Authors: Ann Stephens
One elegantly dressed man, who towered over the rest, found their predicament particularly amusing, for he laughed heartily as he approached them. Richard and Lord Thomas bowed deeply while Lady Planchard and her daughter immediately curtseyed nearly to the floor. She instantly followed suit, horrified at the realization that she had been caught kissing her husband in public by none other than the King himself.
“It is Lord Harcourt, is it not?” His Majesty’s teeth flashed in his olive-complected face. “You requested the return of your family estate upon our return last May?” At Richard’s assent, he nodded. “We were forced to refuse you a pension. A bitter decision, for we understand too well the grief of losing a father. Have you procured the funds to restore your estate?”
Bethany, listening with fascination to this disclosure of Richard’s past, started when he introduced her.
“Oddsfish, do you mean to say you were kissing your own wife?” Though he was accounted less handsome than his younger brother, the Duke of York, his kind smile lessened her embarrassment. His languid manner did not quite hide the appraisal in his eyes as he measured her responses to his questions, but his very attentiveness lent him a great deal of charm. Even the revelation that her family had supported Parliament during the late wars did not impair his affability.
“Why, ’tis the prettiest Parliamentarian I’ve ever seen.” He actually winked at Richard. “Are you become a Nonconformist?”
She spoke before she thought. “On the contrary, Sire! He’s now become a wealthy man.”
The King burst out laughing. “Well said, Lady Harcourt, though I expect his lordship is pleased to have found such a pretty solution to his problems. We should be so lucky ourselves.”
At her side, Richard bowed. “Merely trying to promote Your Majesty’s interests in whatever small way I may, Sire.”
“Oho, is that what you were doing when we came in? The lady appeared to find your arguments most convincing.” Still chuckling, the King drifted over to slip an arm around the waist of a stunning woman with auburn hair. Dismissing his retinue, he escorted her out under the eyes of everyone in the room.
Lady Planchard, bearing down on the Harcourts, whispered a brief scold to both of them for their shameless display of affection. Glancing after the King and his companion, she sniffed. “Ghastly woman.” Even that soft statement caused Lord Thomas, who accompanied her, to squeeze her hand in warning.
“Careful, Mother.” His lips barely moved. “His Majesty is too much the gentleman to punish a woman’s prating tongue, but Barbara Villiers has no such qualms.”
Bethany craned her head to watch the King and his paramour disappear through the doorway. So that was the King’s notorious mistress! Even in Stanworth, she had heard tales of her greed and brazenness.
The royal departure allowed an indistinct buzz of conversation to rise in the hallway. Richard and Lord Thomas wandered off to speak to an acquaintance while Lady Haynes rescued Bethany before she could be drawn into a conversation with a group of the countess’s elderly friends. She confided her opinion of Richard’s behavior as most romantic. Bethany admitted to herself that she liked his kisses very well, but it would serve no purpose to say so.
“If he must misbehave so, I wish he would do so in a secluded place.” Unfortunately, the viscountess read an unintended double meaning into her reply, and used it as a way of introducing Bethany into her circle of friends as a wicked wit. Discomfited by the raillery this caused, she contrived to drift away from the chattering group to gaze out of a window into the Privy Garden beyond.
“Lady Haynes means well, but her tongue does run away with her at times.”
She jumped a bit at the quiet statement. To her further dismay, she found the speaker to be none other than the dark dandy from the Moon and Bell. He made her a graceful leg. “Captain Arthur Loring at your service, my lady.”
She had no choice but to give him her name in return before defending Lord Thomas’s sister.
“True, she is talkative. But she has shown me several kindnesses; I am loath to criticize.” She hoped he did not recognize her. She and Richard had provided enough grist for the gossip mill already. “Lady Haynes has provided welcome assistance to me at the request of my husband.” Disliking the way he ogled her, she emphasized the last two words.
“I knew very well you were not Harcourt’s sister. I must say ’tis a surprise to find you’re his wife.” Bethany gasped at the implied insult. As if realizing what he had said, the dark gentleman hastily tried to repair his breach. “Forgive me, my lady. I merely meant that Richard Harcourt is a poor match for a woman of good character.”
Bethany suspected that he meant nothing of the sort, but she had no wish to cause any more talk today. “We discovered that we have mutual interests. I greatly enjoy my position as his wife.”
