The Gilded Web (38 page)

“It wasn't really a kiss,” she said. “It was an insult. It's hard to explain, Dom. It was horrible.”

“He didn't try anything more than that, did he?” he asked, his voice turned hard. “If he did, Mad, tell me. I'll draw his cork for him, guest or no guest. He is not my guest, anyway. This is Edmund's house.”

“No,” she said. “He just kissed me. And then told me to stay away from him. And then apologized.”

“I should give him a good drubbing anyway,” Lord Eden said angrily. “Who does he think you are?”

“No,” she said wearily. “Leave it, Dom. Please leave it.”

“Stay away from him, then,” he said. “There are other people to entertain him, Mad. Concentrate on falling in love with Forbes or Jennings or even Watson. Enjoy yourself.”

He did not hear her mumbled reply.

“What?” he asked.

“I love him,” she said.

There was an appalled silence. “Purnell?” he said. “You love Purnell?”

“I hate him,” she said. “I am afraid of him. And I am obsessed with him. I can't understand it, Dom, or myself. Or him. He is horrid to me and thoroughly cynical about everything. I know he hates himself. I think he is very unhappy.”

“That is no reason for making everyone else around him miserable,” Lord Eden said indignantly. “Especially my sister. Can't you just forget him, Mad? Let him look after his own problems?”

“No,” she said, looking at her free hand, which she spread in her lap. “I can't, Dom. I have tried. I tried to fall in love with Captain Forbes yesterday. Usually it would be easy to do. Normally by now I would be swinging from clouds and hearing wedding bells. But not this time.”

“Well, then,” he said, “someone else. Soon you will meet someone else and it will happen again.”

“Maybe,” she said bleakly. “But I don't think so. I love him.”

Lord Eden swallowed and squeezed his twin's hand again. He could think of nothing to say. Least of all the news he had come to give her. That could wait for a while. He had decided to stay until after the ball anyway. He had some unfinished business here at Amberley before he could rush off to war.

“What about you?” Madeline asked, looking up at her brother eventually. “I think you are in love with Susan, aren't you?”

He looked at her and smiled nervously. “She is a sweet little thing, isn't she?” he said. “She has certainly grown up since I saw her last.”

“Susan is a sweet conniving little thing,” she said. “She is out to get herself a husband above her station, Dom.”

“Oh, come now,” he said. “That is unfair, you know, Mad. She can't help being pretty and charming. And there is nothing wrong with wanting to better oneself. But she certainly isn't flirtatious or conniving. What a ridiculous idea. She won't even call me by my given name or let me kiss her. Are those the actions of a conniver?”

“Yes,” she said, and smiled unexpectedly. “But it is cruel of me to say so, Dom, when you have such stars in your eyes. Enjoy your flirtation. You will not marry her anyway, I know. At least, I hope I know. You will tire of her soon enough. You always do, and all your flirts are almost identical to Susan in every way.”

“There is no one else like Susan,” he said indignantly. “And I am not flirting with her, Mad. I can't. I am going to marry Miss Purnell.”

She grimaced. “Oh, no, Dom,” she said, “you cannot possibly be still entertaining that idea. It's ridiculous. Far too much time has passed. And I think that she and Edmund are admirably suited. I really do. And I think they are developing a regard for each other. You will only make a cake of yourself if you try to play the hero and rescue her from an unhappy match. Just like Don Quixote.”

“I like her,” he said. “I think we will make a good match. And she has not said no, you know. I have told Edmund too.”

“Told Edmund?” she said. “That you are going to try to take Miss Purnell from him? Didn't he throttle you?”

“No,” he said. “He was remarkably civil about it. I would say he was relieved, Mad.”

“And Alexandra has not said no?” she asked. “You have asked her, then, Dom?”

“Yesterday,” he said, “at the picnic. I think she is relieved too.”

“Oh, Dom,” she said, grabbing for his other hand and holding tightly to both of them, “there will be a terrible family rift over this. You cannot expect Edmund to take this lightly, you know, for all his seeming relieved. He will be the laughingstock. You can't do it. It would be better far to let him marry her, even if they do not love each other. They are both very honorable people. They will respect each other and probably even develop an affection for each other. Perhaps more. Who are we to say? Don't do it, Dom. Please don't. Oh, I know you have conceived the notion out of a sense of honor, but really it would be a dreadfully dishonorable thing to do. It really would, Dom.”

He squeezed her hands in return. “Don't take on so, Mad,” he said. “Sometimes I don't know what to think or what to do. I am a man already—in years anyway. But I feel so much like a boy still. I can make up my mind to something, and then I talk to someone else and have my mind changed again. And I never know if it is weakness or wisdom to listen. I wish everyone would leave me alone to do my own thinking and my own deciding.”

Madeline released his hands and put her arms up around his neck. She laid her cheek against his. “Oh, I am sorry, Dom,” she said. “I am truly sorry I have made you feel inadequate. Your trouble is, not that you are immature, but that you are very sweet and sensitive. You hate to hurt anyone. You want to please everyone and take the burden of the world upon your own shoulders. You are just like Edmund in that way. But it can't always be done, dear. Other people have to carry their own burdens for themselves. Sometimes you have to allow other people to suffer, Dom, even if they are people you love. Sometimes you can make the situation worse by trying to intervene.”

“Or interfere,” he said. “But if I have caused the suffering in the first place, Mad?”

