A Regency Charade (12 page)

Alec threw his brandy glass against the wall where it splintered into fragments that flew all over the room. The sound of the crash brought Kellam pounding on the door in alarm, but Alec ignored him and paced about the room in sick despair. He’d already lived through those painful months six years ago when he’d realized that the wife he’d adored had tricked him; must he
still
feel like a cuckold even though he hadn’t lived with his wife in all this time? He despised and hated her now, and it made him ill to think they were still tied in legal bonds that prevented him from being free of her. He could still feel her like a heavy lead weight round his neck pulling him down into a bottomless abyss, unless he did something …
anything
… to cut free of her at last.

“Cap’n!
Cap’n
!” Kellam was shouting. “Wot’s
wrong
in there? Lemme
in
, will ye? Open th’ ruddy door!”

Alec snatched up his coat and threw the door open. He strode past the open-mouthed batman without a word. Kellam cast a hasty glance into the room and gawked at the broken glass and the trail of brandy dripping down the wall. Then he turned and ran down the hall after Alec in near-distraction. “Wot ’appened? Wot’s wrong? Where’re ye off to?” he asked in quick succession.

“I’m going to see my damned
solicitor
!” Alec said furiously, and he slammed the door behind him.

Chapter Nine

Fortunately for Mr. Newkirk, Alec arrived at the solicitor’s office so late in the day that he found the place closed. By the time he reappeared the following morning, his temper had cooled. His intention to sever his marriage, however, was as strong as it had been the day before, and he made it abundantly clear to the patient solicitor that he would brook no further delays.

“But my lord,” Mr. Newkirk pointed out calmly, “it is only
you
who are delaying matters. We are waiting for those documents you promised to obtain.”

“Documents?” Alec asked blankly. “What documents?”

“Can you have forgotten? They were to attest to the existence of a valid pre-contract agreement.”

“I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

“You see, my lord, we have need of some documentation declaring that Lady Braeburn had entered into a valid pre-nuptial contract with Sir Blake Edmonds. As we told you before, those are the only grounds on which we can base a case for nullity.”

“Oh, yes, I remember now. But I really don’t understand just what we’re talking about. Just what
is
a valid pre-nuptial contract?”

“You see, my lord, a decree of nullity is awarded only when a marriage can be shown to have been
illegal
when first entered into, as when one of the parties gives a false identity, or the parties had no knowledge that they were closely related by blood … that sort of thing.”

“I see. But those instances certainly don’t apply here.”

“Yes, that’s correct. But we hope to establish, by means of two clear steps, that there
was
an illegality in your marriage contract: one, that your wife and Sir Blake Edmonds had exchanged
bona fide
vows of intent to wed before your marriage, and two, that your wife was then
coerced
into the contract with you. We hope, by this reasoning, to prove illegality.” The solicitor had made the reasoning seem quite simple, but in truth he was not at all sure of the outcome. Decrees of nullity were not any easier to come by than divorces, and Mr. Newkirk was not certain that the courts would be convinced that a true illegality existed in this case. But there was no need to make his lordship uneasy at this stage. It was best to put forth a confident exterior.

“But as I recall,” Alec was saying, “Lady Braeburn refused to sign such documents.”

“No, my lord, she did not. She merely said she would not sign them at
our
behest. She insists on seeing you first.”

Alec felt trapped. There was nothing he wanted less than an interview with Priss. “Bother the documents!” he said in disgust. “Apply for a divorce decree and have done.”

The solicitor glanced up at his client with a sigh of frustration. He had always been fond of the Tyrrells and had done his best for them. But this matter troubled him deeply. He’d felt tremendous sympathy for the young Tyrrell when the boy had stumbled into the office six years ago, wild-eyed with agony. He’d helped the lad buy his commission, had supervised all his preparations to leave the country and had even seen him to the ship. He’d had every intention of doing his best to sever the marriage that had caused the young man such pain. Then he’d met Lady Braeburn, and his perception of the matter had changed. Whatever the young woman may or may not have done, she was as miserable over her husband’s departure as any loving wife could have been. He’d convinced himself, as Lady Braeburn had, that it would be wise to delay the annulment proceedings until young Tyrrell’s return … that by the time the war came to an end, his bitterness would have abated and the marriage could be resumed. Evidently, however, such a resumption was not to be. Tyrrell was as adamant as ever. Mr. Newkirk, however reluctantly, was willing to proceed, but he was
not
prepared to take the route his client was now suggesting.
That
course would be a tragic one for the lady in question.

He removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose while he tried to determine just how to proceed. Then he rose and walked round his desk. “Sit down, my lord, please,” he suggested with unusual firmness. “There are certain facts I think you should know.”

Alec, who had been pacing impatiently about the small room, shook his head. “No, thank you, Newkirk. Spare me the details of this matter. I want to be rid of this marriage once and for all, and I want it done quickly. I don’t much care about the legal niceties.”

“Please, my lord,” the solicitor insisted, indicating the room’s one extra chair. “I feel I must apprise you of certain important and quite relevant facts.”

This time, the solicitor’s use of the first-person-singular struck Alec’s ear. The lawyer had actually dropped his formal “we” for the more personal “I.” Did that mean he wanted to talk to Alec
informally
—man-to-man, as it were? He had never before done so! Alec took the seat and looked up at his solicitor with renewed interest.

Mr. Newkirk leaned on the edge of his desk, his eyes fixed on Alec’s face. “Do you have any idea,” he asked suddenly, pointing his spectacles at Alec accusingly, “of the number of couples who have been divorced in the last two hundred years?”

Alec blinked at the unexpectedness of it. “I have no idea at all. Why?”

“I’d like you to hazard a guess.”

“I’ve never given the matter any thought. Several thousand, I would suppose.”

“Not more than
three hundred
!” Mr. Newkirk said dramatically, emphasizing his point by punctuating the air with his glasses. “
Three hundred divorces in two centuries
! Does this fact suggest anything to you?”

“Well, no … except that it’s a surprisingly small number,” Alec said wonderingly.

“Yes, indeed.
Shockingly
small. And do you know
why
the number is so small?”

“No. It can’t be because most marriages are so satisfying. Most of them that I’ve observed have precious little to recommend them.”

Newkirk nodded like a schoolteacher with a bright pupil. “Just so. Then doesn’t it occur to you to wonder why so
few
unhappy couples have seen fit to resort to divorce to end their misery?”

“Yes, it does
now
,” Alec replied, leaning forward interestedly. “Why?”

“Because, my boy, the laws of divorcement haven’t changed since the
Middle Ages
! A divorce is extremely difficult to obtain, relying on unbelievably narrow and complicated grounds, taking an inordinate amount of time, horrendous expense and resulting in complete social ostracism for the lady, a life of criticism and gossip for the man and the inability of either of the parties to remarry
ever
. The parties, more often than not, are forced to flee the country and live as outcasts if they are to have any life at all. Do you realize the import of what I’m saying?”

“I’m not sure. You’re not suggesting, are you, that I
remain married
?”

“That would be the best solution, yes. But the decree of nullity is, in your case, a possible alternative.”

Alec got up and resumed his pacing. “Very well, then, Newkirk. I’ll stop ranting on about a divorce. Get me the nullity decree and I’ll be satisfied.”

Mr. Newkirk nodded, replaced his spectacles and returned to his seat behind the desk. “Then, we take it that you will visit her ladyship in due course?”

Alec grinned at the resumption of the formal “we.” “Yes, Newkirk, you may so take it. Will you inform her ladyship that I’ll drop by for a
brief
interview this afternoon? Let’s say about four.” He turned to take his leave.

“But—” the solicitor began.

At the same moment, Alec remembered something. “Damnation,” he muttered, turning back, “I’ve promised to take a young lady riding at four. Do you think Lady Braeburn will be content with a morning call tomorrow?”

“No, my lord, we don’t. We feel that this matter should be handled with the greatest delicacy.”

Alec raised an eyebrow. “Oh? A morning call is indelicate, then?”

The solicitor sighed in strained patience, took out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “Perhaps not, but it would be more … er … tactful, we believe, if you gave her ladyship a bit more notice.”

