The Earl's Practical Marriage Read online

  When he scratched on the door to the Rose Suite Binham opened it immediately, then swung it wide when she saw who it was.

  ‘Your mistress is not resting?’

  ‘I am through here, Giles,’ Laurel called. She was in the bedchamber in front of the long pier glass, holding up a gown of yellow silk with an overskirt of pale green net. ‘This has just come from Madame Ranier—what do you think? It is very lovely, but I am not at all sure when I would wear something quite this splendid. It is not a ball gown, but it is certainly full evening dress. Perhaps I should wait until we have some suitable invitation before taking it.’

  ‘We have just the occasion.’ He held up the embossed card. ‘The Prince Regent invites Lord and Lady Revesby to a reception at Carlton House—tomorrow evening.’

  Laurel stared at him, mouth slightly open, then gave herself a little shake. ‘The Prince Regent? Um... Very well. Then this will be perfect, I think.’ She laid it on the bed and began to count things off on her fingers. ‘Unless I have to wear feathers—but that’s only for the Queen’s Drawing Rooms, isn’t it? I do own a tiara... Shoes and stockings and gloves, of course, I will need to find those to match tomorrow, but there should be no problem.’

  He had expected her to show more alarm, or apprehension at the very least, but Laurel was clearly not going to allow herself to be over-awed. ‘I will send round directly to Rundell, Bridge & Rundell and have the yellow-diamond parure brought out of storage and cleaned, that would be best with that gown. Are you sure you are not nervous about this? Carlton House and Prinny can be somewhat overwhelming.’

  ‘I have read all about both the Regent and his house. It sounds as though it is in the most appalling taste, but I have to confess to be agog to see it. Is he very top-lofty and difficult?’

  ‘Not at all in that sense, provided he receives due deference, of course. Once he sees he is getting it, then he relaxes and becomes positively convivial. But you must not be alone with him, not for a moment. His hands wander alarmingly, so they say.’ He hesitated, wondering how much to warn her. ‘In fact, one hears that the company may be a trifle warm at anything hosted by the Regent. I wouldn’t wander off into any quiet corners.’

  ‘I promise I will not allow myself to be lured into compromising situations, or shocked either.’ Laurel tilted her head to one side and studied him. ‘Are you concerned that I may not be up to this and might let you down?’

  ‘No, never that. But I do not want you feeling that I have tossed you into the deep water of London society and left you to sink or swim. Especially as you have no friends here to advise you.’

  ‘But I will have—not that I have had time to write to any of them yet. I know at least three married ladies who may be in town and I have several distant cousins, now I come to think about it. I haven’t seen them for some time, but they do have London addresses. And I will make friends soon enough.’

  ‘But not with the Carlton House set,’ Giles warned. He glanced around. Muffled sounds of drawers closing came from the dressing room where Binham was working with the door closed. ‘Laurel. Are you happy? Is everything all right?’ What was the matter with him? She looked and sounded perfectly content, so why was he feeling so insecure about his new wife’s feelings? It was almost as though he... No. It was only his wretched conscience again.

  Being Laurel she did not laugh off his question, or become coy. ‘Yes. I am happy.’ She went a little pink and lowered her voice. ‘I very much enjoy...the bedroom with you. I love this house, the staff are very pleasant, I am thrilled to be in London and...’ she came close and lifted one hand to touch his cheek ‘...I am married to quite the most handsome Earl in England.’

  * * *

  I am petrified, Laurel confessed to herself.

  But she was not going to admit it to Giles. She had her pride—besides, he was worried enough about her, what with the thought of Prinny’s roving eye and the shocking behaviour of his set and the fact that she had no experience of how to go on in London society.

  But I look the part.

  Her image in the mirror was reassuring. She was a countess with all the right trimmings of fashionable gown, gorgeous jewels and elegant accessories. Now all she needed was the correct attitude and that meant relaxing and being herself. It would be nerves that would betray her lack of experience, not naturalness.

