Authors: The Painted Veil
“I would say that your passion in this matter
alarms me, Mandell. I raised you to have a better awareness of what
you owe to the name 1 have given you.”
“You raised me to be a cold-hearted,
unfeeling bastard, just like yourself.”
Something flickered in the old man's eyes,
something that might have been pain in a countenance less icy. He
clutched his walking stick, the lines about his mouth deepening as
he stalked the rest of the way to his carriage. One of the bewigged
footmen sprang forward at once to let down the steps and open the
door.
The duke paused long enough to command, “You
will end the connection, Mandell. I endured seeing your mother cast
her life away on a mesalliance. I will not tolerate you making the
same mistake. I brook no interference with my wishes.”
“That is but one more way in which we are
alike, Your Grace. I tolerate no interference, either.”
Their eyes locked in one final clash of
wills. Then Mandell turned and strode away, without glancing back.
He heard the coachman give the signal and the clatter of wheels as
the carriage lurched into motion and vanished down the lane,
leaving that part of the park silent except for the twittering of
some sparrows. But the peace of the afternoon seemed irrevocably
shattered.
Mandell started back to where Anne waited for
him beneath the trees. His gelding was tied off to a low-lying
branch, but Norrie and her groom were nowhere in sight.
Anne had watched the entire scene, observing
with dismay Mandell's white-hot rage, the old man's rigid disdain.
Anne had always known of His Grace of Windermere. One could not
help having an awareness of a personage of such rank and such regal
dignity, but the duke had always seemed far removed from the sphere
of Anne's quiet existence.
Even as she had grown closer to Mandell, she
had not thought about the duke's role as his grandfather. But then,
she reflected ruefully, she had not allowed herself to think about
much of anything these past weeks. She had learned to measure her
life in moments instead of days, moments of strolling through the
park with Mandell, of hearing him delight Norrie with legends of
water nymphs and tree dryads, of glances exchanged above the
child's head, of smiles both secret and tender. Of moments more
private when Mandell played his music just for Anne, notes that
conjured a majestic passion trapped within Anne's soul that only
Mandell's caress could release. Moments when his eyes appeared
darkened with a power beyond desire, when her heart fluttered with
foolish, unspoken hopes, moments of a warm, romantic spring that
seemed likely to spin on forever.
But it had taken only a few well-chosen words
from His Grace of Windermere to bring the magic to an end. Anne
rubbed her arms as though she had taken a sudden chill as she
watched the duke's carriage vanish through the trees. Mandell
strode back to her across the grass, his face still gaunt with
anger.
“Where's Eleanor?” he demanded.
“I asked James to take her back to the lake.
I thought it best if they gave the pony some exercise.”
“Very wise of you.” Mandell's eyes were full
of such ironic understanding, Anne felt the color rise in her
cheeks.
“Mandell, I never realized that I might be
the cause of such discord between you and your grandfather. I am so
very sorry.”
“Damn it. Don't you dare, Anne
Fairhaven!”
Anne retreated an involuntary step before
Mandell's blaze of fury. “Don't you even think of apologizing for
what is none of your fault simply because that old devil—”
Mandell spun away from her, pressing one hand
to his brow, struggling for command of himself. Anne had never seen
the ice-cool Mandell lose such control of his temper. He presented
a stark figure set against the soft green of the park, the sunlight
dappling between the trees.
Anne had often perceived him thus, standing
so solitary, possessing no close ties to anyone or anything. She
realized that was in part what drew her to him, the sense that she
might indeed have something to offer a man who always seemed too
much alone. She had forgotten that he was also a marquis, an heir
to a dukedom.
No matter what Mandell might say, she felt
responsible for his quarrel with his grandfather. Going to him, she
laid her hand gently upon Mandell's arm, seeking to mend some of
the damage she had inadvertently caused. “My lord, I am sure the
duke meant no harm. Your grandfather has been hearing rumors about
the illicit nature of our relationship, and it worried him.”
“His Grace has never fretted over much about
my lack of morals before.”
