The Dollar Prince's Wife (16 page)

He was in torment. So often in his life he had been confronted with this terrible dilemma: whichever course of action he chose would be wrong. Of two ills, how to choose the lesser? To take Susanna to bed would be to betray Dinah, not to do so would, he was sure, destroy the precarious relationship between himself and his foster-sister for ever. He thought that he knew which evil was the lesser, but he could not be sure.

‘No, Susanna, no,' he said, facing her. The tears were pouring down her face, and she tried to clutch him to her. ‘Too late, too late. The boy you loved is dead and gone. He died in Arizona Territory, never to be resurrected. And the man who succeeded him knew how right you were to refuse him then, even though it broke his heart at the time.

‘Oh, Susanna, I still love you dearly, but only after the
fashion that a brother loves a sister. If I took you to bed now, it would not only be celebrating mindless lust, but it would also be an act of treachery to the young wife I have just taken. I couldn't betray Dinah, Susanna, not even to make you happy. She has suffered so much all her short life. She mustn't suffer that.'

‘She doesn't love you,' said Susanna, her face an agony of sorrow.

‘No, I'm not sure that she does. But I'm not going to take you as a consolation prize, Susanna. I have a little honour left. Not much, but one thing I will not do is betray my young wife before we are a full month married. It was right for you to reject me all those years ago, and now we must live with that rejection.'

‘If I hadn't rejected you just after you found out that you were not legitimate,' she said, ‘you might never have gone to Arizona Territory, would never have become the man you are, a man I hardly know. I killed the innocent boy you were when I sent you away. I hardly knew you when you came back. What happened, Cobie, what happened?'

‘I grew up,' he said roughly, ‘and so must you. It might be of comfort to you to know that it was not because of your rejection of me that I fled to the Southwest shortly afterwards. It was for quite another reason. What changed me happened there, in the Territory, and had nothing to do with my life before I left New York—and you—behind.'

Susanna chose to ignore what he had just told her. ‘Oh, I do so want a child before it is too late,' she wailed. ‘He will never give me one. You could, Cobie, you could.'

It was the worst thing she could have said to him. He wheeled away from her. ‘What! And create one more unhappy bastard! We all have to choose, Susanna, and live with our choices. You chose nearly ten years ago, and for
good or for ill, you changed our lives. But I will not sentence another to what I have had to endure myself.'

‘No one thinks the less of you…' she began, but, agonisingly, she knew that there was nothing left for her to say to him. Whatever had lain between them was over, but she could not resist telling him mournfully, ‘You are so hard, Cobie, so hard, I never thought…'

The face he turned on her was one of such suffering that she recoiled from it.

‘No, Susanna. If I am hard, it is better so. I could comfort you here and now, but think, what would be the end of such treachery?'

He sat down again, and said prosaically, ‘The tea is still hot enough to drink. Let me pour you another cup.'

She was shuddering and trembling. ‘I should like to go home, Cobie. I can't stay with you now. I think that I never want to see you again.'

What to say? What to do? Nothing. No words could suffice. Again, of two ills which is the lesser? It would be useless to say to her, You will be pleased one day that you did the right thing, for nothing could console Susanna in her present misery…

He held out the tea cup to her.

‘Drink your tea, Susanna, better so.'

Desolately, she took it, and drank it to the dregs, which were symbolic of what time and chance had made of her life.

 

Cobie was back with Dinah, trying to banish the memory of Susanna's face when she had left him that afternoon.

He looked at Dinah's hopeful one instead, and thought, I was right not to betray my wife, even if I do not love her, whatever we feel, or do not feel, for each other, but oh,
how I wish that I had not been faced with such an agonising dilemma.

One thing at least I have gained: I am easy with my bride—which I would not have been if I had given way to Susanna's misery—and who knows, my bride may soon be ready to be easy with me.

T
hat night, preparing to go to bed, with both Hortense and Pearson in attendance, so grand had she grown, Dinah was thinking about her husband and her so far non-consummated marriage.

