“I will tell her, my lord,” said Peters as he showed Giles out.
Unfortunately, Rainsborough was just coming up the street as Giles was leaving.
“Good afternoon, Whitton,” he said coldly.
“Good afternoon,” said Giles , bowing politely and continuing on his way. With anyone else he would have stayed and chatted and admitted the reason for his visit, but for some reason, Rainsborough’s coldness set up his back.
Justin questioned his butler as soon as the door opened.
“Was Lord Whitton here visiting Lady Rainsborough, Peters?”
“Yes, my lord. He called on my mistress, but she told me to tell him she was resting.”
Justin’s face lightened. “Good. If we are going out tonight, she needs her rest,” he said solicitously.
“Yes, my lord.” Peters’s face may have remained blank as a good butler’s should, but the conversation in his head with Rainsborough would hardly have amused his employer. There he goes again, the kindest husband you would ever want to meet, making sure my lady gets her rest. Making sure no one can see how he treats her!
Most of the household was of course aware of the situation between their master and mistress. Most of them didn’t like Lord Rainsborough. But he had chosen his servants well: men and women who were older or had received a less than glowing reference from their previous employers. None of them was in any position to protest his treatment of Lady Rainsborough. And, after all, they would say to themselves, what a man does with his wife in the privacy of his home is his business, no matter what a rough business it was.
Justin entered Clare’s room without knocking. She was sitting by her window reading, and she started when she heard him come in.
“Justin! I didn’t expect you back from your club so early.”
“Apparently not, since Whitton was here, calling on you.”
Clare tried to gauge her husband’s mood. She could not smell any liquor on his breath as he came closer, and that was a relief. He sounded angry, but not out of control, thank goodness.
“I was quite surprised when Peters sent up Giles’s card,” she answered matter-of-factly. “I told him to tell Giles I was resting.”
Justin passed his hand over his forehead, and his expression cleared. “I know, Peters told me, Clare, but the thought of you meeting with Whitton privately ...”
“Which I have never done, Justin,” she quietly reassured him.
“I know, I know. Well, I should leave you to get your rest,” he said, dropping a kiss on the top of her head.
“Justin? Did you have a chance to schedule an appointment with Dr. Shipton?” Clare asked hesitantly.
“Dr. Shipton? No, not yet, Clare. In fact, I am not even sure I really need to see him after all. I have had no trouble refraining from spirits these last few days.”
“I am glad to hear that, Justin, but I would be very happy if you consulted with him anyway.”
Her husband waved his hand at her and said impatiently: “I’ll think about it, Clare, but don’t put any pressure on me. I am competent to judge my own state of mind.”
After he left, Clare sat there for a while, her book forgotten in her lap. Why had Giles come calling on her? She had had to turn him away, of course. And thank God, she had, for who knew what would have happened with Justin coming home early.
Perhaps Sabrina needed her? But then wouldn’t Sabrina have called? Giles had been spending so much of his time with Lucy Kirkman. Perhaps he wanted to tell her of his betrothal before announcing it publicly. Or perhaps he wanted to know why she was avoiding her old friends. That was the most likely reason, she supposed, and therefore she was glad to be able to send him away, for she could hardly give him the real reason.
She felt the knot of fear that was her constant companion tighten in her stomach. It had relaxed a little these past few days because of Justin’s decision to seek out medical help. She had allowed hope to revive. Hope that at last the nightmare her marriage had become would be over and the Justin she fell in love with would return to her. Well, Justin had not said he wouldn’t go, she reassured herself. He just didn’t want to be badgered about it. She would not mention Dr. Shipton for a while. And she would continue to be hopeful.
* * * *
The Rainsboroughs had become so erratic in their attendance at social functions that Clare’s card was rarely full. Giles made sure he made his way over to where she stood with a group of acquaintances early that evening and confirmed his waltz. There was no way for Clare to refuse him, and she tried to tell herself that all would be well. Justin was not drinking, and she had reassured him just this afternoon.
