Web of Love (23 page)

“He wants to take me walking,” the girl said. She smiled. “You too, Ellen, probably. You always came with us in Brussels, did you not? Will you come tomorrow too? He presented me to two of his cousins. Anna Carrington is very lovely, Ellen. She made her come-out during the spring. She told me that she is going to marry Lord Eden, but her brother just laughed at her and told me that that is her idea, and she has had it since she was ten years old. I like them, Ellen. I don't think they take life too seriously. They laugh a lot. They both said that they hope to meet me again, and I think they meant it.”

“I am sure they do,” Ellen said. “And I hope you do meet them again, Jennifer. It is time you started enjoying yourself again just a little, though of course you may not go to any formal party or anything like that for a long time.”

“And have no wish to do so,” Jennifer assured her. “Oh, Ellen, I wish Papa were here. He could come with us tomorrow, and the two of you would be able to walk ahead of Lord Eden and me in the park, and I would be able to watch you talking and laughing together. Oh, I do wish Papa were still here…But I am sorry. I should not say such things any longer, should I, for it only makes you feel sad. Forgive me, Ellen. I am so self-indulgent. I won't say such things again, I swear I won't.”

Ellen smiled and kissed her and asked to see the tortoiseshell comb.

L
ORD EDEN DID NOT AFTER ALL CALL AT Bedford Square the following day. He sent a note excusing himself after his mother received a hastily scrawled letter from Dover to say that Madeline expected to be home sometime that day.

She arrived late in the afternoon in a carriage belonging to Mr. Septimus Foster, the cousin with whom Lieutenant Penworth was to stay in London. She was looking tired but incredibly happy.

“Mama!” she cried, hurling herself into her mother's arms. “It seems like forever. Oh, how good it is to be home. And Edmund and Alexandra have come too. But not the children?” She hugged both of them hard and turned to her twin. “Dom. Oh, you horrid man. You look quite as healthy as you have ever looked. And when I think of the fright you gave me in Brussels!”

She was in his arms then, and he was rocking her against him. “You are looking pretty good yourself,” he said. “I have been expecting to see you a mere wraith of your former self after months of playing nurse. But you look as if you are in the middle of a very successful Season.”

“Allan and I are betrothed,” she said. “It was all decided before we left for home. The official announcements are to be made as soon as he has spoken with you and Edmund, Mama. He does not have to do so, of course, because I reached my majority long ages ago, but he is going to do so anyway. Wish me happy?” She smiled brightly and a little uncertainly around the room.

Lord Amberley got to his feet again and put an arm about her shoulders. “You look quite happy enough already, dear,” he said. “And of course I have never wanted anything else but your happiness. If you have decided upon Penworth, then he is a fortunate man.”

“I could not have said it better myself,” the dowager said, beaming at her daughter.

“Where is he?” Lady Amberley asked. “When are we to meet him? If I had only known back in the spring that he was to be your husband, Madeline, I would have taken far more notice. I can picture only a very young man in scarlet regimentals.”

Madeline glanced at her twin, and he smiled and stretched out a hand to her.

“The journey was a great ordeal for him,” she said. “I don't think I stopped talking for a single moment all the way from Dover. I was trying to keep his mind from his own discomfort and pain. We went straight to Mr. Foster's, and then I came here. It feels strange to be without him after so many months.” She looked again at her brother, rather uncertainly, and took his hand.

“If you are happy, Mad,” he said, “then I am too. Are you satisfied now?”

She nodded.

“Well,” the Earl of Amberley said, seating himself next to his wife, “we might as well enjoy this unusual interlude of brother-and-sister amity, Alex. I am sure the two of them will be at each other's throats before another day has passed, and we will know that all is back to normal.”

The dowager rang the bell to summon the tea tray.

“Now,” Madeline said brightly, “I want everyone to tell me everything that has happened since I saw you last. Everything. Have the children grown, Alexandra? And will Caroline smile yet for anyone but Edmund?”