“That much was obvious when we entered.” He coughed slightly. “Lord Harcourt never could control himself around beautiful women, even ladies of the highest quality.”
Bethany did not know which irritated her more, his fulsome compliment or the implication that Richard was a habitual womanizer. She had no control over her husband’s actions, and this man’s barbed gallantries held little interest for her.
“I’m sure my lord has introduced me to all his intimate friends, sir. I do not recall meeting you, but perhaps my memory is at fault?”
“You remember meeting me well enough.” She looked askance at his flat tone of voice. It changed to a fashionable drawl. “Lady Harcourt, my heart breaks to think you do not recall seeing me at the theater. I spent the entirety of the last act trying to get your attention.” His glance slid across the room. “I shall have to introduce myself to you, as your esteemed husband is somewhat occupied at the moment.” He coughed slightly as he looked over her shoulder.
She turned to follow his glance. Richard was indeed occupied, but not with the men he and Lord Thomas had originally greeted. Now he bent to hear a dainty woman with lustrous dark hair. She placed her hand intimately on his arm as she made some joke, for he smiled and wagged a teasing finger at her. While not in the first blush of youth, no wrinkle marred the creamy skin of her face and bosom.
“Mistress Shadbourne. She and your husband spent a great deal of time together in the past, although he at least had the decency to break with her before he made his most recent visit to Stanworth.”
Bethany stood, her stomach coalesced into a frozen ball as her tormentor murmured into her ear. She had expected when she agreed to marry Richard that he would stray; men often did. But she had not thought she would form an attachment to him herself, or take such delight in her own relations with him.
She had hoped Richard’s frequent visits to her bed since their first outing meant he had developed a similar attachment to her. It seemed she was wrong, however, as she watched him murmur something into his companion’s ear that made her pout very prettily up at him.
With a shock, it dawned on her that the sick feeling in her stomach was jealousy. On its heels followed the even more depressing knowledge that she loved her husband.
Her stiff-necked pride asserted itself. She might feel physically ill with envy and humiliation, but she would be damned if she would show it in front of a roomful of strangers. Her chin snapped up and she looked around disdainfully.
When Lord Thomas rushed up a few moments later, she greeted him with a semblance of calm. Clearly he had arrived to rescue her, for he immediately announced his mother’s need of her presence. He regarded Captain Loring with cold civility as he took Bethany’s arm.
“Pay no mind to Arthur, my dear. He’s a typical soldier, always looking for something to fight.”
The captain bowed. “Old habits die hard. You might remind Harcourt how fond I am of obvious targets.”
Not deigning to reply, Lord Thomas led Bethany away. Trying to appear sophisticated, she asked him what he knew about Mistress Shadbourne. He dismissed the woman.
“She’s been a fixture in society since the King took his throne back. Widow to a Parliamentarian, but eager to seize the main chance. She married a merchant not long ago, but one with money and influence.”
“Did she hope to marry into the nobility at one time?” She ignored Lord Thomas’s sharpened glance. She had to know how deeply the woman had been involved with Richard.
“Unlikely, my dear. Most of us haven’t enough cash to tempt her.” He patted her hand. “Yes, they were involved at one time, but I have reason to believe Richard is contented with his bride. Pay no attention to Loring; he will interfere with Rickon whenever he can.”
Before she could grill him further, he launched into enthusiastic praise for the last play presented by the Duke’s Men, rivals to Richard’s favored theater troupe. Bethany disclosed that she had never seen them, at which point he enlisted his sister, whom they had joined, to back his claim of their superiority.
Before she knew it, she promised herself to join a party of Lady Haynes’s devising to attend a performance the following week.
In contrast to the cheerful atmosphere of the drive to the palace, silence filled the coach on the way back home. Lady Haynes valiantly attempted to relieve the strain by discussing plans for her proposed outing to the theater, but only her brother responded to her efforts. Richard sat by Bethany looking straight ahead.
No sooner had he conducted her into the house than he took her by the arm and nearly dragged her into the library.
“What do you mean by spending so long in Arthur Loring’s company?” His eyes blazed emerald at her. “The man is nothing but malice.”