Alec, too, sighed. “Very well, Newkirk, what do you suggest?”

Mr. Newkirk threw him a hesitant glance. “Next Friday? Shall we say three?”

“Next—? That’s
ten days
fr—! Oh, very well, have it your way. Next Friday at three.”

“Thank you, my lord. We shall see if her ladyship is agreeable. If so, we shall send the papers round to your rooms the day before. You need only ask Lady Braeburn to affix her signature to the place indicated—three copies, if you please. As soon as we have the signed documents in our possession, we will proceed.”

“And when do ‘we’ expect that I’ll finally be relieved of these matrimonial bonds?”

“That’s difficult to say. Three or four months, we should think.”

Alec sighed in frustration, shook his head disgustedly at poor Newkirk and, with a wave of his hand that expressed both appreciation and helplessness, took himself off without another word.

The visit to his solicitor did not lighten his black mood. His conviction that his own once-beloved wife might have been (and might still be) behaving in an immoral fashion served to deepen his already growing cynicism. The entire world seemed to him to be steeped in corruption. Truth, honor and moral rectitude were no longer the ideals by which mankind lived, he decided, but were merely words behind which they hid their base behavior. The so-called “polite world” was a place of hypocrisy and sham, and he’d been a fool to ever have believed otherwise. How Priss must have laughed at him when he came from school those years ago, gullible and trusting, and fell like a green plum into her arms.

But he was no longer a credulous, naive, green youth. He intended to show the world—and himself—that he’d learned to play the game. He threw himself into dissipation with a vengeance. He tried to involve himself in the pleasure of the moment—cards or sport or flirtations—without taking any of it seriously. He regarded everyone with a detached suspicion, making dozens of new acquaintances without taking one intimate. Even with Ferdie he maintained a laughing, fun-loving exterior without revealing anything of his inner doubts and discontents.

While he waited with growing misgivings for his appointment with his wife, Alec spent a good deal of time with Clio Vickers. The hours with her became the most satisfying time of his day. He knew perfectly well that she was as superficial, as flirtatious, as potentially perfidious as any lady of the
ton
, but she was beautiful, amusing and obviously quite taken with him. Years before, with his wife, he had always felt that
he’d
been the more vulnerable of the pair—the one who cared more … the one who could be more easily hurt. This relationship with Clio was quite different. It was a pleasant change to be the one in control.
His
emotions were not deeply engaged, so he could manage the affair with an aloof dispassion, while
she
, despite the immodest self-confidence her appearance and manner had given her, was as susceptible as a fragile bird to his least unkindness.

Their time together became more frequent; he took her riding almost daily, he accompanied her occasionally on shopping trips, and when they met at evening functions (which was not infrequent, since they had many acquaintances in common) he stood up with her for several dances. He soon began to suspect that they were being whispered about. This gossip did not surprise him; after all, society was well aware that he had a wife. At first he had been surprised at Clio’s lack of concern about her reputation, but he soon realized that her indifference to being seen so much in the company of a married man was merely another sign of the general corruption. He shrugged the entire matter off—if
Clio
didn’t mind being the subject of gossip, there was no reason for
him
to trouble himself.

One evening, however, they chanced to overhear the gossip quite directly. Alec had invited Clio to accompany him, Ferdie and a few other ladies and gentlemen to the Drury Lane Theater to see Kean play Iago. The fiery young actor had been bringing to his Shakespearean roles a new and electric zest, and all of London was flocking to see him perform. The evening had begun very well. All the members of the party were congenial, the theater was crowded with famous and wealthy patrons, and the performance was quite as dynamic and thrilling as they had been led to believe. At the intermission after the second act, with Iago’s “
So will I turn her virtue into pitch
” speech ringing in their ears, the group left the box to find refreshment. Alec, however, had been much affected by the play. It had touched his own life too closely. He began to wonder if he, like Othello, was too prone to believe the worst. A sense of guilt and doubt troubled him, and he didn’t join in the jesting banter of the others. Clio, noting his abstraction, asked if he’d like to return to the box. Alec accepted the suggestion with alacrity, and the two returned to the empty box.