To Marry a Marquis Page 12

  'At this distance I prefer to keep an open mind,' she returned primly. 'But they have been thrown together…'

  'No,' he said decidedly. They are too different. It is not rational.'

  She stifled a sigh.

  'Love is not rational, my lord.'

  As they drove through the city Lord Ullenwood explained to Rosamund that Madame du Taille was one of the most fashionable hostesses in Paris.

  'Her salons are always crowded; government ministers, foreign visitors – the world and his wife will be there.'

  'I thought we met the world and his wife at the Louvre yesterday,' responded Rosamund, her eyes twinkling. 'But I know so few people, will there be any familiar faces, sir?'

  He hesitated for a brief second as the carriage came to a halt.

  'No,' he said. 'I think not. We need not stay too long, my dear. I would not have you overtire yourself. Promise me you will inform me when you are ready to leave.'

  His concern warmed her.

  'I will sir. You have my word.'

  Rosamund accompanied her husband through a series of large rooms, each one richly decorated in bright colours with sumptuous hangings and an abundance of lavish gilding. Madame du Taille was very gracious and soon carried Rosamund away with her, anxious to introduce the new milady to her guests. When Rosamund met up with her husband some time later, her eyes were shining, and there was a becoming flush to her cheeks. He smiled down at her.

  'Well my lady, are you enjoying yourself?'

  'Oh yes, sir. So many people remember my grandfather and were kind to me for his sake.'

  'I think they are kind to you for your own sake, ma chere,' put in Madame. She turned to the marquis. 'I compliment you on your bride, milor'. She is quite charming and her French is impeccable. You should be very proud of her.'

  Lord Ullenwood caught Rosamund's fingers and carried them to his lips.

  'I am, madam. I believe I have made an excellent choice.'

  'Do you truly mean that?' Rosamund whispered, her cheeks flushed with pleasure.

  'Truly, Rosamund. My little Rose. You have such poise and elegance, I have heard nothing but praise for you. Now, I think our hostess wants to carry you off again.' He lowered his head and whispered, 'I believe she wants to present you to Talleyrand. An objectionable little man, but he is Napoleon's foreign minister and very powerful. You must be polite to him, Ros.'

  'I am polite to everyone sir,' she murmured as her hostess drew her away again.

  Rosamund happily accompanied Madame around the room, her spirits soaring from her lord's approval, but after an hour she was growing tired. The rooms were so hot and crowded that her head was beginning to ache, and excusing herself from a lively group of voluble French ladies she went in search of her husband. The rooms were so full of chattering guests that even with her jewelled heels she found it difficult to see above the crowd and she looked in vain for the tall figure of her husband. She crossed to where the large double doors between two salons had been thrown wide and tried to look for Lord Ullenwood's tall figure.

  'My lady Ullenwood.'

  She looked round to see who had spoken and smiled uncertainly as she recognised a familiar face.

  'Mr Granthorpe.'

  'Your servant, ma'am. You are looking for your husband, perhaps?' he said. 'I think I know where we may find him: Will you allow me to take you to him?'

  Rosamund hesitated. She could not like Mr Granthorpe, but he was holding out his arm to her, offering to guide her to the marquis. What harm could there be in that? She inclined her head and laid her hand on his sleeve. 'Well then, my lady, let me get you through this press.'

  He began to lead her across the room. A momentary gap in the crowd showed Rosamund that they were heading towards the gilded pillars at one end of the room, beyond which were a series of alcoves, possibly originally designed to hold marble statues but now each one was furnished with a small card table and framed with rich brocade drapes. Rosamund's heart clenched suddenly. The drapes were pulled across one of the alcoves, the occupants engaged in a private game of cards or something more intimate.

  She was relieved that Mr Granthorpe was leading her away from the curtained alcove, guiding her through the press of people with a quiet word here and there. Her headache was worsening. She was glad of Mr Granthorpe's supporting arm and anxious to reach her husband. The chattering was growing louder, echoing around the high rooms and jarring on her ragged nerves. The crowd seemed to press in upon her, a high wall of silk and velvet.