She thought that he had been remarkably considerate in not making her his true wife immediately, when he had already decided to put upon her the burden of transforming her so rapidly from gauche, dowdy Dinah Freville into a
Parisienne
beauty.

On the other hand, it might not have been consideration at all, far from it. He might have simply been deferring the evil day when he had to take to bed an untutored girl whom he had married for reasons she did not understand, but which she was sure, did not include a desperate desire to…to… Her imagination would not supply her with a decorous word—only a vulgar one!

One thing she was now sure of. At some point he would make a move towards her, but that did not mean that if she decided that she was tired of waiting, he would rebuff her if she went to him and… She blushed at the thought but
she now knew him well enough to be aware that he would never do anything as unkind as that.

Should she, or shouldn't she, go to him? Her sense of humour, one of the things about Dinah which had attracted her husband, set her thinking, I need a daisy, and instead of plucking off the petals and saying ‘He loves me, or he loves me not', I should be asking ‘Shall I? Or shan't I?' But there aren't any daisies off the Faubourg Saint Germain for me to pluck. Perhaps I ought to wait until I get home, or go to Moorings where the fields will be full of them!

Yes, that was it. This alien city, so artificial, even if so beautiful and cultured, was not the place where Dinah Freville ought to become Mrs Cobie Grant in fact as well as in law.

She was unaware that her husband, still disturbed by the scene with his foster-sister, had come to the same conclusion. He would wait until they were back in London, where she would be surrounded by the things which she knew.

He thought, with a great deal of wry amusement, that she would be only the second virgin he had initiated into love. The previous one had been over thirty, ten years older than he had then been, and that, like Susanna, she had asked him to be her lover—for one night only. He had agreed, because he owed her his life, and he had betrayed no one by doing as she wished.

It was the first time for many years that he had thought of Jane, who had been so unlike Dinah, and he wondered what had become of her. He shook his head and dismissed the past. Yes, they would return to London shortly—and what would happen—would happen!

 

Sir Ratcliffe Heneage decided that he disliked Mr Jacobus Grant intensely. Before Grant's marriage to Dinah Fre
ville, on the night when Grant had broken Rainey, he had lost all and more of the money he had won from him at poker and baccarat in those early weeks when Grant's luck had been so bad. Money which, like Rainey, he couldn't afford to lose: he was bankrupt in all but name.

He didn't believe in Grant's bad luck any more. An American friend, over from the States, had told him what a tiger Grant truly was on Wall Street. He knew nothing about Grant's ability, or otherwise, at cards, but he couldn't believe that he was other than a tiger with them, too.

‘Grant's uncanny,' he had said. ‘He seems to know what you are thinking. He's a ruthless devil. What he wants, he takes, whether it's money or women. He sails close to the wind in everything he does.'

In consequence Sir Ratcliffe Heneage no longer believed that Grant had destroyed Rainey by good luck or by accident. He also thought that Grant had used the cards he, Sir Ratcliffe, had marked for himself, to do so. Looking back, there had been several previous occasions when odd things had happened at the table: times when Grant had lost when he should have won.

Had he been using his marked cards to lose, in order to lull everyone into believing he was an easy mark and make a killing when he wished to do so? Sir Ratcliffe rather thought that he had since there was no chance that Grant had ever had an opportunity to mark the cards himself.

Grant had taken Violet Kenilworth from him, too, just when he thought that Violet was about to capitulate to him—and he hadn't even had to try. Violet had just fallen flat on her back in front of the Yankee pirate! His friend from the States had told him that that was par for the course as well.

Which was all the more remarkable when you thought
that he had ended up by marrying that frump, Dinah Freville, who was both plain
and
portionless. Particularly when gossip had it that he had almost blackmailed Rainey, after that disastrous session at cards, into allowing the marriage.

His friend had said, when told of this, ‘Well, if that's so, Grant knows something about the girl that the rest of you don't.'

‘What's to know?' Sir Ratcliffe had said coarsely. ‘A plain poverty-stricken bitch, useless in bed, one supposes. Now…her sister…' and he licked his lips.

