Another struggle arose from the rumors that abounded about Alicia. Not that anyone repeated them to his face. They all knew of his recent infatuation, and though he appeared recovered, few were willing to test that theory. But at the clubs and at Tatt’s he overheard several conversations in which she figured.
Or did she?
It had started at White’s two days after his return to London. Tired of yet another round of congratulations on his marriage he settled into a high-backed wing chair and pretended to read the
Morning Post
. Nearby conversations did not intrude on his thoughts until two newcomers entered the room.
“I hear she’s insatiable,” said a deep voice he did not recognize.
“Planning to try your luck, Robby?” queried a second man Thomas recognized as Ashton. “Don’t do it. Stay away from wives. You’ll live longer.”
“Ah, but apoplexy has confined this husband to bed – alone – so he could hardly call me out. And I would be only one of many, after all.”
Ashton laughed and turned the discussion to the upcoming races.
Thomas froze. They could not be discussing Darnley, could they? Of course not. Many husbands were bedridden. Apoplexy was common. And rumor had Darnley on his feet. He dismissed the notion and returned to his paper.
But two days later the suspicion returned. He was again at White’s, again anonymously ensconced behind a paper.
“I heard she accepted Dobson’s protection.”
“Hardly protection. But she did invite him into her bed.”
“Is she as hungry as rumor implies?”
“More so, I think. But what would you expect of one so young who takes an ailing husband old enough to be her grandfather?”
Thomas’s hands balled into fists, crinkling the newspaper, but the speakers had already disappeared into the card room and did not notice. Again he assured himself that they were not discussing Alicia, but the effort was more difficult. Nor did it help that his body recalled every exquisite detail of just how insatiable she could be. Memory also played havoc with his image of her sweet purity, reminding him at inconvenient times that he recalled nothing beneath her gown but a thin shift, reveling in her sensuality, feeling again her stiffened nipples brushing against his arm ... her questing hand sliding between his legs and...
He thrust the memory brutally aside and indulged in a brisk walk home through a heavy downpour. Rumors were bound to circulate about so exquisite a diamond, undoubtedly begun in a fit of jealousy by some spoiled chit who resented the competition. Or an envious cub who coveted her for himself. He failed to note that something deep in his mind accepted the idea that it was Alicia the rumor discussed.
The conversation at Tattersall’s nearly destroyed him. He was examining a mare, with an eye to purchasing it for Caroline’s use, when Devereaux and Millhouse entered. Both were long-standing libertines, without scruples, who often competed with each other for the favors of society wives.
“I’ll leave you a clear field on this one, Bertie.” Devereaux chuckled. “The lady does not appeal to me. I like my lovers willing and impressed, not insatiable and critical. Did you know she derided Atherton last week, claiming that only Mannering could satisfy her?”
Thomas stiffened in shock. Which courtesan dared banter his name about in such a fashion?
“What about her husband?”
“Maybe in his salad days,” quipped Devereaux. “But that was long before that tease was born. Well, what should I do, Bertie? Do you agree this great beast was made for me?”
Thomas fought down nausea. The only married lady he had ever bedded was Alicia.
No!
screamed his mind.
You misunderstood
. Someone had tossed his name out in a fit of pique. Or perhaps the man in question was one of his cousins. He could think of several who weren’t very particular. Or had one of his widowed liaisons remarried? By stretching his imagination, he produced half a dozen situations that could have generated that bit of conversation. But he did not find sleep until after dawn.
Nor did he buy the horse.
But by far his worst problem was guilt. He was very close to hating himself. For most of his life he had taken pride in upholding honor, feeding that pride every time he sidestepped temptation or another man faltered. Honor required loyalty to one’s friends, fidelity to one’s vows, and performing one’s obligations without resentment. It was this last point that bedeviled him now. What were his obligations?
One was caring for his estate – for five years he had ignored it, wresting money from it without putting anything back and allowing his tenants to live in deplorable conditions. Another was caring for his wife – he had all but ignored her for months, then thrust her into society unprepared, providing no help or support. The most important duty was conducting himself properly at all times – yet he had assaulted Alicia, ignoring both her vows and his own.