She did her best to keep away from the Whittons, but one could hardly turn down an old friend in public. So she just smiled and let Giles write his name on her card. She looked around for her husband, hoping she could catch him and explain, but he was deep in conversation on the other side of the room. And by the time she had danced a few sets and looked for him again, she was dismayed to see him accepting a glass of champagne. But one glass never set him off, she reassured herself, and when she saw him making his way into the card room, she was relieved. He wasn’t hovering over her tonight as much as usual, and if he stayed at the whist table long enough, she would have already finished her waltz with Giles.
When Giles came to claim her hand, she gave him a nervous smile and let him lead her out.
When Giles put his hand around Clare’s waist, he was appalled at how he could feel every rib through her gown. For a moment, a terrible fear seized him: perhaps she
was
seriously ill. But when he looked down, he saw a pale face, not the hectic flush that accompanied consumption, and so he made himself relax and pay attention to the music.
After the music stopped, he kept Clare’s arm through his, and leaning down, asked if he could have a few minutes alone. Clare’s eyes darted desperately around, but Justin was nowhere in sight, and so she nodded her agreement. Clearly Giles was going to persist, no matter what, so she might as well get it over with.
There were a few small rooms off each side of the ballroom, and Giles walked Clare over to one and let the door close behind them.
He sat Clare down on a small sofa, but remained standing. She glanced nervously at the door, and her fingers began pleating the skirt of her gown.
“Giles, did you have something particular you wanted to say to me?” Her voice was tight with tension.
“You are not afraid to be alone with me, are you, Clare?” Giles asked, appalled at how far from the ease of their old friendship they were.
“No, Giles, of course not. I just don’t want any gossip to start up.” She could hardly tell him it was her husband she feared. Why didn’t he get on with it, so she could be back in the ballroom before Justin noticed her absence?
“Sabrina and I have been worried about you, Clare. I know that time changes things, even old friendships, and perhaps it is only that your marriage takes up most of your attention. But you have not looked well this past year, and Sabrina has found it difficult to find enough time with you to ask why.”
Clare attempted a casual, almost dismissive tone. “I am of course grateful for your concern, Giles. I must confess that my marriage to Justin has been unfashionably time-consuming, and perhaps I
have
neglected my other relationships. I assure you, though, that I am quite well.”
“Your father and mother do not think so.”
Clare looked startled. “My parents?”
“Your father called on me the other day to ask me if Sabrina and I knew if you had perhaps had ... another ...”
“No, Giles, I have not lost another baby,” Clare answered quietly. “I am sorry my father dragged you into what is essentially a private matter.”
“Your parents are worried about you, Clare. As are your old friends,” he added.
“Their concern is touching, but a few years too late,” she answered bitterly. “You may assure my father that I am quite well and very happy, Giles. And now we had best be getting back.”
Giles felt utterly frustrated. He had done his best, but Clare was clearly unwilling to open her heart to him or to anyone. He offered her his hand as she got up, and brought her back to a small group of mutual acquaintances where he stayed and chatted for a few minutes before excusing himself to seek out his next dance partner. Neither of them noticed Rainsborough, who had been standing in the doorway of the card room and seen them emerge.
* * * *
Clare felt her husband’s hot breath and smelled the brandy fumes as he leaned over her from behind.
“I think I will get you home early tonight, my dear. You don’t want to tire yourself.” His hand gripped her arm like a vise, but she kept her face empty even though she could feel the pain of old bruises.
“We ladies are always envious of your wife, Lord Rainsborough,” commented one of the group surrounding Clare. “She is very fortunate to have such an attentive and observant spouse. I hope she appreciates you as much as you deserve,” Lady Brett teased.
Rainsborough smiled his most charming smile as Clare made her excuses to their hostess, but said nothing to his wife as he led her to the door and hailed their carriage. He took Clare’s cloak from the footman and draped it over her shoulders himself. When his hands brushed her throat, she shuddered. He must have been drinking the whole time he was in the card room, she thought. Had he seen her come out of the anteroom with Giles? Oh, God, she hoped not. But what other reason did he have to rush her off so early in the evening?
