Marigold's Marriages (10 page)

“You will be a nine days’ wonder.”

“They clearly think you have been duped by a designing trollop.”

“Trollop? Good heavens, is that what you are?”

“Don’t tease me, for we both know what’s being said.”

“And we both know it will have to be
unsaid
when my lawyers unearth the truth. Pay society no heed tonight, Marigold, for tomorrow we will be at Avenbury Park in the depths of Wiltshire, far away from spiteful, inconsequential tongues.”

She was curious about his country seat. “Tell me about Avenbury Park.”

“What do you wish to know?” he replied.

“Well, how old is it? Is the park large? What is the surrounding countryside like? Anything really.”

“Parts of the house date back to the twelfth century, but it was mostly rebuilt and enlarged during the reign of Henry VIII. The park is considerable, and boasts a natural lake, which is a rare thing in an area of chalk downs. The gardens are formal, in the Tudor style, and part of the henge runs through it—by henge, I mean the great circle of prehistoric standing stones and surrounding water-filled moat for which Avenbury is famous.”

“Percy told me the village is built actually inside the henge. Is that true?”

“What a tiresome mine of information is Master Percy Bysshe Shelley. Yes, it’s true. The village and the house are within the stones, but not at the center. That position is occupied by a small area of common land and a particularly ancient oak tree.”

“Who put the stones there? The druids?”

He exhaled slowly. “Rustics no doubt attribute them to giants or the arch-fiend, but the truth is that no one knows. In my opinion the Avenbury circle, Stonehenge, and so on,
predate
the worshippers of mistletoe. I do not doubt that the druids used them, indeed I know they did, but they did not create them. And please don’t take this conversation as a signal to bring up the subject of the curse yet again.”

“I promised not to, just as you have promised to tell me when you’re ready.”

“And I will stand by that.”

He poured her a third glass of champagne, which she wouldn’t have touched were it not that at that moment she at last saw Alauda. Rowan’s loathed mistress was with her husband, and they had encountered Sir Reginald Crane and his wife.

Sir Reginald’s clothes were quite subdued for once, because he would not have been allowed in unless he conformed. His nose, however, was far from subdued, being rather red and swollen from its ordeal with the snuffers. Lady Crane, a flat-chested woman with a pronounced lisp, wore a mauve silk gown that clung unbecomingly to her bony figure. Beside a beauty like Alauda, she was at a decided disadvantage.

Marigold’s archenemy was glorious in a bright yellow muslin that was so fine it afforded tantalizing glimpses of her magnificent body. Her raven hair shone with diamonds, her fan wafted elegantly to and fro, and her tinkling laughter carried clearly. The elderly Earl of Fernborough was a short man, slender and dapper in formal black. He was a notoriously ruthless devotee of gaming hells, and had ruined many a less fortunate man. His amours now exceeded those of his wife, although at the outset of the marriage he had been faithful.

As Marigold watched, Lady Crane suddenly pointed toward the supper box, and said something. By the way Alauda’s smile vanished, Marigold knew she had just learned of the new Lady Avenbury. After tossing a thunderstruck glance toward the supper box, Alauda made some excuse to her husband, then hurried away toward the long, less well-lit avenue known as the Dark Walk. There she paused, looking long and hard at Rowan before disappearing into the enticing shadows.

Like Marigold, Rowan had become aware of his mistress’s presence, although he pretended he had not. Marigold willed him not to go after Alauda, but she was disappointed. He tossed his napkin onto the table, and then rose. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I have something to attend to.”

Marigold couldn’t look up at him. “By all means,” she said quietly.

If he noticed anything amiss in her response, he gave no sign of it as he left the box. Marigold remained motionless as he followed Alauda into the Dark Walk. She was hurt by the swiftness with which he’d responded to his mistress’s silent command. Maybe it was the champagne that caused the bewildering succession of emotions that now rushed through her, from resentful anger to keen pain. She knew she was being foolish, because as he’d already pointed out, she’d known all along about his liaison with Alauda.

