The viscount’s death was hardly unexpected. What surprised him was Alicia’s request that he assist her in arranging the funeral. What should he do? He would like nothing better than to see her, spend time with her, aid her in her time of need. But prudence demanded that he avoid any contact, particularly alone in her home. She was in deepest mourning and could not properly entertain any but relatives. He was a married man, not available to indulge his desires. For the first time Caroline hung like a gigantic millstone around his neck, pulling him into the bowels of hell, away from the life-giving sun. He hated the trap he was caught in. But he worshiped honor above all else. At least he wanted to. But it was so difficult...
Alicia needed him. Not because she grieved, though she was undoubtedly saddened at Darnley’s passing. But she faced so many difficult decisions. No lady should have to cope alone. He could ease her confusion so easily. Could a friend not help a new widow understand the complexities surrounding death? How else could he demonstrate his love in an acceptable way?
Not acceptable, not acceptable,
murmured his conscience in reply. The duty fell to Darnley’s heir. And that man was in town and available. Pain gripped him for an opportunity lost but his will never wavered.
Moisture clouded his eyes as he penned his reply, offering condolences and recommending that she consult the new Lord Darnley. He dispatched a footman with the missive, then forced his feet to Jackson’s for his regular sparring practice. He could allow no hint of his true feelings to show nor interrupt his routine. But melancholy blanketed his spirits even as he laughed and joked with his friends.
* * * *
Life limped on. Thomas concealed his struggles when in public, but made little effort to hide them at home. He rarely spoke to Caroline, confining himself to terse comments when unable to avoid silence. Confused dreams tormented his nights. No details remained but he slept poorly, developing a haunted look around his eyes.
Caroline determinedly pursued her own interests, rising early to ride in the park with Drew or Jeremy, enjoying London’s intellectual offerings with her bosom bows, and continuing the round of parties and other entertainments in the evenings. She made her debut at Almack’s – agreeing with Emily afterward that it had to be the most insipid stop on the social circuit – and thoroughly enjoyed the Warburton masquerade, an annual event open only to those of the highest
ton
. The only improvement was not having to watch Alicia’s nightly flirtations as that lady was, for the moment, observing mourning.
She had given up all hope of a rapprochement with Thomas. Darnley’s death had crystallized his anger, for the first time graphically pointing out his situation. Without her, he could marry Alicia. She could see it in his eyes whenever he looked at her. The unwanted encumbrance... the thorn in his side... the locked gate separating him from heaven... She concentrated on his coldness, trying to forget the friendship they had found at first, to ignore the charmer he so often acted for others, to block out memories of his passion. It did no good to consider what she could not have.
She entered the library one afternoon, seeking a book, and was surprised to find the earl sitting at his desk.
“Pardon me for disturbing you. I did not know anyone was in here.”
“I was not working,” he disclaimed immediately. “And you are welcome at any time, as you well know.”
“Thank you.”
He examined her face before continuing. Her eyes showed evidence of restless sleep and unhappiness tightened her mouth. Mentally cursing his son, he decided to stick his oar into the water.
“Has Thomas been ignoring you?” he asked bluntly.
“No more than usual.” She looked at her father-in-law in surprise, then realized that Thomas’s antagonism had been more apparent since Darnley’s death. Naturally the earl would have noticed.
“Is there some problem that could benefit from discussion?” he pursued.
So be it, she decided. “You know very well what the problem is, my lord. Lady Darnley.”
He sighed. “I was not certain if you were aware of that situation.”
“I have known of his feelings since the first week of our marriage,” she admitted. “But there is nothing to be done but allow his obsession to run its course.” That it might never do so was something she was not prepared to voice, though with Thomas’s history, she feared it would prove true. And given his state of mind, there was little chance he would turn to her even if it vanished.
“He actually told you?” exclaimed the earl in surprise.
“Of course not, but he talks in his sleep.”
“I will speak with the boy,” he declared, lips compressed into an angry line. “He must be made to realize what a disservice he is doing you by his continued intransigence.”