“He seems to perceive some difference in our
affair.”
“And so it is different.” Mandell gave a
harsh bark of laughter, pulling away from her. “I don’t know what I
am about myself these days. Meandering through the park, stopping
by to take tea with you, bringing dolls to your daughter instead of
diamonds to adorn your neck. This is not exactly my customary
procedure with a mistress, Anne.”
Anne regarded him sadly. “Would it have been
better if you could have set me up in an establishment, bought me
carriages and expensive presents? Would you have preferred our
relationship to be more common?”
He stared at her for a long hard moment.
“No,” he said at last, his eyes softening a little. “It has all
been perfect just as it was.”
Was
. Anne tried not to allow that
single word to sink too deep into her heart,
“Exactly what did my grandfather say to you?”
Mandell demanded. “How badly did he insult you? I suppose he took
great pains pointing out how unsuitable he finds you as a candidate
for a marchioness.”
“No, there was no need for him to do so.
There has never been any question of marriage between us, Mandell,
and so I told him.” Anne attempted to suppress the wistfulness in
her voice. “His Grace spoke only of the improprieties of a liaison
such as ours. He expressed a great concern for you.”
“For me or for the precious family
honor'?”
“At first, I did believe His Grace only
worried about the possibility of scandal, but after you walked back
with him to the carriage, Norrie said something most strange.” Anne
cast Mandell a half-embarrassed glance. “Lily always laughs at me
for paying such heed to the notions of a child. But Norrie's
perceptions often astonish me, my lord. When you and His Grace had
gone, I attempted to soothe her, thinking the duke's gruff manner
might have frightened her. But she just shook her head in that
quaint serious little way she has and said, the duke is such a sad
old gentleman, Mama. He looks at Lord Man like you look at me
sometimes when you are afraid you might lose me again.' “
Mandell gave an impatient frown, half raised
his hand as though he wanted to brush Norrie's words aside as
nonsense, but could not manage to do so. He shrugged. “The child
may be part right. Even in the midst of our quarrels, I sometimes
feel a stab of pity for the old man. You must have heard about what
happened to my mother. She was his favorite child, likely the only
person he ever loved. He never recovered from her death. It
poisoned his life.”
“And yours?”
Mandell chose to ignore the question,
retreating behind his familiar wall of reserve. “We stray from the
subject, Anne,” he said. “You are trying to paint for me this
picture of the duke of Windermere as the doting grandparent,
warning you most kindly about engaging in improper behavior. Pardon
me if I do not quite believe it, my dear.”
“I never said your grandfather was kind to
me. But he was civil.”
“Civil as a duelist, observing all the
niceties of the code, while circling with his foil, striking
unerringly at your most vulnerable spot.”
When Anne could not suppress a betraying
flinch, Mandell gave a hard smile. “You see how well I know him,
Sorrow. Did he find your vulnerability? It took far more than a
scolding about being a naughty girl to drive the color from your
cheeks. What else did he say to you? Tell me.”
Anne admitted reluctantly, “He did mention
something that I had foolishly and selfishly not considered, a
possible repercussion of an indiscretion such as ours.”
“Repercussion?”
“He said that I was not only risking my own
reputation, but that if any scandal attached to me, it would
eventually attach itself to Norrie and ruin her future as
well.”
“Damn him! Damn him for using such a weapon
against you.” Mandell compressed his lips, then added, “And damn
him for being right.”
“Then you agree with him that the gossip
about us might grow bad enough to do her harm. Oh, Mandell, I could
not bear that.”
“Neither could I. I could not endure bringing
harm to either of you.”
“It all seems so unfair,” Anne said with a
hollow laugh. “Lily has had scores of lovers, as have half the
married women of the ton, I daresay. I stray once from the path of
virtue and I am threatened with the direst of consequences.”
“That is because you do not understand the
rules of the game, my dear. Virtue is not as important as the
appearance of it.”
“Then we must learn to be more discreet, to
greet each other in public as if we were strangers.”