  'Ah, here we are.'

  Then, suddenly, the crowd parted, melting back to give Rosamund a view of her husband who was standing just inside one of the alcoves. Rosamund's eager anticipation in finding her husband fled, replaced by aching dismay. Lord Ullenwood was smiling down at the exquisite countenance of Mrs Barbara Lythmore.

  Ros wanted to step back, to turn away and be swallowed up into the crowd again but Mr Granthorpe held her arm and she could not pull free. An expectant silence had fallen over that corner of the room, everyone seemed to be standing around her, watching and waiting to see how she would react to seeing her husband and the beautiful widow. Rosamund gathered her courage. A quiet word to Mr Granthorpe obliged him to release her and she took a pace forward to stand alone.

  The curiosity of those gathered around her was almost tangible. Ros was sure they all knew that Mrs Lythmore was Ullenwood's mistress. She was also aware of a strong desire to leap upon the woman and scratch out her eyes. Mrs Lythmore had been laughing up at something the marquis had said, but she turned now, a shade of annoyance passing across her face. If her head had not been aching so much Rosamund might have thought of something to say, but her thoughts whirled in silent chaos as she watched the widow tucking a note into the marquis's pocket before laying her hand on his sleeve, as though indicating her possession.

  'Ah, Lady Ullenwood,' she purred, the smile back in place. 'Have you come to take your husband away from … us?' she spoke in French, not perfectly but competent, and Rosamund knew the pause was deliberate. She might as well have said "from me."

  The widow's smile grew more malicious. She murmured, 'I wonder if you can?'

  Lord Ullenwood opened his mouth to speak but Rosamund forestalled him, forcing a smile to her own dry lips.

  'Not only can I do so, but I will, madam,' she said coldly. 'There are times when only one's husband will do.' Head up, she directed a look at the marquis. 'My lord?'

  A gentleman with a shock of untidy hair and an ill-fitting blue frock-coat tittered.

  'Yes, do go, milor'. While you are in the room the enchanting Madame Lythmore has eyes for no-one else.'

  Rosamund's dark eyes flashed and she muttered, 'How unfortunate for the enchanting madame.'

  Lord Ullenwood stepped up to her. 'Shall we go, my dear?'

  As the marquis escorted her away, Rosamund saw Harry Granthorpe's grinning face and heard the widow's honeyed tones behind her.

  'We must let the marquis look after his little bride. I wonder why he took pity on such a pathetic little creature when he could have done so much better for himself?'

  Rosamund stiffened, but Lord Ullenwood squeezed her hand.

  'You will ignore her, Ros,' he said softly. 'We will not give the tattlemongers any more encouragement. You look tired, my dear. Is that why you came to find me? I shall take you away at once.'

  His voice was gentle, but she sensed the annoyance behind the kind words and a grey desolation mingled with her anger. It was not done for a wife to bandy words with a mistress. She should have remained aloof, dignified: pretending she knew nothing of the widow's connection with her husband.

  At the door, they were obliged to wait while a lackey was sent running for milady's cloak.

  'I beg your pardon, my lord, did not expect to see her there.'

  'Mrs Lythmore has become the toast of Paris and is to be found everywhere,' he replied. 'She is become quite a favourite of the First Consul.'

  'Indeed? Then it wo
uld have been better if I had been forewarned,' she retorted. 'Or would you have me believe you did not know she was in Paris?'

  'No. I knew she was here.'

  Rosamund took a deep breath, swelling with indignation.

  'And you did not think it necessary to tell me? I am your wife, my lord!'

  His frowned at her.

  'I need no reminding of that, madam. However, I have already told you Mrs Lythmore is not worthy of your attention.' He looked up. 'Come, the carriage is here.'

  He escorted her outside and helped her into the carriage, but he made no move to join her. Turning, she saw him toss a coin to a footman carrying a lighted torch.

  'You are not coming with me?'

  'No. I still have business to conclude here. You will be perfectly safe with John on the box. Wait for me at the hôtel, madam. I shall not be long.'

