Regency High Society Vol 6: The Enigmatic Rake / The Lord And The Mystery Lady / The Wagering Widow / An Unconventional Widow

‘No!’

‘Very well.’ He led her to one of the little anterooms, much in demand by those who might pursue a secret liaison, away from prying eyes.

‘Well?’

‘Why did you bring me here to Paris?’

He waited with raised brows for further explanation. Flushed cheeks and a martial light in her eyes did not bode well. Sarah did not keep him waiting long.

‘Why did you insist that I accompany you, when you obviously have no need of me? More often than not you have absented yourself, giving me no idea where you might be.’ She conveniently, deliberately, overlooked his considerate presence before Thea’s arrival. ‘You appear to be surrounded by mistresses—’ with cavalier and deliberate exaggeration ‘—more than willing to entertain you, so you have no need of me. I am amazed that you find the time or the energy to come to my bed at all. And I remember that I asked, quite specifically, that I need not have to acknowledge them. And you agreed.’

All delivered in a low, clipped voice, quite unlike Sarah’s usual dulcet tones.

If the matter had not been so serious, Joshua thought that he might have laughed aloud at the picture painted by an irate and intolerant Sarah. His wife appeared to have amazing faith in his stamina. But there was no place for humour here. The evidence against him was growing daily, building stone upon stone, to create an insurmountable obstacle between them. But what to do would still seem to be out of his hands. He sighed a little against his own hurt, knowing that he was causing Sarah undeserved pain, and tried for words to placate.

‘You asked, quite specifically, that I should not introduce you to any mistresses I might have or bring them into our house. I have done neither.’ And will not. I do not have a mistress. I love you, if you did but know it.

‘You do not have to introduce them.’ Sarah looked down her nose, which Joshua recognised to be very much in the style of Lady Beatrice. ‘It is clear to me by the way you look at them. It is an insult to me that you should flaunt them in this way!’

‘Sarah—just who are these mythical creatures?’ There was a heavy weariness in his voice.

‘The Countess of Wexford, for one.’

‘She is nothing to me. Neither then, despite all appearances. Nor now.’

‘And the dark lady, tonight, in this very room—you kissed her cheek!’

‘So I did.’ What point in denying it? He was aware of nothing but the bleak chill creeping though his veins as the web of deceit pulled more tightly around him, binding his limbs, his choice of words. Ice cold, numbing, whilst his unbelieving wife burned with anger and humiliation. And it was his fault. Even if by omission, a failure to push for the truth so many years ago.

‘And I know that you have her portrait hidden away in the attics of Hanover Square.’

Ah! So that is it. What could he possibly say to explain that away? In the end he did not even try. ‘That also is true. But she is not my mistress.’

‘Oh? So what is she?’ Sarah was aware of nothing but the bleak cold in the silver eyes that held her gaze when he delivered that statement. And she would have given all she had to believe it. But how could she, with the evidence of her own eyes?

He stepped back, a clear sign of retreat, perhaps even of defeat. Such a little gesture, but it well-nigh broke Sarah’s heart. She had heard nothing from her lord that might reassure her or tear holes in the weight of evidence against him. Instead he acted to put distance between them once more

‘I will not answer such accusations, Sarah. Forgive me.’ The sense of betrayal was as if a forged band of metal tightened around his heart and he could not stop the bitter words. ‘I did not realise when I married you, my lady, that you were so suspicious, so given to unfair judgements, without true evidence. I hoped that you might trust me. It seems that I was wrong in my judgement of you.’

‘Whereas I,’ she retaliated, quick as the deathly strike of a viper, ‘knew of your reputation from the very beginning, my lord. I should have taken heed of it, should I not, and should never have married you.’

After which, there was no more to be said from either side.

They left the anteroom with a black cloud of mutual suspicion and condemnation between them. And, on both sides, a terrible premonition of blighted love.

Sarah returned to Theodora’s side with a swish of her satin skirts, to take a healthy gulp of champagne, cheeks becomingly flushed, but with a demeanour far from composed.

‘What is it?’ Thea had already caught sight of Joshua’s furious figure across the room, where he stood to watch his wife with compressed lips.

‘Not a thing!’ She took another drink and spluttered a little against the bubbles.

‘So why are you drinking that champagne as if it might save your life? And why is Joshua glaring at you across the dance floor as if he could happily wring your neck.’

‘Joshua and I have had a… a disagreement.’

Theodora paused in sipping her own champagne at what was obviously a bald understatement. ‘What? Only one? Nicholas and I thrive on them, at least one a week!’

That forced Sarah to choke on what might have been a laugh, which was Thea’s intent as the glassy expression and the suspicion of tears in her sister’s eyes were a matter for some concern.

‘I think—I know!—that Joshua has just renewed his liaison with one of his mistresses.’

‘And why should you think that?’

So Sarah finished the champagne in the glass and told her. A somewhat garbled tale of public kisses and pictures in attics.

‘It does not sound likely to me,’ Thea advised with deliberate calm and lively curiosity. ‘Why keep her picture in the attic if she is his mistress, where he cannot see it? Are you sure it is the same lady?’

‘Yes. Perhaps it was to hide it from me!’

‘Mmm. But he did not hide the Countess of Wexford, did he?’ Thea cast an eye around the ballroom. ‘And you say that the lady is still here at this incredibly tedious event?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does Joshua say?’

‘He denies it.’ Sarah blotted a stray tear with her satin glove. ‘But I would expect no other.’

‘Well. I suppose he would. In my experience, gentlemen do not enjoy having to admit to faults and failings.’ Thea thought for a long moment, eyes narrowed on the golden bubbles remaining in her glass. ‘In my opinion, there is only one thing to do. Ask the lady.’

‘I can’t do that!’

‘Well, I would if I found a portrait of an attractive woman in Nick’s attic at Aymestry and then found him kissing her.’

‘Well… put like that…’

‘Especially if, through marriage, they were my attics too… ‘

‘I suppose…’

‘Come along. There is nothing to be gained by dwelling on the unknown and the unknowable. We will find out what we can.’ Thea took her sister in hand, very much the diplomat’s daughter. Sir Hector Wooton-Devereux, she decided, would have been proud of her. ‘I will come with you. All we need is the opportunity to speak to your dark lady alone…’

The opportunity presented itself only a little later in the evening when groups of people began to make their way into the banqueting room, laid out for a light supper. For a brief moment the dark lady was seen to be alone, separated from her escort. Sarah with commendable courage and considerable outrage made her way across the ballroom in that direction. Theodora would have followed, but her path was blocked by a familiar figure.

‘Theodora—I know what she is about. In God’s name, stop her.’

Theodora looked up at the striking Faringdon face, troubled by a range of emotions she could not even guess at. She could not help but allow her heart to soften. The difficulties might be of his making, but she found herself prepared to give him far more sympathy than had her husband. Such was the Faringdon charm, she supposed, although there was little evidence of it at present in the stern expression.

‘I doubt that I can.’