The Gilded Web (11 page)

The yard at Tattersall's was crowded with gentlemen eager for the auction to begin or contented to be in a place where they might converse and gossip freely, away from the inhibiting presence of ladies. Lord Eden frowned when he realized that he was standing directly behind a group that included Albert Harding-Smythe. He could not stand the man, and his companions were hardly more tolerable. But he could not move away. Faber, on his other side, was deep in animated horse-talk with an acquaintance.

“We have had to tolerate them until now because they are Mother's relatives,” Harding-Smythe was saying. “Country bumpkins, of course. They have no idea how to go on in the genteel world.”

One of his companions sniggered. “You gave the chit a masterly setdown last night,” he said. “Perfect timing. She was left with her jaw hanging. The brother turned quite purple in the face.”

“Yes, well,” Harding-Smythe said on a sigh, “even cousins have to realize that there are limits to one's charity. The chit has a
tendre
for me. I have been beating her off with my cane ever since she arrived in town.”

“Not your gold-topped one, I hope?” another companion said, recoiling in mock horror. “You would not want to damage that, now, would you?” The whole group guffawed loudly.

“It was all very amusing last night,” a third fellow said, “but somewhat deflating to find out that Amberley is going to marry her. It was a dirty trick for her to arrive before him like that so that no one was aware of the betrothal and none of us knew how to behave toward her. I must say, I felt deuced foolish. One likes to be quite clear on the matter of whom one is obliged to be civil to and whom one must cut.”

Lord Eden, standing behind the group, had gone very still.

“One does wonder if Amberley is not just too good-natured for his own good,” Harding-Smythe said. “My cousin Purnell had probably frightened him into making the offer. He is the very devil, you know. Those of us who know the type would not be so easily intimidated, but Amberley is almost too civilized. I know that I would not be so easily drawn into offering a slut respectability. Do we know, after all, why she left the ballroom that night? In my experience, only one type of female wanders outdoors alone, and she is in search of only one thing: you-know-what.”

His companions sniggered.

“I almost wish I had been wandering outside too,” one of them said. “I might have been able to think of more amusing things to do with her after tying her to the bed than merely leaving her there.”

“I wonder if Amberley untied her immediately upon finding her, or if there was some, ah, delay,” another said at the same moment that a third turned his head and met Lord Eden's eyes.

He turned back abruptly, coughed warningly, and said something in a low voice. The group lapsed into an uneasy silence. Lord Eden strolled forward.

“I have not seen you at Jackson's Boxing Saloon this age, Harding-Smythe,” he said amiably, smiling at the uncomfortable gentleman in question. “It must be sheer coincidence that you go on the mornings that I don't. I seem to recall from last year that Jackson said you might become quite handy with your fives if you drank less and exercised more and were a little less wary of your opponents' fists. By this year I imagine you must be quite a bruiser if you feel no fear of a strong-looking gentleman like Mr. James Purnell. Perhaps you would favor me by taking me on tomorrow morning in a friendly bout?”

“I am not much in practice,” Harding-Smythe said, darting sidelong glances at his listening and watching friends. “Besides, Eden, I have other appointments for tomorrow. I am a busy man.”

“Ah,” Lord Eden said. “I would not wish you to go out of your way to oblige me, my good fellow. Shall I just say that I will be there tomorrow and that if you are not, I shall consider you a damned coward as well as a scoundrel?” He smiled amiably at the group. “I wish you good day, gentlemen.”

T
HE EARL OF AMBERLEY HAD A STRONG FEELing of
déjà vu.
He had been through it all before: the interview with Lord Beckworth; the salon at the front of the house; his standing position before the window—he had not been invited to sit down; the entry of Miss Purnell; her severe appearance—he was not sure if she wore the same clothes as on the previous occasion, but she looked very much the same; her proud, controlled bearing; her steady calm eyes.

And again they were left alone, she standing inside the door, he at the window.

He drew a deep breath. “Well, Miss Purnell,” he said, “here we are again.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said. She was unsmiling, not hostile exactly, but perfectly impassive, it seemed to Lord Amberley.

“I am afraid I put you in a very awkward position last evening,” he said. “I had not meant so to force your hand. Under the circumstances, I could think of no other way to act.”

“At the time I believe I was grateful to you,” she said.

“At the time?” He raised his eyebrows.

“It is not a pleasant feeling,” she said, looking steadily at him, “to be stranded in the middle of a crowded drawing room surrounded by people who stare and whisper and are hostile. It is even less pleasant to be snubbed very deliberately and very publicly by the gentleman one has been brought up to consider one's betrothed.”