But she immediately threw up a hand in protest. “No, please do not mention the subject. It would only make matters worse.”
He raised his brows in surprise.
“You know how obsessed he can be,” she tried to explain. “And despite what you just said, you also know how poorly he will greet interference. Why else did you wait eight months before intervening last time?”
“You know about that?” He sounded surprised.
“He mentioned your conversation and conditions for bailing him out as part of his effort to convince me that marriage was our only alternative. You won that round but I would never accept odds that you could repeat the feat. Thomas throws his heart into everything he does, but only in the case of Lady Darnley is he truly obsessed. I am sure you know how unworthy the lady is.”
He nodded.
Caroline continued. “By all accounts she is celebrating widowhood with an orgy of self-gratification. Sooner or later Thomas is bound to discover that. He cannot remain blind forever. In the meantime, interference can only cause disaster.
“And what can you condemn? His behavior? His
behavior
is everything that is proper. Were he to cut Lady Darnley, the
ton
would have a field day. Likewise, pretending to be barely acquainted would convince the tabbies of a passionate affair. He has managed the precise touch of old friends who have moved on to new interests. Nor has he sought her out since Darnley’s death.”
She paced the room while he watched in respectful silence.
“And can you condemn a man’s thoughts? His desires? What man can control another’s mind? Can you force your ideas into a fixed pattern, preventing all other notions from intruding? Of course not. Nor can you force another to accept truths he is unwilling to concede. He would resent the effort, creating a rift between you. Even if you convinced him of her true character, the resentment would remain. But I doubt even you would succeed. Opposition would make him cling more tightly to his beliefs. We can only pray that his own common sense will discern the truth. And you must admit that he is hiding his feelings well. None but his closest friends know of his turmoil. If we distress him at home, he may lose that self-control and disgrace the entire family. We must be patient. This is a problem Thomas will have to work out for himself.”
The earl frowned as he pondered her words. Several minutes slipped by in silence.
“You are right, my dear,” he finally agreed. “As long as his public demeanor remains controlled I will not interfere, though his treatment of you is beyond shabby.”
“Yet he needs an outlet. Better me than someone public.” How had she uttered such rubbish with a straight face? But a moment’s thought pointed out its truth. The only respect he accorded her was honesty. Would she really prefer feigned affection?
“He does not deserve you. I only hope that some day he will realize what a jewel he has in his keeping.”
“Nonsense. I am no paragon, but I expect we will muddle along somehow. If you will excuse me, I must change. Eleanor wishes me to accompany her to Lady Debenham’s.”
She slipped out of the library, anxious to reach her own room before any trace of tears filled her eyes. If only the earl had not decided to raise this subject! The situation was becoming unbearable, for Thomas’s scorn and antagonism embedded a hundred pins under her skin every day. Nor did she understand how that could be. Granted, she did not like to see anyone caught in an impossible coil, but that did not explain her frustration.
Have you formed a
tendre
for him?
wondered that voice. She froze in horror.
Never, never, never!
What a terrifying thought. Handsome he might be (green eyes blazing with passion floated momentarily in her mirror), intelligence she would grant him, but he was the most stubborn, odious, thick-headed wretch alive.
Yet why else did her heart leap when he entered a room? And why could his rare smile quicken her breath? Tremors shook her, and she forced the thought brutally aside.
She summoned Dawson to help her change. Fifteen minutes later she accompanied Eleanor and Lady Marchgate across the square.
“My dears, the most delicious story!” exclaimed Lady Debenham before they had even found a seat. “Brummell held a celebration at the Argyle rooms last night, and Alvanley arrived in the company of the prince. But Prinny has not forgiven that last slight. He administered the cut direct.”
Several ladies gasped.
“Whatever did Brummell do then?” asked Lady Scarfield.
Lady Debenham smiled in glee. “Why in a bored drawl he asked,
Alvanley, who’s your fat friend?”
“The cut sublime!”
“Prinny will never forgive this!”