  ‘Thank you, Binham, that will be all.’ The folds of the evening cloak swirled around her as she paused at the bedchamber door. ‘There is no need to wait up for me.’

  ‘But, my lady, that gown is impossible to remove by yourself. And your hair—’

  ‘His lordship will assist me,’ Laurel said without thinking. Binham blushed and she was afraid she had done so herself.

  * * *

  ‘You look magnificent.’ Giles was waiting at the foot of the stairs as she came down.

  ‘Thank you.’ And so do you, she wanted to add, but did not say so. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep the way she felt about him out of her tone and she was uncertain that Giles would welcome the thought that she was becoming too emotionally attached. If he had shown any signs beyond liking and desiring her then perhaps she would have plucked up the courage. As it was, she was using all of her courage up pretending to be sophisticated about meeting royalty.

  * * *

  Carlton House was as close as St James’s Palace, simply a left turn as one left St James’s Square, rather than a right turn. But, of course they could not be seen to walk, the carriage had to come out and they must sit in splendour for half an hour in the slow-moving cavalcade to the gates.

  ‘Will you know anyone?’ she asked Giles. ‘You have been out of the country for so long it must be difficult to get to know people again.’

  ‘There could well be army men I met in Portugal and possibly diplomats home on leave or between postings. And I might discover the odd childhood friend, although probably I won’t recognise anyone at first sight—or them me. My father put me up for both Brooks’s and White’s clubs, so once I’ve shown my face there things will be easier. Are any of your acquaintances likely to be there?’

  ‘I have no idea. Amanda Pettigrew married the Earl of Preston last year, so she might be. Maria Foster’s husband is a Whig Member of Parliament, a Mr Tompkins, but he is a great critic of the Regent, so they most definitely would not be invited to Carlton House. Look—we are through the gates at last.’

  ‘What are you saying under your breath?’ Giles leaned down and asked, low-voiced, as they joined the line snaking up the steps and under the great portico, trying not to tread on trains and flounces.

  ‘I am reminding myself not to look over-awed and not to giggle at things that are in terrible taste,’ she whispered back.

  ‘Like this hallway, for example.’ Giles looked round at the oppressive gilt and crimson, studded with mirrors, all as bright as daylight under the mass of candles and lamps. ‘I suppose there is some marble left, somewhere, in Italy. They cannot have used it all, whatever this looks like.’

  The rooms were laid out so that they had to process through front hall, main hall, a series of anterooms, the throne room—which was almost too much for Laurel’s equilibrium—and finally the Great Drawing Room and the Regent himself.

  She was proud of her curtsy, right down to the ground and then up again without a wobble, and prouder still of Giles. The Regent knew who he was and had obviously heard good things, although Giles was looking exceedingly uncomfortable at the praise.

  ‘Behind enemy lines, what? Damn dashing, I call it. Good show. No wonder we beat Boney hollow with men like you on our side! What do you say, eh, Lady Revesby?’

  He creaks when he moves, Laurel was thinking, fascinated by the man in front of her. It must be corsets. What if he goes pop?

  ‘I am exceedingly proud of my husband, your Royal Highness. Although he is too modest to enjoy praise, however w
ell merited, your approbation must be deeply moving and valuable to him, as it is to me.’

  They backed away to make room for the next arrivals. Giles was quivering with either indignation or laughter. Both, it turned out when he had her behind a vast potted palm.

  ‘You baggage! It was a miracle that I did not dissolve into whoops there and then. Moving and valuable approbation, indeed. You deserve spanking.’

  ‘You wouldn’t—’

  ‘Only in play.’ He lowered his voice to a husky murmur. ‘You would enjoy it.’ He straightened up abruptly. ‘General Hastings, good evening, sir.’

  Laurel got her expression under control, although not either her pulse rate or the half-scandalised, half-aroused thoughts that Giles’s words evoked. She was introduced and said all the right things and then waited patiently while her husband was drawn into an analysis of some border issue in the Peninsula that he, apparently, had viewed on the ground.