Gradually a fiercely determined light entered in her green eyes. The new Lady Avenbury would not—
could
not—let an assignation take place right under her nose without at least taking some token action. This was
her
marriage, Rowan was
her
husband, and his private arrangements
were
her concern! To perdition with Alauda!

Trembling, Marigold drank her champagne, folded her napkin, and placed it on the table next to his. Then she got up and hastened after them.

There weren’t many people in the Dark Walk, and the noise of the main crowds soon faded behind as Marigold hurried into the shadows. Trees whispered overhead, and the night was brightened by the soft but inviting glow of little lanterns. There were high-hedged paths leading off on either side, and leafy alcoves overhung with roses.

Whispers and giggles could be heard in the darkness, but Marigold paid them no heed, for she knew Rowan and Alauda would be much further from public view. When she and Rowan had taken a general stroll on first arriving, her attention had been drawn to a subterranean grotto by a fountain. Something in the way he’d glanced at the entrance of the grotto told her that this was the one at which he and Alauda had begun their liaison. If the guess proved wrong, she’d search all over until she found them.

There were fewer and fewer people around as the gentle murmur of water sounded ahead, then the path led into a circular paved area surrounded by tall shrubs. In the center of this area stood a statue of Neptune, where water danced in the light from pink and green lanterns, and directly opposite, lit by more lanterns, were the shell-studded steps leading down to the grotto. She paused. Apart from the sound of the water, everything was quiet, then she thought she heard Alauda’s voice coming from below.

For a moment discretion almost had the better part of valor, but champagne warmed her veins unwisely. Feeling the way she did about Rowan, and loathing Alauda as she also did, it was clear that sooner or later there had to be a confrontation between wife and mistress. Better to get that particular unpleasantness over with as quickly as possible. She walked resolutely toward the entrance, but as she reached the steps, what she heard brought her to a dismayed halt.

Alauda’s voice had become more clear, echoing strangely. “You’ve broken your word to me, Rowan.”

“What word?”

“About this midsummer. You swore that when Fernborough visits his brother in Ireland, I could come to stay with you at Avenbury.”

“Alauda, you asked if you could come to Avenbury at that time, but I didn’t agree.”

“Nor did you say no! Rowan, I
must
be with you then!” cried Alauda.

“Why such urgency?”

“I—I just want to be with you.”

“Well it’s out of the question now, is it not?”

“Because of
her!”
replied Alauda with a considerable amount of venom. “Oh, Rowan, in that creature you’ve made a
mésalliance par excellence.
Due to the bride, the name Avenbury is a laughingstock here tonight.”

“Alauda, if anything is being said of my bride, it is because of your family’s vindictive tittle-tattling.”

“No, Rowan, it is because of
her
lack of character. Why have you done it? She isn’t a beauty, and she has a thirteen-year-old son.”

“Maybe I love her, or had that not occurred to you?”

“Do you?” When he didn’t reply, Alauda went on. “Please tell me this whole thing is a jest.”

“Marriage is never a jest,” he replied.

“Except when it is never a marriage at all. Is that it? Has she been gullible enough to make a
second
false marriage?”

“I’ve already told you I don’t regard marriage as a jest, so I really don’t know why you should think I would fake such a thing.”

“Will you at least deign to tell me how you met her? I imagine she sought you out in order to relate my supposed sins?”

“As you relate hers? As it happens, we met by accident at the Spread Eagle in Windsor.”

There was a startled silence, then, “The Spread Eagle?”

“Yes.” He laughed. “Where the wheel turns.”

“What do you know of that?” Alauda asked quickly.

“What do
you
know of it?” he countered with sudden new interest.

Alauda drew back swiftly. “Nothing.”

“I don’t believe you. What is the wheel, Alauda?” he demanded more forcefully.

“I’ve already said that I don’t know anything about it. I—I’ve just heard Falk and his friends speak of it now and then. I presumed it was some society or other.”

The explanation was so patently fabricated that Marigold knew Alauda was lying. She was sure Rowan must have known too, but he didn’t press the matter any further. Alauda quickly returned to the matter of his marriage.