“She was very uncertain when he came home from Brussels after such a long absence,” the countess said with a smile. “But seeing Christopher launch himself onto Edmund's back and me clinging to one of his arms must have reassured her. She gave him the smile I had not seen for weeks. It really is not fair, is it? Who feeds the child, after all?”

“It is just that she recognizes a handsome man when she sees one,” the earl said.

Although there was so much to say, so many questions to be asked and answered, they all recognized that Madeline was very tired. Half an hour later she was climbing the stairs to her rooms, her arm linked through her twin's.

“How are you, Dom?” she asked as she closed the door of her sitting room behind them.

“As you see.” He spread his arms to the sides. “As good as new, Mad. And in civilian clothes, you will be delighted to observe.”

“I am.” She crossed the room and patted the lapels of his coat. “And it is just as well for you that you are. I would declare open warfare on you if you had not sold out already.”

“Ooh,” he said, grinning. “A narrow escape indeed.”

“What I meant to ask,” she said, “was how
are
you? I mean really, Dom.”

“You are asking me about Ellen Simpson,” he said. “I was planning to call on her this afternoon. For the first time, and because I promised Charlie that I would look after the two of them if there were need. I have not seen her since Brussels, Mad. It is all over. It was just an unreal episode from a time of great crisis. Sweet at the time, but best forgotten.” He smiled.

“Was it?” she said sadly. “But it seemed so real at the time. You looked so very happy. What happened, Dom?”

“We both woke up,” he said. “That is what happened. It was inevitable.” He shrugged. “It was no big thing. It only seemed so at the time. There is one thing I must know about you. Did Penworth ask you to marry him, or did you ask him?”

She blushed and giggled. “You could not expect him to ask me,” she said. “He still does not particularly want to live, except that now I think he has realized that he must do so whether he wants to or not. He certainly does not think he has any worth left as a man. He is unwilling for anyone to see him. And he won't go home to Devon. He cannot face the pity of his family, he says. All absurd, of course. I shall talk him out of it all eventually. It will take time.”

“So you asked him,” he said. “Do you love him, Mad? Or is it pity?”

“I love him,” she said. “He has filled my whole world for three months, Dom. I can't imagine life without him now. You are not going to be difficult, are you, just because he has lost a leg and an eye?”

“No, I am not going to be difficult.” He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently back and forth. “You are as old and as wise as I, which is not saying a great deal, I suppose. But if you say you can be happy with Penworth, then I daresay you can be. And all I can do is repeat what I said downstairs. If you are happy, then so am I.”

She hugged him hard and rested her head on his broad shoulder. “Oh, Dom,” she said, “it is so very good to be home. So good to have you alive and safe at last. And I am so tired. I feel as if I have not slept for months.”

“Don't fall asleep on my shoulder, then,” he said. “I'm sure your bed will be far more comfortable. Stand up now, or sit down if you will, and I will ring for a maid.”

Madeline yawned loudly and inelegantly and sat down hard on a chaise longue.

 

E
LLEN WAS SITTING DOWNSTAIRS
in the morning room finishing off a letter to her friend Mrs. Cleary, who was still in Paris. She had the house to herself apart from the servants. Dorothy and Jennifer had gone out soon after breakfast, in order to accompany the Emery ladies to the library and the shops.

She and her stepdaughter were both recovering their spirits, she had just written to her friend. Her husband had left her an independence, and she hoped soon to buy herself a cottage somewhere in the country and move there. She was not sure about Jennifer. The girl might stay with her aunt. Or perhaps she would move to her grandfather's house.

Nothing was as certain as that in reality, of course. Dorothy had said no more about the visit to Sir Jasper Simpson. Perhaps she never would. Perhaps Charlie's father would refuse to receive Jennifer, even if that meant that he could not meet his son's widow either.

But Ellen was determined that matters would not be left at that. She had made a promise to Charlie, and she was going to keep it. His father would not reject them if appealed to, Charlie had said. Well, if necessary, she would go to Sir Jasper herself—not to take tea, but to plead with him to accept his granddaughter. If he had really loved his son, as Dorothy claimed, and if he truly grieved for him now, then surely he could not refuse to meet the daughter whom Charlie had loved, even if there really could be any doubt about her birth.