“It is far too late for such measures now. I
see only one solution to the difficulties His Grace of Windermere
has so graciously presented to us.”
“You mean we must stop seeing each other
altogether,” Anne said in a voice of quiet misery.
“No.” Mandell drew himself up to his full
height, his dark brows crashing together. Anne thought he had never
looked so formidable. “You will have to many me.”
“Wh-what?”
“Marry me,” he repeated fiercely.
His words stunned Anne to silence. She could
feel her heart go still with a hope she dared not acknowledge. She
raised her head, earnestly searching his face, delving into the
black depths of his eyes. She found anger, pain, confusion, but not
the emotion she sought. The hope died inside her, stillborn.
She eased her hands from his grasp and found
the courage to utter the most difficult word she had ever spoken in
her life.
“No.”
Mandell glared at her. “Did you not
understand me? I just asked you to marry me.”
“Demanded that I do so.”
“Did you want me to go down on one knee,
flatter you with some flowery speech of devotion?”
“It would make no difference. Not while your
motive for doing so remained the same.”
“What would you know of my motives?”
“I can read them in your face.” Anne brushed
one finger upon his temple near the darkness roiling in his eyes.
“Here, I see defiance of your grandfather.” She trailed down to
touch upon the implacable line of his jaw. “And here, I see the
stubborn determination to offer me and Norrie the protection of
your name.”
“Rubbish. We both know I am not afflicted
with such noble impulses. I already told you I consider myself
obliged to marry one day, and contrary to His Grace's opinions, I
have decided you would make me a suitable bride.”
“You also told me your conception of
marriage. The bartering of lands and title to beget an heir. A very
cold bargain, Mandell.”
“But not very different from the contract you
willingly entered with your first husband,” he sharply reminded
her.
“I was younger then and a great deal more
foolish. And at least with Gerald, I started out with the illusion
of love.”
“Is that what you are looking for,
illusions?” He sneered. “So much for all your bold talk about being
content with a few moments of passion. What was it you were really
hoping for, Anne? That I would eventually fall in love with you,
that your dragon would turn into a prince and carry you off to his
castle to live happily ever after?”
Anne flinched at his acid tone.
“I don't believe in such romantic folly,” he
continued. “You knew that at the outset. The search for eternal
love is nothing but some idiot's dream that can only lead to pain
and sometimes ...” He swallowed hard. “Sometimes even death.”
“It would be better to risk both than to go
about with your heart encased in ice, afraid to ever feel
anything,” Anne cried. “To spend your life as though you were still
trapped in some dark closet—”
She broke off, horrified at what she had been
betrayed into saying, But it was already too late. Mandell fixed
her with an accusing stare, his face gone white.
“What the devil do you know of dark
closets'?” he asked.
“Nothing. I—”
“You merely chanced to overhear me sobbing in
my sleep like some frightened child? When, Anne?”
When she did not answer him, he gripped her
wrist. “When?”
Seeing that it was pointless to attempt to
deny it, she confessed, “The night that you collapsed at Lily's,
when I had you put to bed in the guest room. You were delirious,
caught in the throes of some hideous nightmare.”
“You told me you heard nothing that night.
You lied to me. Why?”
“Because I feared you would not have wanted
me to have seen you when you were so devastated.”
“You are quite right about that.” He released
her, stalking a few steps away. His reaction to her knowing of his
most secret pain was all she had ever feared it would be. His eyes
darkened with the haunted expression of a proud man suddenly
stripped of all his defenses, left brutally exposed.
She wanted to touch him, draw him into the
comfort of her arms, but she knew she did not dare.
“Mandell,” she said softly. “It is nothing to
be ashamed of that you should still feel grief and pain over what
happened to your mother. You cannot simply forget such a terrible
thing. Being vulnerable is no disgrace.”
“That is where you are mistaken. Being
vulnerable is the worst sin a man can commit.” His jaw hardened.
“It only leaves one open to the ridicule of the world and the
misplaced compassion of tenderhearted fools such as you. Don't
waste your pity upon me, simply because you saw me plagued by a
nightmare.