“So you think dear Marigold met you by accident, do you? Oh, Rowan, it’s clear you don’t know her yet. She’s a designing strumpet, and knew you might be there that night, because I confided in her that you had an appointment at Windsor. I know how those things drag on, and that when that happens, you use the Spread Eagle.”

Marigold’s eyes widened incredulously. Confided? Alauda would rather swallow hot coals than confide anything in her!

Rowan thought much the same. “Alauda, you have just spent the last quarter of an hour telling me what you think of Marigold, so I cannot imagine you wishing to
confide
in her.”

“I did!” Alauda protested. “Rowan, I felt sorry for her because neither Merlin nor Falk treated her well.”

Marigold’s fury simmered. Felt sorry for her? Alauda was the worst of them all!

“But you
did
treat her well?” Rowan inquired lightly.

“Of course, although to be sure she wasn’t in the least grateful. She is a viper, Rowan, as you will soon discover to your cost.”

Marigold leaned back against the wall of the entrance, so angry she could have rushed down into the grotto and slapped Alauda for her lies.

Alauda went on. “Is Marigold my match between the sheets?”

“You don’t really think I’d tell you anything like that, do you?”

“If she is my match, and if you do indeed love her, you wouldn’t be here with me now.” Alauda gave a low laugh. “Besides, I already know the answer to my question. Merlin told me she was cold and unimaginative, the equivalent of bedding a codfish.”

Rowan called a halt. “Enough, Alauda. I’ve humored you sufficiently regarding my wife.”

“But—”

“No, Alauda.”

Alauda’s voice swiftly took on a seductive tone. “Do you still desire me, Rowan?”

“What man could fail to desire you?”

“Then make love to me now,” Alauda breathed.

All went silent, and Marigold knew they were kissing. At first she was fixed with dismay, but it was soon swept aside by renewed anger. Were they going to make love, safe in the belief that his foolish bride was waiting meekly in the supper box?

Suddenly the robin fluttered out of the shadows and perched on the step beside her. He puffed out his chest, and his eyes shone in the lanternlight as he looked up intently at her. He gave a single chirrup, and once again she knew he was urging her to do something. But what? It wouldn’t do for Rowan to find out that his bride had followed him, so how could she bring the clandestine meeting to an end without revealing her presence?

Like the robin, inspiration winged from nowhere. Lady Crane’s distinctive lisping voice would be easy enough to imitate in the echoing surroundings of the grotto. Without a second thought, Marigold cupped her hands around her mouth.

“Alauda? Alauda, you’d betht know the earl is therching for you. Oh, I think I hear him calling! For heaven’th thake beware!” Then she ran behind the fountain to hide.

After a moment Alauda emerged, pausing at the entrance to glance around, then gathering her yellow skirts to hurry away toward the Dark Walk. It was only when Rowan followed a moment later, that Marigold realized her mistake, for how on earth was she going to reach the supper box before him?

Her triumph sank into dismay. Why hadn’t she thought more carefully? That last glass of champagne had a great deal to answer for! Alauda was bound to discover that Lady Crane had not called out the warning, and if Rowan’s bride wasn’t in the supper box when he returned, he was certain to put two and two together.

Trying desperately to think up a plausible excuse for leaving the box, she followed in the others’ footsteps. There was no sign of either Rowan or Alauda as she reached the Dark Walk, and the scattered pools of light and shade made it hard to tell anything. Gathering her skirts, she began to run toward the Grand Walk, but then, just as the first fireworks dazzled the night sky, Rowan’s voice arrested her.

“And where, pray, have you been, madam?”

She whirled guiltily about as he emerged from an arbor she had just passed.

Marigold’s sense of having been caught in the act was so keen that she didn’t know what to say. Rowan came a little closer, his hazel eyes raking her face in the light from the fireworks. “Well?” he prompted.

“I—I decided to walk a while,” she answered lamely.

“I would have thought we walked sufficiently earlier on. Besides, you were running.”

At last an answer occurred to her. “You had been gone so long, I became bored. Then I thought I saw Lord Toby Shrike approaching, and didn’t wish to be his target again, so I left the box. I was just strolling in general when I suddenly realized how long I’d been away, so I started to hurry back.”