“Peterleigh is not worth upsetting yourself over,” Lord Amberley said, taking a few steps toward her. “A true gentleman would stand by his lady even if she were indeed guilty of some active indiscretion. Forgive me if my words pain you, but I believe you are well rid of such a man.”

She raised her chin. “I was sickened by everyone's behavior last evening,” she said in a low, rather hurried voice. “It was bad enough that they chose to judge me so harshly for something that was none of my own fault. For that alone I would wish to have nothing more to do with society for the rest of my life. What was worse was the way almost everyone changed as soon as you hinted that we might become betrothed. If last evening is an example of what ‘gentility' means, then I am ashamed of the name ‘lady.'”

“You are quite right in your judgment,” he said gently. “Unfortunately, Miss Purnell, there is no perfect person on this planet and certainly no perfect institution. Our society protects itself through its strict moral and social standards. And such high standards inevitably lead to corruption on the one hand and to the type of hypocrisy of which you have been a victim on the other. But perhaps it is possible to overreact. There are good, if not perfect, people in this world. And an institution can have its value even if it is flawed.”

“Then I am to accept that I must be a pariah unmarried, but perfectly respectable as your wife?” she asked, looking very directly at him again.

He smiled. “You have a way of putting things, Miss Purnell,” he said, “a very direct way that makes a person feel uncomfortable. The answer to your question seems so obviously to be no. But the world is not such a black-and-white place as you imply. Life is what it is. Society is what it is. There is very little we can do to change either. We must accept what we must and change what we can. And somehow preserve our own integrity.”

“I cannot be such a creature of compromise,” she said. “I have been in town for a month, my lord, and I do not like what I have seen. I would like to go home and forget I have ever been here.”

“And is that possible?” he asked. “Have you put the idea to your father? Is he willing that you return home and remain there for the rest of your life?”

She looked back at him silently.

“I hate to say this, Miss Purnell,” he said. “I really do. But I do not think you have any choice at all about your future, do you? You must marry me.”

He expected her to argue. Her chin was at a decidedly stubborn angle. Her jaw was set in a hard line. She said nothing. He walked even closer until he stood just a few feet in front of her and the tilt of her chin became necessary so that she might see up into his face.

“I give you my word, Miss Purnell,” he said, “that it will not be such a bad bargain. I do not believe I am either an evil or a hard-hearted man. I do not know of any particular vice in my character. I have managed to live close to a younger brother and sister whose behavior is occasionally wild without ever resorting to violence or undue irritability. And I have position and wealth to offer you as well as a home of which I am inordinately proud. Will you marry me of your own free will?”

Her eyes did not waver before his. They were dark, luminous eyes. “I will marry you,” she said.

He smiled half-ruefully. “But not of your own free will?” he said.

She was silent.

“Will you tell me what it is in particular that makes you reluctant?” he asked.

She said nothing. He took one step forward and reached for her hands, which were clasped in front of her. They were very cold.

“You resent the chain of events that has made this necessary?” he asked. “It has all been quite overwhelming, has it not? The unfortunate mistake of identity; the fact that my brother did not return home in time to discover you and perhaps return you to the ball before you were missed; the fact that I had a new and prattling footman in my employ. You must feel that fate has been unduly unkind to you. But I am here now to protect you and care for you. Is that not enough?”

“I have accepted your offer,” she said tonelessly.

“But you do not want to be married to me?” he asked.

“No.”

He let go of her hands and walked away from her toward the window. He sighed. “I wish I did not have to persuade you into this, Miss Purnell,” he said. “It has never been my wish to coerce any lady into marriage. The very idea of doing so is abhorrent to me.”

“As you say, my lord,” she said, her voice tight and controlled, “there seems to be little alternative now to what you have offered and I have accepted. Circumspection this morning seems somewhat pointless.”

He turned and looked at her with a troubled frown. “I hate to see you unhappy with the situation,” he said. Then he sighed. “But I suppose I can hardly expect you to be ecstatic about finding yourself betrothed quite unexpectedly to a stranger. I can only hope that in time I can teach you to be less reluctant. I shall spend my life as your servant, ma'am.”

She dropped her eyes for the first time.

“Your father advised me,” Lord Amberley said quietly, looking at her lowered head, “to keep you on a tight rein and not to hesitate to beat you when occasion arises. Why would he give me such advice?”