His friend had also told him something else. Gossip had it that Grant and his foster-sister were close. ‘Very protective of her, I understand.'

Sir Ratcliffe had said nothing but he had thought a lot. He had been living a life more continent than he had done for years, his favourite sports denied him. Ever since Madame Louise's had been raided he had been fearful of visiting any night house… Who knew which one might be raided next? On the other hand, when and if Hoskyns found for him the child who had run away—why, that would be a different matter…

Susanna Winthrop was just the sort of woman he had a taste for. Not too buxom, figure almost boyish, and with pretty deferential manners. If Violet Kenilworth had a fault it was that she was too loud, too demanding. His own wife, with whom he had not slept for many years, although she shared his home and public life, being seen with him on all official occasions, was a pale, defeated woman whom he had married for her money—all of which he had spent.

Now Susanna, on whom he had had his eye since he had lost Violet and the little boys and girls in quick succession, would make up for all of them. She liked pleasant gentle
men, that was plain, and he would be as pleasant and gentle as a man could be—to begin with, anyway.

He had approached her the other night, after Grant had returned to Paris, and commiserated with her on his absence, and she had been so gracious to him, that before the evening was over they had been conversing together as though they were old friends.

He had been invited to the Hertfords' reception and she would be there, she had told him. Someone had said that Grant and his wife were back from Paris. So much the better. He would like Grant to see him winning Susanna Winthrop—it would add to his enjoyment.

It certainly didn't add to Cobie Grant's.

He had walked up the giant stairway, Dinah on his arm, amused at some of the stares they attracted. Dinah was wearing a dress of pale lemon silk, cunningly cut to give her a slightly more ample figure than she actually possessed. Hortense had dressed her hair in a new fashion, simple, but effective. It was high on her head, to show the lovely line of her neck, made even more effective by her newly learned proud carriage.

She wore no tiara this evening, but a topaz star, with a giant diamond at its heart, was placed above the noble line of her forehead, held there by a narrow band of silver lamé. Her ear-rings were diamond and topaz, as was the necklace she wore, and the bracelet around her left wrist. None of the stones were large, or ostentatious, but the effect was dazzling. Her slippers this evening were of topaz and silver damask, peeping below the straight hem of her elegant Paris gown.

Her fan was a feather one, dyed to match her dress. She remembered Cobie and the Marquise exclaiming over it when they were choosing her whole ensemble: scarf, slip
pers and long evening gloves. Her jewellery had been bought later.

‘Smile,' he said in her ear. ‘You are creating a minor sensation. The Marquise deserves the Ribbon of the Legion of Honour for transforming you at such speed.'

‘And what do I deserve, Cobie Grant?' she whispered back to him. ‘Tell me that.'

The smile he gave her was wicked, Cobie Grant at his most winningly provocative.

‘Wait until we get home, Madame wife, and I shall take pleasure in showing you.'

Dinah shivered. She thought that she knew what he meant, and she spent the whole evening in a lather of excitement, hidden under the surface gloss Paris had created.

‘Don't try too hard,' her husband had told her before they had set out, and he had seen her white face when she had joined him in the drawing room.

She had whispered to him, ‘I'm frightened.'

‘There's no need to
say
anything,' he had whispered back to her. ‘Just smile and murmur “Exactly so” and hold yourself as Madame taught you. Don't forget to put your fan before your face and smile over the top of it if you feel nonplussed. Men don't expect pretty women to be able to talk.'

Dinah was acid. ‘What do they expect from pretty women, then?'

He had picked up her shaking hand and kissed it. ‘It will be my pleasure to teach you—soon.'

Now it seemed that soon was almost upon her. She had no time to worry about it, though, for here was Violet coming towards them, magnificent in old rose and cream, but the eyes which she cast on Dinah were inimical.

‘Well, well,' she drawled when the civilities were done
with. ‘That's Louis Pontadour, is it not?' waving a hand at Dinah's beautiful gown. ‘However did you persuade
him
to dress her?'