  They could be involved discussing it for ages, she thought, becoming bored. She was interested in Giles’s life in the Peninsula—not that he showed any willingness to talk to her about it—but discussions of catchment areas and river flood levels were not enthralling. She looked around. There were other ladies strolling about without partners and the room was full, with people clearly spilling into adjacent reception rooms, so she would not be conspicuous if she walked around by herself, too. She might see someone she knew and, if nothing else, she could glean a wealth of impressions for some very lively letters to Stepmama and Jamie.

  The next room was slightly smaller and rather less crowded, although the reflection of the myriad candles on so many reflective surfaces hurt her eyes and the heat was stifling. She looked up at the chandelier and then down again abruptly as she bumped into someone who gave a sharp squeak of alarm.

  ‘I do apologise—you are not hurt, are you? I was not looking where I was—Oh, we have already met. We are neighbours, I believe.’ It was the hostile young lady from the Portuguese household in the Square.

  She did not look any more pleased to see Laurel than she had the other day, but at least she appeared to be about to speak. Laurel smiled encouragingly. Perhaps the young lady was shy, or her English was poor. She should make an effort because it did not do to be on poor terms with neighbours.

  ‘Tell me,’ the young woman said in heavily accented English, ‘is St James’s Square a place where noblemen keep their paramours...’ She moved her hands as though searching for a word. ‘Amantes...their mistresses?’

  Does she mean what I think she means? That she thinks that I am a courtesan? Yes, that question was just as rude and just as direct as it sounded.

  ‘No, it is not,’ Laurel said, with a smile that showed her teeth. ‘It is where they keep their wives.’

  Whatever it was that was agitating the young woman, that response seemed to knock her completely off balance. The delicate olive complexion turned an unhealthy shade of grey, her eyes widened and she stepped back, her hand to her mouth. ‘Wives?’ she said. ‘Esposas?’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Heads were turning. Laurel took the young woman firmly by the arm and walked her towards an alcove, partly screened by looped-back curtains. ‘Please let us through, the lady feels faint.’ It worked, the crowd parted and a footman hastened over with offers of water and smelling salts.

  ‘Water, if you please. Oh, and a glass of champagne.’ Laurel had a suspicion she was going to need that herself. ‘Now, sit down, fan yourself and tell me what is the matter? Who are you and what have I done to deserve such rudeness?’ Or such hostility.

  ‘I am Beatriz do Cardosa, daughter of Dom Frederico do Cardosa.’ She put up her chin and said it as though she expected Laurel to know the significance of those names and be cowed.

  ‘Your father is with the Portuguese Embassy?’

  ‘Certamente, in a position of the most important. And who are you, senhora?’

  ‘I am Lady Revesby, wife of the Earl of Revesby.’

  At which point Senhorita Beatriz, or whatever her correct title was, slumped down in a faint. It was too ungainly to be anything but genuine. Laurel caught her before she collapsed on the floor, hauled the other woman upright on the sofa against her and fanned her vigorously. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in one of the mirrors lining the alcove. They could be sisters at first sight, if it were not for Beatriz’s Mediterranean skin tones.

  The waiter arrived with the glasses. Laurel dipped her handkerchief in the water and flicked it on Beatriz’s face. When she stirred and moaned Laurel seized the glass of champagne and took a reviving sip. The alcohol seemed to do very little to combat the nausea that was threatening to overset her. This very beautiful, very young Portuguese lady knew Giles and fainted at the news that he was married. What else could a wife deduce other than that they had had an affaire in Lisbon?

  But this was not some experienced, sophisticated widow, or dashing but bored wife whose husband neglected her. Laurel would have to be an innocent indeed not to realise that Giles must have had liaisons with ladies like that. His skills in bed alone told her that he had not spent nine years in monkish chastity. But this was, if she was not much mistaken, the pampered daughter of a very important family and a virgin. Or at least, she should be. Giles, what have you done?