She would allow one more week to pass. If Dorothy had not said anything more in that time, then Ellen would take action herself. She felt better having decided so. She felt as if she were coming back to life after a long time. She reached for the blotter and carefully dried the ink on her letter.

She had taken action on something else too. She had told Dorothy the day before about the child. She had been feeling unusual tiredness during the days, and frequently felt nauseated and dizzy in the mornings. She needed to tell someone. She had told no lies. She had said nothing about the baby's paternity and had said merely that it was expected sometime early in the following spring. She had not told the truth either, of course.

Dorothy had been overjoyed, and had hugged her and kissed her and laughed and shed tears.

“Oh, I am so very happy,” she had said. “I have hoped for it ever since Charlie married you, Ellen. And now it has happened just when it seemed too late. I am so very happy for you. But have you seen a physician?”

Ellen had shaken her head and agreed that she would see Dorothy's doctor later in the week, as soon as it could be arranged.

She felt uneasy about the deception. But what could she have done? How could she have told Charlie's sister the truth? On the whole, it felt good to have her secret off her chest. Though it was not entirely so.

“Please don't tell Jennifer yet,” she had said.

“But why ever not?” Lady Habersham had asked. “She will be thrilled to know that she is to have a sister or brother.”

“I will find the right moment to tell her,” Ellen had said.

Jennifer's brother or sister! She had felt very uneasy and guilty again. But if only she could bring about this reconciliation with Sir Jasper, then she could remove to the country, and she would be free to tell everyone the truth. The time would come soon, she hoped, long before her child was born.

Yesterday had brought one other relief from a burden, although Jennifer had been disappointed. An unexpected commitment had forced Lord Eden to cancel his plan to call on them during the afternoon. There had been no other explanation. It must be that he had realized that she was at home when he had called before, that she had refused to see him. It must be that he had changed his mind about forcing his company on her.

There was enormous relief in the knowledge. She really did not want to see him. And there had been a certain pain in the prospect of his seeing Jennifer again. It had seemed for a while in Brussels that the two of them might be developing a
tendre
for each other. And at one time she had hoped it was true.

She would not think of such things. Jennifer was not unhappy. She had her friends, and she was very young. There would be time enough for beaux and marriage after her year of mourning was past.

Ellen sealed her letter and got to her feet. She stayed standing despite the wave of nausea that had her bending her head forward and closing her eyes for a moment. She would hand the letter to a footman and it would go with the day's mail. Strange to think that she would be in Paris herself if Charlie had still been alive. No, she would not think of it. She hurried out into the hallway.

And collided head-on with a man standing just outside the morning-room door.

“Oh,” she said, looking up sharply as he caught at her arms to steady her.

“Ellen,” he said.

She looked up into his face through a long, dark tunnel. There was a buzzing in her ears. She clasped her letter to her bosom.

“Ellen,” he said again. “How are you?”

“Well,” she said, but no sound came from her mouth. “Well,” she repeated.

He was still clasping her arms. He let her go suddenly, and they stared at each other foolishly, both seemingly incapable either of moving or of mouthing some commonplace.

“I have just sent the butler upstairs with my card,” he said eventually.

“I was writing a letter,” she said, holding it out almost as if she were offering it to him.

Her voice sounded very far away. She listened to it as if it were someone else forming the words. And the buzzing in her ears became a roar even as she felt her face grow cold and her vision recede.

“Ellen!” someone was saying very, very far away. “Sit on the stairs for a minute.” And someone was holding her sagging body in very strong arms and lowering her to a sitting position on the stairs. And someone's warm hand was at the back of her neck, forcing her head downward. And someone was stooping down in front of her. She was breathing in the fragrance of a familiar cologne.

“She has fainted. She will come around in a moment.” The quiet voice was close to her ear.

“May I fetch something, my lord?” The voice of the butler.

“A glass of water, perhaps.” Strong, warm hands took one of hers between them and began to chafe it. “Keep your head down, Ellen,” he said. “Take slow, deep breaths.”