled him against marrying Diana but he would not listen; Salt had been right all along.

Sir Antony hoped that the Earl’s marriage would, at long last, throw the cold water of truth in his sister’s face and awaken her to the indisputable fact that the Earl of Salt Hendon was forever beyond her reach. However, Diana St. John’s response to the marriage not only surprised but also shocked Sir Antony to such a degree that he feared for her sanity. She conducted herself as if the Salt Hendon marriage was a small, not insurmountable, problem that could be overcome if she just put her mind to finding a solution. At her very worst, particularly in the company of their mutual friends, she put on a very public façade of careless indifference, acting as if Salt’s marriage had never taken place. She was acting that way tonight at the ball and he had to stop her before she made a fool of herself before three hundred people.

Just before the commencement of the country-dances, standing in the refreshment room by a Corinthian pillar and pretending an interest in the crowd through his quizzing glass, Sir Antony tried to reason with his sister. She was talking with Pascoe Church, amongst others, and Sir Antony deliberately bumped her elbow so that she swirled about to see whom it was. He nodded at Pascoe Church, smiled at his sister and took her firmly by the elbow, and led her to a quiet corner by a French window. Here he let her go and again took up his quizzing glass.

“How very sporting of you to allow Salt breathing room tonight,” he said chirpily.

Diana bristled. “Heard the expression give enough rope, brother dear?”

“Salt’s never danced at the end of any ropes.”

“Fool! Her. The moment he steps away she’s bound to hang herself.”

Sir Antony turned his quizzing glass from the glittering crowd on his sister. “It doesn’t look as if he wants to leave her side, does it?”

“He can’t afford to, more’s the pity. An organ grinder has more confidence in his monkey!”

Sir Antony couldn’t help a laugh of disbelief and he shook his powdered head. “You go on convincing yourself of that, Di. I suppose he isn’t by her side because that’s where he wants to be?”

“Don’t be a dullard, Tony. Wants to be? You never were quick on the uptake, were you? If Salt hadn’t got you that sinecure in the Foreign Department I despair of where you would’ve ended up.”

With a sigh, Sir Antony let the quizzing glass drop on its riband and picked up two glasses of champagne from a passing footman’s silver tray. He gave one to his sister, and raised his to her. “Comfortably ensconced at White’s behind the pages of a newssheet minding my own business, I suspect.”

Diana St. John’s painted mouth twisted with disdain. “You were such a disappointment to Papa.”

“We all can’t be Queen of the Amazons, my dear,” he replied mildly. “Oh, you could. No doubt about that, Di. But there’s one thing you’ll never be and that’s Countess of Salt Hendon. The post’s been filled—
for life
.”

“I so
hate
you, I’d like to throw this champagne in your inept face.”

“Go ahead,” he stated and indicated the crowd breaking up into groups for the country-dances beyond the pillars in the ballroom. “At least then this lot would see your soft center and know that underneath your sparkling display of indifference you have a heart. Di, please, before you douse me in French vinegar, listen,” he added, all pretence dropped. “You must leave Salt alone, for your own sake as much as his. You need to make something of your life. You could marry any grand nobleman in this room in need of a wife and be a great political hostess; what a formidable pair you’d make! But there’s one nobleman you will never have, under any circumstances.”

Diana St. John stared at her younger brother a full five seconds before she replied. Sir Antony thought he detected a whisper of emotion in her face, until she opened her mouth and then his shoulders slumped at the futility of trying to make her see reason.

“I settled for second best once before. Never again.”

“St. John loved you to distraction, Di, and you know it! Poor chap. He knew your heart belonged to Salt, that you foolishly married him hoping to make Salt jealous. Didn’t work, did it?”

“He deserves better than that skinny county chit who’s now on his arm,” Diana St. John ruminated, ignoring her brother’s pointed comments. “He was almost trapped by her four years ago, until I intervened to save his career and his name. And I won’t sit by and allow her to ruin his political ambitions now, not after all my hard work to see him rise to greatness.”

“
Your
hard work?” Sir Antony was laughingly incredulous. He threw back the last drops of champagne and deftly off-loaded his glass on a passing footman. “I suppose Salt had nothing to do with his own success?”

“He needs a female who can help him achieve even greater political success. Someone just as adept at playing the political game. A hostess who isn’t afraid to be ruthless and cunning if required to further his career.”

“Has it never occurred to you, Di, that what a nobleman of Salt’s position and abilities needs in a wife is someone who cares about him, not his political posts, or whether he’ll rise to be First Lord of the Treasury, or form government with a pack of petty corridor-whispering, back-stabbing noble rabble. A wife who doesn’t meddle in politics, who, at the end of the day makes him feel content and untroubled.” Sir Antony peered at his sister. “No? Not ringing any bells of St. Clemens in that pretty head of yours, sister of mine?”

“Salt may have married a wide-eyed stick insect, but he need not be distracted by her,” Diana stated as if her brother hadn’t spoken, depositing her glass of champagne on a silver tray that was being offered to her. “If he wants distraction, I can offer him any number of females chaffing at the bit to fill the position of mistress.”

“Your services in that area have never been sought or required,” Sir Antony remarked dryly. “And as he hasn’t strayed from the marital bed since the day he was married, his carnal wants are being admirably fulfilled by his wife.”

“That just proves she’s ill-bred. Noble wives are not there to play harlot for their husbands. Husbands take their carnal appetites elsewhere. That’s what whores are for.”

Sir Antony rolled his eyes to the ornate ceiling on a sigh.

“Father lamented Mother had all the carnal cravings of a Scottish salmon.”

“He’ll soon tire of her,” Diana went on, ignoring her brother’s remark, “whether she plays the whore for him or not, he always tires of his whores.”

Finally, Sir Antony’s frayed temper snapped. He gritted his teeth and turned glittering blue eyes on his sister. “For God’s sake, Diana! Stop calling her that. She’s his
wife
.”

Diana teasingly tickled her brother under the chin with the pleats of her fan. “Ooh! Such
emotion
, Tony! Got you under her whore’s spell, too? That would explain the latest gossip circulating drawing rooms: While Lord Salt is hard at work making speeches in the House you are hard at work between Lady Salt’s thighs.”

Sir Antony snatched his sister’s fan and flung it to the floor in abhorrence. “Never.
Never
repeat that piece of filth again,” he growled. “Lady Salt is deeply in love with her husband. I believe her to be honest and true. And even if in your blind jealousy you have convinced yourself that she could be disloyal to Salt, you should never have believed it of me, your own brother! I could never cuckold my best friend.”

“Sir Lancelot to Salt’s King Arthur to be sure, Tony!” Diana announced dismissively with a trill of laughter that had the few remaining guests lingering by the refreshment tables turning to stare with interest at brother and sister. “But it’s not what
I
believe that matters. It’s what Salt believes about his little whore-bride, isn’t it?”

“For the last time, Diana,” Sir Antony stated, beyond patience. “Leave them alone; for your own sake. Salt has tolerated your interference in the past because it has been harmless, if annoyingly persistent. This is an entirely different game you’re playing at, and one you are destined to lose. I give you fair warning: Overstep the mark with his wife and he’ll never forgive you…ever.”