“You look lovely tonight, Lady Darnley.”
“Thank you, dear Thomas. This color does become me, as you have often noted. I rarely wear any other, particularly not those vulgar reds and roses so many seem determined to flaunt. Such ill-bred choices, do you not agree?”
“I doubt Lady Jersey would,” he responded, nodding briefly at the dark-haired patroness, elegantly gowned in rose silk almost the same color as Caroline’s sarcenet.
“Of course, she has both the coloring and the credit to carry off such a showy hue.”
The figures briefly separated them, giving him a moment to regain his composure. And Alicia as well. Her uncharacteristically uncharitable comments showed how distraught she remained over their tragic circumstances. He had done her a grave disservice by courting her love.
“A sad crush this evening, is it not?” he noted as they came back together.
“I swear Lady Cofferton invited every member of society, and then some.” Alicia’s lips pursed into a pout. “Guaranteeing a squeeze makes her feel important, poor thing. Personally, I prefer a more intimate gathering. This crowd is unbearably hot. Do be a dear, Thomas, and escort me outside for some air.” She slanted a melting glance upward through her lashes.
But he had himself well in hand. “That would disrupt the set, as you well know, Lady Darnley.” They separated once again for several beats.
“When the dance is over, then,” she suggested, her fingertips burning into his own.
“I am promised for the next set. And it would be unseemly in any event,” he reminded her sternly, resolutely turning talk to neutral subjects for the remainder of their dance.
Exquisite torture was how he had to describe that set. The most emotionally draining minutes of his life. He wanted to crush her in his arms and ravish her on the spot. Yet he could allow no more than a chaste touch between gloved hands lest he publicly dishonor them both and destroy Eleanor’s Season, to say nothing of his mother’s regard. How could he survive daily meetings like this? Yet not seeing her would be worse. The unwanted delay at Crawley had been unbearable. Aside from his fears over Caroline’s behavior, every moment that kept him from Alicia’s side dragged with excruciating slowness. Honor might tie him to Caroline, but he had no control over his heart. It had long since been in Alicia’s keeping.
Caroline was also aware the moment Thomas led Alicia into the dance. She had feared this meeting, not knowing how adept Thomas was at controlling his emotions, but he conducted himself well and she offered up a prayer of thanks. Few would guess that his every nerve strained in Alicia’s direction. But she knew. Even as they had twirled through the supper dance and engaged in light social chatter, his mind and his eyes had strained toward
her
.
A pang pierced the rampart surrounding her heart, and she thrust it down, deliberately thickening the barrier and distancing her mind.
Don’t worry,
she assured her conscience. Her interest was only lest he lose control and disgrace them all. He made it through the evening without any overt slip, and she sighed in relief. None but George and Jeremy suspected his state of mind.
But he did not come to her that night as she had hoped he would. If only they had not shared that week of passion and friendship. His experienced ministrations had awakened needs she had not previously known, leaving an unfulfilled ache behind. She had never expected much for herself from life. But having once glimpsed Eden, she could no longer be content with the mundane world. Repressing a sigh, she finally dropped off to sleep.
* * * *
The following week differed from the previous fortnight only in increased tension. Thomas still hovered, waiting for her to shame him. And she felt his turmoil each time he encountered Alicia. He played the social game well, spending his days in male pursuits and accompanying her to some but not all of her evening engagements. Nor did he attend every function Alicia graced. He carefully walked the line between acceptable behavior and personal desire, never betraying a hint that his infatuation still burned. But despite his demonstrated control, she never completely relaxed.
Please, don’t let him disgrace himself.
Her senses strained toward him as much as his gravitated toward Alicia. Caroline always knew where he was. And she was amazed by some of his behavior. No matter how many friends he chatted with, and no matter what other activities he pursued, he always found time to dance with several of the less popular young ladies who were making bows to society. She watched him use his charm to relax them and draw them into conversation. The effect of his attentions often lasted after his set, many of the girls delighting their subsequent partners with lighthearted quips. Even acid-tongued Miss Gumpley improved under his ministrations. Caroline never asked him what he said to them, but she had to applaud his kindness. In the same way, she watched him rein in excess spirits in some of the younger cubs, always doing it without bruising any feelings. If only he would return to caring for her in so tender a fashion.