He must regain control of his life before he brought disaster down on all their heads. It was yet another reason he longed to return to Crawley. Perhaps there he could build rapport with Caroline. Somehow, he must set aside his love for Alicia. It was the only way he could find any peace.
In the meantime, he was cursed with a very short temper. Cramer began to look back on the days of his debauch as utopian and even considered seeking other employment. The earl chastised him, particularly when he exploded at Caroline in the drawing room one night for the unpardonable sin of crying off a series of three routs in favor of accompanying Cissy to a musical evening. Even he had to admit that his reaction had been unjust and that shouting in front of the servants betrayed a lack of manners that was not to be tolerated. But an afternoon at Manton’s listening to George extol Caroline’s virtues and Jeremy bemoan again how lucky he was to have her to wife had finally sent his temper over the edge. Nor had a month of celibacy helped. He still refused to satisfy himself elsewhere, but his frustrations and his uncertainty over Wroxleigh kept him out of Caroline’s bed.
* * * *
An excited Thomas entered Tattersall’s auction ring, grateful for a chance to concentrate on business. A matched pair of chestnuts was up for sale and he hoped to purchase them for Caroline.
Not that she could use them immediately. They were young, half trained, and spirited. Her driving skills were still in their infancy. Both she and the horses would require several months of daily training before they were ready for each other.
“Mannering!” exclaimed a blond-haired captain. “I haven’t seen you in an age.”
“Hello, Hanson.” Thomas smiled. “When did you get back? I thought you were on the Peninsula.”
Captain Hanson shuddered. “True. And will be again in another month or so. I truly think we have Boney on the run at last.”
“Are you acting courier these days?”
“No, just recovering from a scratch I picked up a couple of months back. Congratulations on your marriage, by the way. Your wife is a lovely lady.”
“Thank you. But where have you been that I haven’t seen you?”
“Out by Newmarket at that mill. Wonderful bout. You should have seen it.”
Thomas ruefully shook his head, for he really would have liked to attend. “The price of settling down. I was already late getting to town because of estate problems.”
“Your sister has turned into quite a charmer,” observed the captain obliquely.
“Are you developing an interest in that quarter?” asked Thomas in surprise.
“Possibly, though your mother seems not to approve.”
“Mother disapproves of everything and everyone. I wouldn’t let it worry you.” Though he could see why she might try to discourage Hanson. Military life was harsh at best, yet the captain was not a career soldier. With an estate of his own and a comfortable fortune, he would make an unexceptionable husband for Eleanor, and with similar natures that craved action and excitement, they were probably well-suited. “So tell me about the mill,” he urged, turning the subject. “Was McKay as formidable as reported?”
“More so.” Hanson embarked on a blow-by-blow description that lasted well into the day’s auction. Thomas’s tacit approval went a long way toward settling his feelings about Lady Eleanor.
Thomas thoroughly enjoyed their talk, which soon ranged over additional topics, including a realistic assessment of the never-ending war with Napoleon. He kept one eye on the auction ring, buying a promising colt and two well-conformed broodmares, then remained silent as several riding hacks changed hands. He had still not found a horse for Caroline, but none in today’s offering would do.
At last the bidding began for the pair he wanted. They were clearly the best horses up for sale and interest was widespread. The price rapidly approached his limit.
“Four hundred,” he offered, hoping it would suffice. All had dropped out at three except Delaney’s heir, young Lawrence. Barely eighteen, the lad had descended on London the week before, and was already eagerly sowing wild oats. Thomas smiled at memories of himself at that age. How simple life had been.
“I wonder if the cub has any sense at all,” he murmured to Hanson as the boy paused to consider what to do next.
“Eight hundred,” Delaney announced to a collective gasp from the crowd.
“Obviously not,” replied Hanson in sympathy.
Thomas shook his head. “At least he is well to grass.” What would Lord Delaney say when he learned his son had paid double their value for a pair of half-trained horses? He signaled that he was done bidding. Perhaps he would have better luck next week.