“I frequently disappoint him,” she said, not looking up. “I am weak and thoughtless and often disobedient, even when I do not mean to be.”

“Does he mistreat you?”

Her jaw tightened. “He is my father,” she said. “He has the right to correct me in the way he thinks best.”

“Does he beat you?”

“He has not since I was sixteen,” she said.

“I see,” he said. “And what punishments has he substituted for the corporal ones?”

“They are not called punishments,” she said, raising her eyes and looking steadily and almost defiantly at him. “They are called corrections. I am required to pray and read Scripture when I have forgotten the peril in which I often place my soul.”

“I see.” But Lord Amberley was not at all sure that he did see. And he could not tell what her attitude was to what she described—whether bitter and cynical or accepting. He had an almost panicked feeling that he was betrothing himself to some alien creature, a woman with whom he might never find a point of likeness. “I assume that you would spend the rest of your life on your knees with an open Bible before you if you were to dare to refuse me?”

He supposed he had meant the words as something of a joke. But she did not smile or reply. She clasped her hands before her and raised her chin once more.

He strode over to her again and repossessed himself of her hands. “Listen to me, Miss Purnell,” he said. “We both know that this betrothal must happen. I wish it did not, not so much for my sake as for yours. But the announcement must be made. Your father and society must be satisfied. Society will not be allowed to gloat, however. I shall see that you are taken away from here. I shall invite you and your family to Amberley Court. There you may spend the summer away from the public eye, getting to know me and the home that will be yours.

“And I hope—I will make every effort to ensure it—that you will find after all that this marriage is not so repugnant to you. I will care for you, Miss Purnell. I will lift this burden that accident and my family's carelessness have placed on your shoulders and give you contentment in its place. And I will not press for an early marriage. You may decide the date for yourself if you will. Will you agree to this?” He squeezed her hands.

“Yes,” she said, looking him steadily in the eye.

“Splendid!” he said. “You have made me happy, Miss Purnell.” He raised her right hand to his lips and kissed the palm. She flushed deeply, he noticed.

“I have accepted your father's invitation to dinner this evening,” he said, “conditional on your acceptance of my offer, of course. Will you object to my inviting you to join me at the theater tonight with your family? I will not make the invitation public if you would rather not.”

“It is necessary, is it not,” she said, her tone bitter, “to show the respectable members of the
ton
that I am indeed now to be taken back into their favor.”

“Yes,” he said gently, “it is necessary.”

“Very well,” she said. “I am sure Mama and James will be delighted.”

He smiled faintly to himself at her failure to assure him that she too would be delighted. “I will go one step further,” he said. “I will arrange some sort of betrothal celebration at my town house here. You will be presented to the
ton,
Miss Purnell, as my honored bride-to-be. I will leave you now.” He raised her left hand to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers.

He turned to leave. But he stopped as he reached the door and turned back to her. “I want you to know one thing,” he said. “When you do marry me, Miss Purnell, you must rest assured that I will never under any circumstances lay a violent hand on you or on any children of our marriage. Neither will I ever impose prayer or Bible reading on you or them. God's word was never intended as an instrument of torture. It is the word of inspiration and of love in its purest and most unconditional form. I will never impose any form of punishment on you. And although in the marriage service you will promise me obedience, I will not hold you to that promise. Obedience is for servants, who are paid for their services, not for a wife, who is a man's companion and lover.”

She did not turn before he left the room.

“G
OOD
L
ORD
, M
AMA, IT ISN'T
true, is it?” Lord Eden looked very tall and restless, standing in the middle of his mother's sitting room.

“I am afraid it is, Dominic,” she said, looking up from her needlepoint at her younger son. “Do sit down, dear. You give me the headache, pacing about like that. Madeline will be home at any minute, and she is bound to be in the highest of spirits after driving with Sir Derek Peignton. He is her latest true love, you see. It will be too, too much for my nerves to have both of you prancing about before me. Not at your ages and with your sizes.”

Lord Eden sat. “Edmund is to marry Miss Purnell,” he said, stunned. “But she refused him the day before she refused me.”

“It seems that Edmund did not consider his responsibility at an end there,” Lady Amberley said, resuming her needlework. “The whole thing turned into something ridiculously nasty, as you must know, Dominic. And that poor girl was in the thick of it. Of course Edmund offered for her again—at least, I assume he is making the offer official sometime today. He certainly made it clear to several people last evening that he intended to do so. And it is only what we might have expected. Edmund can always be depended upon to look to the well-being of people he feels responsible for. Sit down, dear.”