‘Money, of course,' returned Cobie, his smile taking the sting out of his words. ‘One look at Dinah, though, and he was proud to have her wear his creations.'

‘Fancy that,' remarked Violet nastily.

The anger she felt at the sight of a transformed Dinah was so great that she could hardly prevent herself from showing it. ‘I suppose that any improvement, however small, is to be welcomed. You no longer look like a house-maid out for the day, my dear. Such a relief.'

Living with Cobie, even if their time together so far had been brief in the extreme, was beginning to have its effect on Dinah. She now knew that the double meanings in his conversation, which she had remarked on before their marriage, were no accident.

She opened her fan, saw Violet's eyes narrow at the sight of it, yawned behind her lemon-shaded lace gloved hand, and said sweetly, ‘Yes, Violet, dear. My next aim is to look like the cook, and after that, I may aspire to the housekeeper. You must tell me how you achieved it.'

‘Good God,' said Violet to Cobie. ‘Have you given the kitten claws
already
? And talking of kittens, have you seen Susanna Winthrop this evening? No, I thought not. She has become totally occupied by Ratcliffe Heneage while you have been enjoying yourself in Paris.'

‘Really?' said Cobie, his perfect calm still present on the surface, but beneath it he was paddling as fast as an apparently unruffled swan paddles in still water. ‘A new friend, one supposes.'

‘Oh, much more than that,' returned Violet. ‘After all, that husband of hers is a dull dog, of which I am sure that
you are aware, knowing them so well. Why shouldn't she try to make her life a little livelier?'

‘Why not?' agreed Cobie warmly. ‘I'm happy to hear that she is present tonight. With, or without, Sir Ratcliffe. I had thought him your admirer, Violet dear.'

So had Violet. She had dropped him for Cobie, then Cobie had had the bad taste to marry Dinah. She had turned around to pick up Sir Ratcliffe again but, lo and behold, he was after that dull stick, Susanna Winthrop, God knew why.

Another disaster for which one day she hoped to make this presumptuous American pay. But she said nothing further, only drifted away to watch her sister and her husband become the sensation of the evening.

A spectacle watched by Susanna Winthrop with even more dismay than Violet. She was determined not to let her foster-brother know how hurt she was, how every time she saw him was like a knife through her heart. It was as though all the love she had felt for him since she had first seen him—a small baby in Marietta's arms—and which she had suppressed for ten long years, had turned at once into hate, like milk curdling in a jug.

Now she was smiling up at Sir Ratcliffe, who was behaving towards her with the kind and careful assiduity of a man determined to make a conquest. More than one person remarked on them.

Halfway through the evening she and Cobie met. He had left Dinah for a moment to speak to a friend. He could see her sitting still and upright, doing, he noticed with his best inward grin, exactly what he had suggested to her before they had left home. Her fan lifted slowly before her face; she was talking and laughing as though she had been show
ing such
savoir-faire
, such self-control, for years, instead of for only the last month.

Susanna tried to smile at him. For the first time in her life she found herself speaking to him as though to a stranger, making small talk.

Pain lanced through Cobie. He had watched her with Sir Ratcliffe, watched how she was behaving with him, not at all like the cool woman he had always known. She was acting for his benefit, he knew. Look, she was saying. Other men find me attractive, and so I find them pleasing. This man, whom I know you dislike, I am deliberately finding attractive.

It was unwise, he knew, but he had to say something to warn her since she could have no notion of what a cruel swine the man was. He was sure that in her present mood she wouldn't heed him, but the necessity not to allow her to run from one unhappiness to another was strong in him. He now knew too much about Ratcliffe Heneage to keep quiet.

‘You are enjoying yourself, Susanna?'

‘Very much so,' she told him defiantly. ‘I suppose you are, too. You always make sure you do!'

He inclined his head, and said gravely, ‘In order to enjoy one's self properly, Susanna, it is necessary to choose one's partners carefully.'