  Rosamund stared at him as the carriage pulled away, rage and frustration building until she could stand it no longer, and with a little cry she pummelled the fat squabs of the seat, while hot tears scalded her cheeks.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lord Ullenwood watched the coach disappear into the darkness, then he strode back through the rooms, his height giving the advantage of being able to see his quarry almost as soon as he entered the smaller salon. With a smile and a smooth word, he joined the little party conversing with Lord Whitworth, showing no impatience as the Ambassador complimented one lady upon her gown, advised another on what to wear to be presented to Napoleon and cheerfully discussed racehorses with a fashionably dressed citizen, whom he introduced to the marquis as Monsieur Miseau, a rising star in the present government

  Compliments were exchanged and when the pleasantries were concluded the marquis was able to draw the Ambassador away from the crowd under the pretext of showing him a new snuff-box.

  'I have been looking for you all evening,' he murmured.

  The Ambassador smiled and lifted his eyeglass to inspect the enamelled box the marquis had presented to him.

  'I was detained. I believe you called several times while I was away from Paris?'

  'Yes. I have a message for you from Sir James Ashby.'

  'Ah. I have been expecting such. Give it to me now.' He dropped his handkerchief and as both men bent to retrieve it Lord Ullenwood slipped him the letter.

  'Excellent,' remarked Lord Whitworth, returning his attention to the snuffbox. 'An excellent piece, my lord. I do not know when I have seen finer. I shall call upon you, my lord to see more of your collection. But if you will excuse me, our hostess is beckoning.'

  With a bow and a smile the Ambassador walked away. His task completed, Lord Ullenwood eased his way through the crowded salon towards the door, eager to be gone. He wished he had not sent Rosamund back to the hotel alone. He recalled the distress in her eyes and felt a pang of discomfort, knowing he had been the cause of hurting her. He stopped. There must be no more misunderstandings.

  Turning back into the room, he strode purposefully through the salons until he saw the lively group he was seeking. There was no mistaking the flash of triumph in Barbara Lythmore's eyes when she saw him approaching. She was surrounded by a laughing group of gentlemen, at least two of whom he knew to be ministers of Napoleon's government, but she dismissed them with a smile and turned to greet him.

  'You are back so soon, my lord?'

  'Yes.' He took her arm and led her to a quiet corner, where they would not be overheard. 'I have returned to do what I should have done before I left England. I was a fool not to make matters plain.'

  She patted his arm.

  'A new bride must have some attention, Elliot. I admit I wish you had confided in me, but I understand –'

  'No, Barbara, I do not think you do. I told you when you arrived in Paris that it is over between us. I told you so again tonight.' He shook his head. 'My error was not to end it before my marriage, but at that time, I thought –'

  'You thought your marriage to the nobody would not affect us,' she interrupted, giving him her most alluring smile. 'And you were correct, Elliot. I admit I was angry that you did not inform me beforehand, but that is of little matter now.' She put her fingers against his chest, moving closer to say softly, 'I can forgive that, my lord.'

  He removed her hand.

  'Your forgiveness is not necessary, madam,' he said coldly. 'By trying to turn you off gently it seems you have not understood me. Our liaison is finished.'

  She blinked, her smile disappearing for a brief moment but it was soon back in place. She gave a soft laugh.

  'What, Elliot? Would you turn me off without a sou?'

  His lip curled. 'Those diamonds around your neck cost me a pretty penny. Sell 'em and you will have enough to keep you in comfort for at least a year.'

  Her eyes narrowed. 'Why now? What has that little wife of yours said to you?'

  'Unlike you, Barbara, she has said nothing, but when you attempted to humiliate her tonight, you went too far.'

  'What can that little virgin offer you, except novelty, and that will soon wear off, I promise you.'

  'Do not sneer, Barbara. It does not suit you.' He stepped away from her. 'When I return to London I shall instruct Mellor to sell the house in Clarges Street. You shall have half the proceeds to, ah, alleviate your disappointment. On no account will you approach my wife again, do I make myself clear?'