Always conscious of Eleanor’s reputation, Thomas fought to control his eyes, his voice, his yearning whenever Alicia appeared. And he succeeded in masking his feelings – except with his wife. Caroline was the only dance partner with whom he could never relax. She imperceptibly stiffened whenever he glanced toward Alicia. He had been a fool to think she would not have learned of his love. Any number of tabbies would have been itching to tell her. And it was hardly surprising that a chit from a vicarage would disapprove of his roving eyes. His anger stirred. She had no right to condemn him. Her own actions were not blameless, her very public flirtation with Wroxleigh far more blatant than his own painful encounters. He was so circumspect that no one else even suspected that his love remained true. Would that she would behave so well. His irritation surfaced as cold hauteur and an increased tendency to find fault with all she did.
Darnley never appeared in public, though rumor reported that he was no longer bedridden. Alicia accepted escort from any number of gentlemen, favoring none. If her flirting with Thomas was more blatant than with others, society did not comment. Her behavior had already placed her beyond the pale, but Thomas’s unexceptionable conduct convinced observers that he had outgrown his infatuation. Marriage had settled him. His wife was well-received. No evidence of continued raking surfaced, so he was again accepted everywhere. It gave him a new grievance: Caroline’s credit had rescued his own tattered reputation. His anger bumped up another notch. How long could he continue this travesty of a marriage? Something had to change.
Chapter 11
Thomas’s mental state continued to deteriorate, plaguing him with unbearable discontent and frustration. Each day drew him further into an escalating emotional war. Bedlam seemed inviting.
His greatest battles still revolved around his passion for Alicia. Maintaining his distance grew harder each time he saw her. As did disguising his interest. He suspected that he might be happier if he did not love her. Certainly, life would be easier. But love was not an emotion that could be summoned or banished at will.
Her continued attentions undermined his effort to remain aloof, though he refused to cast blame on her enticing shoulders. Barely nineteen, she lacked the experience that would have enabled her to hide her love. And she was too young to understand that even the strongest emotional attachment could not excuse dishonor. Daily he cursed himself for losing control at Graystone, degrading her and hinting that wanton behavior was acceptable where there was love. But never would he admit that part of his unease stemmed from the unpalatable fact that her attentions were cloying. He preferred the role of aggressor in his dealings with the fair sex. With Alicia, he felt like prey.
Indicative of his dilemma was the night he attended a card party at Lady Beatrice’s. Caroline had accompanied Eleanor to a ball which Alicia was also to attend, and he looked forward to a relaxing evening by himself. After several hours of whist, he wandered into the garden, seeking cool air to counter the dowager’s overheated rooms.
Without warning, a soft hand caressed his arm, and that beloved husky voice filled the darkness.
“Thomas, my love, I have missed you so. It has been two days since I last saw you. Surely you cannot have been avoiding me.”
He froze. She was even lovelier than usual tonight, her blue gown pressed tightly against her by a cooling breeze, leaving the impression that she wore nothing beneath, though he discounted the thought. Only courtesans were so lost to propriety. He had long since convinced himself that overwhelming passion had erased all memory of removing the usual undergarments at Graystone.
“Of course not, Lady Darnley,” he managed, removing her hand from his sleeve and stepping back a pace. Fortunately they were in full view of the door which tipped his emotional balance in favor of honor.
“The air is wondrously fresh. Can you believe how stuffy Lady Beatrice keeps her house? Though I suppose those ancient bones of hers can no longer tolerate chills.” She glided down the steps into the garden and paused expectantly so he could join her.
“It is cool enough here,” he declared, refusing to move away from the door.
“I expect you are as relieved as I to get away from home for an evening,” she purred, sending him a melting glance through her lashes. “You cannot enjoy being tied to an insipid wife any more than I like catering to Darnley. He is too decrepit to be considered a man. Walk with me a while.”
“No, my lady,” he refused again, though his voice revealed his desire. If he left the light, nothing would keep him from ravishing her.
“But I need you.” She pouted. “Life is so utterly dreary.” Her tone conveyed exactly what she wanted. He banished a picture of the hordes of prostitutes that routinely accosted him outside the theater.