“Get up.”
Clare uncurled herself slowly and then pulled herself again into a fetal position as she felt Justin’s boot against her back.
“Get up, slut.”
Clare bit down on her hand as Justin kicked her again. There was nothing she could do to protect her back, nothing she could do at all except keep herself from screaming in pain by biting her own fingers to distract herself.
Justin reached down and grasped her by the hair.
“I said, get up, bitch.”
Clare allowed herself to be pulled into a sitting position, and as Justin let go of her hair, she pushed herself up with her hands and stood on shaky legs with her back to the mantel. She hoped her ordeal was almost over. Usually Justin’s kicks meant that the beating was coming to an end. Although these past few weeks, he had started choking her. She shivered.
“What were you and Whitton doing in the anteroom, my lady whore?”
Clare said nothing. She had already given her usual calm explanation and denial in the carriage, which never convinced him anyway. He had pushed her into the library as soon as they arrived home and sent the butler up to bed.
Here she was, Lady Rainsborough, being beaten senseless by her husband while their servants slept comfortably on the third floor. They all knew about it, of course, but it was none of their business after all.
She watched fearfully as Justin clenched and unclenched his hands against his side as though he were fighting to keep them from going around her throat. She backed up against the mantel, and his hand reached out and grabbed her neck. All of a sudden, he let her go and walked over to the desk. Was it over at last? She was afraid to hope so.
He was opening a polished wooden case, and she almost dropped where she stood when she saw it contained a pair of dueling pistols. Please God, he wasn’t going to challenge Giles. Oh, God, if she were responsible for Giles’s death, she would kill herself.
“Lovely, aren’t they, Clare?” Justin lifted one of the pistols and sighted down the barrel. “I am an excellent shot, as you know.”
She nodded.
“And Whitton? Well, I have seen him at Manton’s. Would you like to have us fight over you, Clare. Is that what this is all about?”
“No, Justin, no,” she answered in a low, shaking voice.
“I think you are telling the truth. Because you would not wish me to kill your lover, would you, Clare?”
“He is not my lover. You know that, Justin.”
“What I know is that you are a sneaking, conniving woman, rank as a bitch in heat, Clare. But I will give you a chance. Admit that you have been Whitton’s lover and promise never to see him again, and I will not challenge him.”
It would be hard, but there was obviously no choice. And she hadn’t really seen Giles much in the last year, so what would there be to miss?
“I promise I will never speak to him or see him again, Justin.”
Justin drew next to her and slowly ran the barrel of the pistol down her cheek. “That is only part of what I asked, Clare.”
“I swear I will never see him again, Justin. But how can I tell you we have been lovers when it is not the truth?”
Rainsborough pressed the pistol against her temple. “Tell the truth, Clare, and I will let you and Whitton live. Lie to me again, and I will shoot you now and take the other pistol and kill him in the middle of a waltz, if needs be.”
She knew he meant it. He had almost choked her to death twice already. She didn’t care about her own life anymore. In fact, she almost would have welcomed the release. But to let Giles die?
“All right, Justin. But you must swear to me that if I tell you the truth and keep my promise, you will let Giles alone.”
Rainsborough lowered the pistol and said in a quiet, almost tender voice, “I swear it, Clare. Once I am satisfied, this need never happen again,”
Clare took a deep breath and said: “Yes, Justin, you are right. Giles and I have been lovers. But I swear, as God is my witness, that I will never see or speak to him again.” Forgive me, Giles, she thought, for damaging your name and for the hurt this may cause you.
Rainsborough dropped the pistol on the rug. “So you
have
been lying to me all this time,” he whispered fiercely.
“Yes, Justin.”
He grabbed her by the neck, and her eyes widened in fear.
“Justin, I did what you asked,” she said desperately. “You must keep your promise.”
“I only promised this scene would never happen again, Clare. And it won’t,” he added as he tightened his hand around her throat.