  Her lips curved into a smile, but it never reached her eyes.

  'I think you should be careful how you treat me, Elliot. I am a great favourite here in Paris.'

  'With tyrants and regicides? Are you proud of that?'

  'I can make life very difficult for you.'

  He raised his brows.

  'Would you stoop to blackmail now, Barbara? I had thought better of you.'

  He held her eyes, his own hard and unyielding as granite. She looked at him resentfully for a moment, then she smiled.

  'Come, Elliot, let us part as friends. I should like to think you could call upon me again, should you wish.

  He ignored her outstretched hand.

  'No, madam,' he said, his voice icy. 'Your treatment of Lady Ullenwood precludes our future acquaintance.'

  With a nod he left her. As he reached the doors to the salon he heard his name and turned to see the Ambassador approaching.

  'Lord Whitworth. Excuse me, I am about to take my leave of our hostess.'

  'Yes, yes, in a moment.' The Ambassador took his arm and led him away from the crowd towards one of the long windows. 'A word of warning before you go. You must be careful, my lord. Lady Ullenwood's absence from court has not gone unnoticed. I heard Miseau talking of it to Talleyrand here this evening.'

  'Let them talk. My wife has no need to consort with this government.'

  'Angry talk, sir, but let me counsel you to keep those sentiments to yourself. The peace is very fragile, and you will need passes signed by Napoleon himself to leave France.'

  The marquis curbed his anger. He sighed.

  'Yes, of course. My apologies, Lord Whitworth: it has been a trying evening. I shall of course do all I can to smooth things over, but I will not present my wife at Court.'

  'Very well. But come yourself to the Drawing Room tomorrow. The First Consul likes to parade his English guests. And after, there are matters to discuss, if you are free.'

  'I will be there.' With a curt nod, the marquis strode out of the room.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  'Your door was locked last night, Ros.'

  Lord Ullenwood's voice was very calm, but Rosamund stole a glance at the footman attending their breakfast and wondered if he understood English.

  'Yes, sir. I thought it best.'

  The marquis dismissed the servant, saying as the door closed behind him:

  'Would you mind explaining that to me, my dear?'

  Rosamund put down the piece of bread, her appetite gone.

  'While our marriage is unconsummated, my lord, it is possible that it can be annulled.'

  Her cheeks were
on fire and she dare not look at him. The sudden stillness in the room was alarming.

  'Is that what you want?' he said at last.

  'Yes.'

  'And may one ask why?'

  His tone was perfectly reasonable, but Rosamund trembled.

  'It is clear to me that I do not have the – the skills to make you a good wife, sir. Our m-marriage was a mistake, but it is not too late to rectify it.'

  'And this is what you want?' he said again. 'Please look at me, my dear. I want the truth.'

  Her heart thudding painfully in her chest, Rosamund forced herself to meet his eyes.

  'Yes,' she said clearly. 'Yes, it is what I want.'

  'I see.' He reached for a bread roll and began to butter it. Rosamund thought they might have been discussing the weather, so calm was he. 'Does this have anything to do with last night's little contretemps?' he asked her. 'I have told you that you need think no more of Mrs Lythmore. She will not trouble you again.'

  But there will be others.

  Ros cried the words silently. The agony she had felt when she had seen him with Barbara Lythmore had shocked and frightened her. She did not want to suffer in that way ever again, she did not want to endure the searing, stomach-wrenching pain of knowing he was with another woman. But not for the world would she admit that to the marquis. She summoned up her most reasonable tone of voice for her next words.

  'Come, my lord. Admit that our marriage was an error of judgement, on both our parts. Better to end it while we can.'

  'I am not in the habit of making errors of judgement,' he retorted. 'However, if that is your final word on the matter then I shall not try to dissuade you. All I would ask is that we keep this decision to ourselves until we return to London.'

  'Very well, my lord.'

  'Good.' He threw down his napkin and rose. 'I am engaged to attend the Drawing Room today, but I have time to escort you to the English Divine, if you would like to go to church?'