“Look, Dom,” she said, removing her cheek from his and looking earnestly into his eyes, “you compromised Alexandra, you offered for her, and she refused you. I imagine you probably apologized too. Your obligation ended there. You have to accept that. She refused you. What happened later between her and Edmund is between them. If there is a problem, it is his. And hers. Not yours, and not mine, even if we love both of them and want to see them happy. They are not our responsibility. They are adult, sensible people. They will work it out for themselves.”

He drew a deep breath and blew it out from puffed cheeks. “Don Quixote, eh?” he said. “And I am not immature!”

“Don Quixote was a dear,” she said. “Easily my favorite fictional character. Just as you are my favorite real character, Dom.” She gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“Well,” he said, “we haven't exactly solved any of the world's problems, have we, Mad? Shall we go in search of luncheon? The bell must be about to ring any minute.”

“An admirable idea,” she said, getting to her feet and bending to fold her embroidery tidily. “When all else fails, eat. It sounds very sensible. And alarmingly fattening!”

A
LEXANDRA HAD AGREED TO
accompany her mother and Lady Amberley on an afternoon visit to Sir Peregrine and Lady Lampman. Sir Cedric had also declared his intention of making one of the party, and Lord Amberley had decided at luncheon that he could not possibly allow the older man to have three ladies all to himself for a whole afternoon.

The barouche was ordered around after all in preference to the carriage when the heavy clouds of the morning moved off and the sun decided to shine. It was blustery enough, it was true, to make Lady Beckworth look a little dubious, but it was a warm and healthful breeze, Lady Amberley declared firmly. Lord Amberley rode his horse.

Alexandra sat next to Sir Cedric, their backs to the horses. He smiled at her and patted her hand.

“Well, Miss Purnell,” he said, “and were you pleased with Amberley's news at luncheon?”

“Yes, indeed,” she said, forcing a smile to her lips. “It will be good to see Papa again.”

“I am delighted for you, my dear,” he said, “that he has changed his mind and decided to come for a couple of weeks. There is nothing like the presence of one's family to raise one's spirits, is there?”

“No,” she said.

“I cannot say how gratified I am to know Beckworth is coming,” Lady Beckworth said. “I have never been away from him before, you know, except at home when he has occasionally been called away on business. I find decisions too momentous to be made without the guidance of my husband.”

Sir Cedric smiled at her. “It will be a happiness for everyone to have him here in time for Amberley's ball, ma'am,” he said. “It is always a splendid event.”

“It is one of the few occasions of the year when the state rooms are used,” Lady Amberley said. “I am afraid we do indulge ourselves in lavish preparations and decorations. Of course”—she smiled warmly across at Alexandra—“a wedding is a perfect excuse for using them too. Perhaps we will not have to wait a full year this time before we dine again in the state dining room. But I am putting you to the blush, Alexandra. How unforgivable of me. Do look down, dear, and see the house and gardens from up here. I never tire of the view, I must confess.”

Alexandra had been roundly scolded earlier that morning for allowing herself to be led off alone by Lord Amberley at the picnic when they might have joined the larger party who had gone down to the river. And they had been gone for longer than an hour, her mother had said, longer than the others. What would everyone think of her?

And now Papa had written to say that he was coming. And Mama was vastly relieved, as she had said a minute before. She had said the same thing to Alexandra before they left the house. Her father would control her behavior, Lady Beckworth had said. She would not dare do anything as improper as go off alone with her betrothed more than once or twice in a week once her father was there to keep an eye on her.

It was going to be difficult, Alexandra admitted to herself. It was all very well now to tell herself that the new Alexandra would stand up against him and assert herself. She was one-and-twenty, she could tell herself now, and officially betrothed. She did not have to allow her father or any man to dictate her every word and action. Unless she married another man, of course. Then she would become his property, his to command, his to punish if he so chose. But she did not have to allow that to become possible. The society in which she lived might impose all sorts of restrictions on the behavior of women, but it could not force any woman to marry against her will.

It was all very well to tell herself that she could now command her own destiny. But she knew that it would be harder to live up to her resolution once her father arrived. From the habit of a lifetime she had always obeyed his every command to the letter and without question—even to kneeling for long hours on the floor of her room, reading her Bible, when no one came to check up on her and it would have been easy to cheat and sit on a chair or lie on her bed. Even as recently as a few weeks before, she had submitted to those punishments. She had accepted Lord Amberley because her father had commanded her to do so and had promised that the beatings would resume if she did not.

She no longer had to submit to those beatings or to the hours, and sometimes days, of silent torture. Just that morning she had known an exhilaration at her own freedom, her own ability to free herself and live her own life. But the test would come when Papa arrived. Would she have the strength to do what she knew she had the right to do? It was impossible to tell. She could only hope that she would.

Her eyes rested on Lord Amberley, who was riding behind the barouche. The temptation, she knew, would be to turn to him if she found Papa difficult to deal with—
when
she found Papa difficult to deal with. He would help her, she knew instinctively. Kindly and courteous as he invariably was, she sensed a streak of iron in him. She had seen it once at Lady Sharp's soiree, when by sheer force of will, unaccompanied by any forceful words or actions, he had wrested respect for her out of the cream of the
ton
.

He would not allow Papa to bully her. He would protect her. He would, she was sure, even marry without further ado if she but hinted to him that she needed to be rescued from her father. It would be good to be rescued by the Earl of Amberley. Edmund. Good to relax, forget all her problems, and allow him to shoulder her burdens. Good to know that afterward she would not find a new bully to replace the old. Life could be good with him. He could be her friend as well as her protector. Her lover. The father of her children. Those children with whom he would climb up the most dangerous part of the cliff face. She would go with them.