Caroline ignored the exclamations. Her conversation with the earl still echoed in her mind, threatening her control. What was she to do about her marriage? The way things were going, she did not see how she could last until the end of the Season. Controlling her emotions grew more difficult every day. Treacherous tears fought to free themselves. She was rapidly becoming a watering pot. And that would never do. She forced her attention back to the drawing room.
Lady Beatrice was announced.
“I know all about Brummell’s latest,” she proclaimed immediately. “Far more shocking is young Delaney’s behavior.”
“What is that scamp up to now?” wondered Lady Stafford. His escapades had amused Mayfair’s drawing rooms since his arrival some weeks earlier.
“Hmph! This is no oat sowing,” sniffed Lady Beatrice. “He has revealed himself as an insufferable
voyeur
with a sad lack of decorum.”
Gasps filled her pause.
“Why, early this very morning he burst into his aunt’s bedroom – while that poor lady was in complete dishabille – bold as brass, without even knocking! Startled her out of her wits. Her hysterics nearly brought the house down. And did that induce the boy to leave? It did not! Just stood there, staring at her and grinning.”
“Good heavens! How awful for Lady Feldham.”
“Has she recovered?”
“What did they do to Delaney?”
Lady Beatrice drew a deep breath, pleased at the reception of her news. “That boy should be sent back to school immediately. He has certainly forfeited the right to be received. And what about his sister? Twins are so alike. I would never risk a son of mine on her stability.”
“That might be true of identical twins, but hardly boy-girl.”
“Yet if his rearing was so slipshod, can hers be much better?”
“They are Irish, after all. One cannot expect rigid decorum.”
“That is absurd! They are just as capable of behavior as you are. But Lord Delaney has ever been a loose screw. Hardly a desirable pattern card.”
The Marchgate party rose to leave when custom demanded despite the continuing analysis.
They were walking back to Marchgate House when Caroline’s heart nearly stopped. She was trailing behind the others, who were rehashing Brummell’s conduct, when she chanced to glance down Davies Street. Thomas was standing on the doorstep of number fifty-five. As she watched, the door swung open to reveal Alicia, scantily clad in her favorite blue. As Thomas stepped into the entry, one of her hands slid up his chest in an intimate gesture of great familiarity. His hands grasped her arms as the door closed.
Caroline fought to control her face, grateful that Brummell’s escapade meant her companions were paying no attention either to her or their surroundings. The stabbing pain and nausea that nearly doubled her over was accompanied by a blinding flash of knowledge, equally upsetting.
She had committed the greatest folly of her life.
She had fallen in love with her husband.
Somehow she responded with social chatter as they returned to the house. She even reached her own room before nausea overwhelmed her, followed by a cloudburst of tears. How was she to conceal her feelings? And how could she continue to live with his antagonism?
* * * *
Thomas daily sank further into despair. Nor could he devise any way to alleviate his suffering.
The facts of his life remained unchanged. He loved Alicia, and she loved him. Events had conspired to separate them, leaving them both miserable. Honor prevented him from comforting her. Honor also demanded that he remain loyal to Caroline, respecting her and caring for her. But respect was difficult considering her affair with Wroxleigh. She spent so much time with the man that tongues had to be wagging, though no one had yet dared repeat the tale to Thomas.
His fury over her presumed infidelity was out of proportion to their situation, but he did not stop to wonder why. Examining his reasoning might disclose poor judgment or some other lapse in honor that he was unable to face. It always led to disaster, and he wanted no more blood on his hands.
He hardened his heart to Caroline, refusing to discuss her with his friends and terminating any conversation that included her name. He remained polite to her in public, but could no longer hide his anger in private. Their predicament was all her fault. She should have made a firmer effort to remove him in that mail coach. Instead, she had allowed his attentions to continue, had even accepted them. Her behavior alone convinced their fellow passengers that they were wed. Without that, he would now be free to marry Alicia. Had she deliberately set out to snare him as an alternative to governessing?