* * * *
That night everyone from Marchgate House attended a musical evening across the square at Lord Pressington’s modest town house. Both London’s newest singer and a well-regarded harpist would perform. As was customary, several young ladies would also demonstrate their skills, but such potential penance could not dampen Caroline’s spirits.
Not until they arrived did she learn that the Pressingtons were Alicia’s parents. As they approached along the receiving line, Lady Darnley began a
sotto voce
conversation with her mother, all the while staring daggers at Caroline. She began to feel uncomfortable. Nor did the smug smile that concluded their chat relieve her trepidation. But she soon relaxed. The vocalist was magnificent and the incident rapidly faded from memory.
“Thuch power and grace,” commented Robert, accompanying her to the refreshment room during the interval. “And Mozart is so intense.”
Caroline nodded. “I saw her last week in
Don Giovanni,
but I believe I enjoyed tonight more. I could hear.” Her eyes twinkled wickedly as Robert broke into helpless giggles.
“You are certainly in looks tonight, Caroline,” said Drew as he joined them. His eyes appreciatively scanned her figure. “But what have you done to send poor Hartford into a spasm?”
“Nothing, Drew. You look rather nice yourself. Have you broken many hearts lately?”
“Alas, no. I must be losing my touch.”
“Any number of mothers would doubtless welcome such a disaster,” she teased. “But do either of you know to whom we will be subjected in the next segment?”
Drew laughed, but shook his head.
“No more than three or four, I expect,” offered Robert in consolation, his lisp less obvious this night. “There is still the harpist. I would guess Miss Bromley to start, for Lady Pressington is her aunt. And Lady Darnley to finish, though that is no problem. Her playing is lovely.”
Mention of the fair Alicia dampened Caroline’s enthusiasm by reminding her of that odd, whispered exchange. But she hid her unease behind a social smile and turned the conversation to gossip, allowing Robert to regale her with the latest
on-dits
. Nor would she let her eyes drift to the strained discussion between Thomas and his idol across the room, though she sensed every minute of it, relaxing only when Thomas turned to speak with Eleanor.
They soon returned to their seats for the amateur portion of the program. Miss Bromley was indeed the first performer and acquitted herself adequately but without flair. Another niece, Miss Evelyn Pressington, performed next, with unfortunate results. Nervous, she floundered early in her sonata, her composure cracking badly when Alicia tittered. Caroline’s temper flared dangerously. How could Lady Darnley tease her cousin in such a publicly cruel manner? Even Thomas appeared shocked. Poor Miss Pressington never recovered, concluding her performance in a crash of discords after a single movement. The applause was more appreciative of her decision to retire than of her playing.
Lady Pressington stared directly at Caroline as she rose to thank Evelyn, restoring her uneasiness. “I have heard claims that Mrs. Mannering is a gifted musician. Not having heard her play, I would take this opportunity to remedy that deficiency. Mrs. Mannering?”
And how had she heard that?
wondered Caroline, unable to imagine Thomas bragging about his wife to his lover. Then she caught a glimpse of Alicia and nearly burst out laughing. The Incomparable’s face radiated malicious gloating. Knowing that Caroline grew up in a vicarage and was unfamiliar with the
ton
, she plotted to embarrass her by revealing her lack of accomplishments. Caroline stifled an unchristian spurt of glee and smiled at her hostess.
“My pleasure, Lady Pressington.” She thought quickly as she seated herself at the keyboard. The pianoforte was of excellent quality, with a full, rich sound she had admired all evening. And in perfect tune. Spurning the music sheets piled on a nearby table, she chose to play from memory a recently published sonata by Herr Beethoven, his
Pathétique in C minor
, and instantly lost herself in the notes.
Thomas sat spellbound as Caroline moved from the somber introduction to the passionate
allegro
. The music grabbed his heart, pulling the emotional strings first one way, then another. Not since he’d accidentally overheard her practicing the first week of their marriage had he listened to her play. Nor had he believed that a single piece of music could unleash the power, majesty, or poignancy captured in this one. Within moments, he found his spirit soaring among the clouds. His frustrations faded into the background, leaving him in charity with her for the first time in weeks.