Outraged at this unexpected attack, she lost her own temper. “So I was told by Lord Thomas! Perhaps if you had not spent so much time with your paramour, you would have informed me yourself!”
“My association with Frances Shadbourne ended well before we married. She tired of me, in fact.” That he did not deny his attraction to her devastated Bethany. Unable to face him, she walked over to the bookshelf and pretended to search for a volume. “God’s teeth, as close as you stood to Loring, I’m surprised you could see around him.”
He accused her of improper behavior after everything he had done that afternoon?
“At least I didn’t paw him in full view of the entire room, like your mistress.” As his protest, she sarcastically amended her words. “Forgive me, I meant your former mistress! I suppose I should be thankful you bother to kiss me at all.” Heedless of her tears, she stalked past him to the door.
“Please be so good as to tell the cook I am taking a tray in my room.” She turned the knob and exited. She nearly reached the stairs when she heard Richard shouting behind her.
“Tell her yourself, madam. I will be out for the rest of the evening.” She turned in time to see him clap his hat onto his head.
With a sweep of his cape, he stormed out of the house, her furious “Good!” echoing in his ears.
Without further ado, she ran up the stairs to their room. Shutting the door fast behind her, she burst into tears.
Hours later, Richard stared blearily into a mug of ale. Around him the denizens of a tavern in one of London’s questionable neighborhoods caroused, but he wanted none of it. Lord Thomas sat across from him, listening sympathetically.
“What does she want, Tom?” He hunched over the table. “I told her I haven’t touched Frances in months. I even told her she left me. Bethany should be relieved that the woman isn’t interested in me! And what does she do? Goes cold as snow and marches off to her room.”
His friend nodded. “Strange creatures,” he confided. “Half the time I don’t understand why my mother and sister act the way they do.” He took a pull from his tankard. “Your wife spends a lot of time with my sister. I’ll put in a good word for you where I can.”
Richard’s impairment did not prevent him from walking home safely. The cold night air cleared his head somewhat, and he thought he might indulge in nocturnal sporting with Bethany. The memory of her ardent response to his lovemaking cheered him considerably. He reminded himself that she had wanted him even before they were married, when he had no money at all.
After letting himself in, he staggered up the stairs singing one of the merrier ditties he had heard earlier in the evening, “When the Cock Begins to Crow.”
Just as he reached the top and took a breath to start the refrain, he heard a small click from the direction of her room. He stopped midnote. Striding over to the door, he rattled the handle. It did not move.
“Beth! Unlock the door.”
“You’re drunk! Go back to Mistress Shadbourne.” The solid wooden barrier muffled her voice, but he understood her clearly enough. His only response was to pound on it, in frustration more than anything else. He tried to sweeten her temper.
“I don’t want to go to her bed, I want to go to yours.” Even this declaration of fidelity did not appease the vixen. He resorted to his full authority as her husband and ordered her point-blank to unlock the door.
“For the last time, I do not want you in my bed. If this is how you’re going to treat me, I shall obtain a house for my own use.”
Enraged, he backed up and, with a few well-placed kicks at the small lock, broke the door open. Bethany, her face nearly as white as her nightgown, stood in the center of the room armed with a porcelain pomander. He stood in the doorway, breathing heavily.
“Let us be very clear, madam. We are husband and wife, however much gold you have in your money-grubbing hands. Rest assured I have no desire—or need—to force myself on a woman who doesn’t want me,” he sneered, “but you shall not lock yourself away from me like you did your thrice-damned fortune!”
Before she could argue with him, he pulled the door to with a deeply satisfying slam. He entered his uncle’s chamber and collapsed onto the bed, smiling broadly at his wife’s shriek of thwarted anger.
The following days proved some of the most miserable of Bethany’s life. Richard refused to explain his whereabouts for the rest of the night. She refused to abandon pride enough to question him. Certainly she should give thanks that he did not expect her to fulfill her wifely duties while he cavorted with, she assumed, other women. But the thought of him in someone else’s arms nearly made her unaccountably miserable.
His manner at home upset her as much. The humorous teasing dissipated, replaced with cold civility. He made no demands on her nor commented on her activities. She shopped. She joined Lady Haynes on her barge for a pleasure trip to Greenwich. He made no demur. She attended a musical entertainment with one of the gallants to whom he had introduced her at the theater. He said nothing.