“Never again, my lady,” he stated, keeping his voice firm. “You belong to Darnley.”
“But what about Graystone?”
“That was a grievous mistake, as you well know. All I can do is plead forgiveness for dishonoring you so. But I will never again betray my honor or demean your integrity by ignoring your marriage vows.”
He had returned immediately to the house, cursing fate. At times he thought this struggle between honor and desire would drive him mad, yet he was incapable of cutting her from his heart and his life. Perhaps he was already mad. Surely this mindless longing could not be normal. He tried to concentrate on his sworn duty to respect and care for his wife, but the thought only raised more guilt.
If he had glanced back, he might have received help in his dilemma. Anger suffused Alicia’s face. “Damn the man’s scruples!” she fumed. “And damn all honor!” Several minutes elapsed before anger abated and a new plan formed in her mind. He may disdain bedding a wife, but what would he do when Darnley died? She knew of several widows who had enjoyed his favors in the past.
Caroline also haunted Thomas’s mind, providing constant irritation. Everything she did annoyed him. Her friends were not those he would have chosen for her – despite the uncomfortable fact that two of her closest were his own best friends, and one was his sister. As in her redecoration of Crawley, her new wardrobe demonstrated a flair for color and design. Admitting she was elegant, and had become more attractive than he had thought possible, triggered new comparisons with Alicia that he had trouble suppressing. Guilt was his constant companion – for demeaning her charms, for approving her looks, for failing to support her, for wasting time worrying about her. George and Jeremy continued to sing her praises.
She was aware of his obsession, stiffening imperceptibly whenever he looked at Alicia or vice versa. Each glance at his love drove a wedge deeper into his marriage. The fact pained him, but he could do nothing about it except fume at Caroline for her awareness. A true lady would have remained ignorant, and no damage would be done.
But her worst offense was her determined dalliance with Wroxleigh. Thomas saw red every time he considered it, his fury stronger than he could explain away by citing her disregard for honor. Nor was it a matter of his eventual heir, though she had a duty to provide a son who was indisputably his. Perhaps his anger arose from sorrow that a basically decent woman was being taken in by so unscrupulous a libertine. But that explained nothing – certainly not the pain that generally accompanied his thoughts. And he had no proof. She and Wroxleigh were being unusually circumspect. Not once had they disappeared into a garden together, or driven without her maid, or used even one of the dozens of excuses he knew firsthand could cover a clandestine meeting. Nor was there any rumor of their liaison, not even from the lowest-minded devotee of scandalous gossip. Yet he was convinced they were more than casual friends. And pictures of them in each other’s arms rose before his eyes at unpredictable moments, even invading his dreams.
Nor could he be sure she met only with Wroxleigh. Alicia’s observations echoed through his ears at unpredictable times.
“I see Harris has broken with Lady Tudbury,” she commented during a country dance, nodding toward that gentleman who was deep in conversation with Caroline.
“Lord Ashby must be relieved that Hazelton is no longer pursuing his wife,” she observed in passing an hour later. Hazelton was twirling Caroline through a waltz at the time.
Was Caroline following in Lady Shelby’s footsteps? She had been a virgin that night at the Blue Boar. But what about later? Unbidden, the glowing faces of Vicar Stokes and Squire Perkins rose before his eyes as they hung on her every word at Crawley. Their names had occurred often in her dinner conversation. Had their relationship ripened into something beyond friendship?
The third antagonist in his internal struggle was Crawley. For the first time in his life he was doing something truly worthwhile. But Jacobs’s accident threatened his progress. Richards seemed to be a talented horseman, but Thomas chafed at being away at this critical time. His active imagination conjured any number of possible disasters, each causing hours of trepidation before he managed to explain it away. Even the daily reports he received from Talbert could not relieve his anxiety. Nor was he likely to be home any time soon. Whenever he mentioned leaving, his mother found a more compelling reason for him to remain. She feared that society would misconstrue his departure. Finally he admitted that she would never countenance him returning before the Season ended. And having just regained his reputation, he could not risk tarnishing it again. He resigned himself to staying in town.