  She took another gulp of the wine and returned to reviving Beatriz. Betraying anything other than concern for a fainting stranger in this crowd would be fatal. The gossips would seize avidly on any hint of something amiss and worry at it until everything was revealed. Besides, she had her pride. After some determined dabbing with the soaked handkerchief the other woman finally opened her eyes and recoiled from Laurel as far along the sofa as she could manage.

  ‘Tell me it is not true!’

  ‘That I am Giles’s wife? It most certainly is. We were married three days ago, here in London. The notice was in the newspapers.’

  ‘I do not read them, my English is not so good to read. But I do not believe you, you lie to me.’ She seemed one breath away from hysteria.

  ‘Why should I do that? I have no idea who you are, even.’ Although she was increasingly certain she knew what this woman might be to her husband.

  ‘But I have come to England to marry Giles—he loves me. We make to be fugitive together, that is the right word?’

  ‘Elope together,’ Laurel corrected. ‘Unfortunately for you, he and I eloped first.’ She kept her tone dry, ironical, because the alternative was to give way to screaming anger. Tears would come later.

  ‘I saw you the other day. I had found out what is his house, the house of his father. I know it is a good presságio—omen, you say, I think? A good omen that it is so close to the house my father takes. And then I see you arrive and I think you must be the mistress and I am not happy, but I tell myself that Giles loves me, he has always shown me how much he cares and that he will be lonely and will need a woman. He is a man of the world. Me, I understand this.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Laurel stood up and tossed back the rest of the champagne, wishing she had the bottle. ‘Stay there. Do not move.’ She could not think of another thing to say and certainly nothing to do that was either acceptable in a royal household, or even vaguely civilised, so she turned on her heel and went to look for Giles.

  She found him easily enough, despite the crowds in the rooms, because he had not left the main reception room and because of his height. Laurel wove her way through to the corner where the sun-bleached blond of his hair was visible and found him in conversation with two men in army uniform and a distinguished man who had a foreign air about him.

  ‘Ah, my wife.’ He turned, smiling, holding out a hand to draw her into the circle. ‘Let me introduce you.’ She had a smile fixed in place, but he must have seen something was wrong despite it. ‘Laurel? Is anything amiss?’

  Yes, you deceiving toad, everything is wrong, she wanted
to say, but bit back the words.

  ‘An old friend of yours is here and has been taken ill,’ she said. ‘I think they would appreciate your assistance, Giles. If you would excuse us, gentlemen?’

  ‘Who is it?’ Giles asked as he followed her. ‘I did not think you knew any of my acquaintance yet.’

  ‘She introduced herself,’ Laurel said tightly. ‘There, in that alcove.’

  Giles said something under his breath, a sharp sound more shock than anything. Then, ‘Beatriz?’

  It had only taken a brief glance at her partly concealed face and figure for him to recognise her, Laurel realised. ‘As she was expecting to elope with you she was understandably upset when she discovered she was speaking to your wife.’ Somehow she kept her voice low and steady and a bright smile on her lips.

  ‘Elope? But that is insane.’ Giles seemed to get himself under control with an effort of will and lowered his voice. ‘Of course I was not going to elope with her. I did not even know she was in the country. She is just a girl—and besides, she is betrothed.’

  It seemed to occur to him that there was a wealth of information in those few words and none of it anything that Laurel wanted to hear. ‘That is to say—’

  ‘She appears to believe that she is betrothed to you, or, at least, that the two of you have an understanding,’ Laurel said, cutting him off. She did not want to hear excuses. Not now while she was using up all her energy in maintaining a civilised façade. ‘I suggest you go and speak to her before she informs anyone else that Lord Revesby was planning to elope with her. She thought I was your mistress, by the way. She seemed quite accepting of that—her understanding of men’s needs must be rather better than mine is.’

  ‘Hell, Laurel—’ Giles turned to face her fully, his face betraying strong emotion, but whether it was anger or guilt or something else, she could not tell.

  ‘Go to her. You cannot leave her in that state, heavens knows what she might say or do.’