Even the blatant repair of her door and lock during one of his few periods in the house failed to inspire him to anything more than a frigid objection to the noise. As soon as the workmen cleaned up and left, she shut herself inside and sat before her dressing table, hands clenched in her lap, fighting back tears at his indifference. After a long while, her gaze fell on the small coffer that held the necklace and earrings he had bestowed upon her. She wondered bitterly if he would have given her anything at all had they not gone to Whitehall that day. She sighed miserably.
Through the door, she heard the unmistakable sound of his footfalls on the stair. She looked up hopefully as they paused outside her door. Her heart plummeted to her feet when she heard them move on, followed by the soft closing of his uncle’s chamber door.
She wondered if he would ever come to her bed again.
Her low spirits persisted until the day of Lady Haynes’s theater party. Predictably, Richard professed no interest in her company. Her ladyship, whose circle included no couple who willingly spent time together, kindly assigned Lord Thomas to collect Bethany for dinner before the play. Even the prospect of such an agreeable companion failed to cheer her.
She felt so melancholy that she pled a sick headache in order to escape the commitment. Only a hastily scrawled note from her hostess begging her attendance if at all possible induced her to change her mind. It seemed the party stood in grave danger of having a mismatched number of ladies and gentlemen.
Richard, chaffing at his continued desire for his wife, had gone for a ride in Green Park. He returned to find that Lord Thomas had arrived earlier than expected. Glad of the chance to speak to him, he invited his friend to enjoy a glass of claret in the parlour. Tom stretched out his legs, leaned back in a comfortable chair, and took an experimental taste of the wine before complimenting his friend’s taste.
“Thank my uncle.” Richard sipped at his own glass, relishing the smooth flow of fruit and spice flavors tinged with oak. “The old man may be a bumpkin in most things, but his palate is impeccable.”
“Indeed!” Lord Thomas raised his glass to toast the absent Lord Rothley. “Pity you’re not joining us; the play is
The Mad Lover
.” He laughed as his friend groaned.
“When I want a surfeit of dancing trees, I shall let you know.” Richard shuddered. “Give me a play with wit, not a mindless procession of spectacle.”
“One masque in the final scene hardly amounts to a procession and even you cannot deny the use of music throughout is charming. Besides, the ladies find the final masque vastly pretty.”
“I expect Bethany will be no different.” Richard stared into the depths of his wineglass. “Thank you for looking after her in my absence, Tom.”
“Don’t mention it. Your lady is a lovely creature.” Despite the compliment, Richard noticed his friend spoke with an air of forced lightness.
“Is there aught wrong?” A note of anxiety sharpened his voice. “You haven’t observed anything amiss, have you?”
“Nothing the presence of her husband wouldn’t repair.” Lord Thomas rolled his eyes as he brought up an ongoing dispute between the two men. “Rickon, if you could see how unhappy she is when someone asks about you, you would put an end to this stubborn game of yours.”
“’Tis no game, Thomas, and well you know it!” He set his glass down with a smothered curse. “She may play the part of an abandoned wife in public, but at home she has not breathed one word of regret for throwing me out of her bed. If that is what she wishes, that she shall have.”
“Why are you so determined to win an apology from her? Lord knows I’ve never heard of one of them admitting they were wrong, unless they had something to gain from it.” Richard snorted an assent as his friend went on. “As for playing an abandoned wife, she has too much pride to lower herself so.”
Fortunately their conversation had moved to other subjects by the time Bethany entered in a rustle of taffeta and lace. Richard’s grip tightened on the stem of his glass. Her vivid curls clustered at the back of her head, inviting his hand to bury itself in the soft ringlets. Her dress of pewter gray only emphasized their blaze of color. The somber material set off her creamy skin so that it seemed to glow, and in comparison to it, her eyes glinted with silver flecks.
The only color she wore came from the aquamarines in the necklace and earring set Richard had given her the day they had visited Whitehall. He swallowed. With the soft mounds of her breasts emphasized by the low neckline and her sparkling eyes, he wanted nothing more than to carry her back upstairs.
Instead, he bowed over her hand as convention dictated. A faint, tantalizing scent of sandalwood arose from her skin.
“You look stunning.” The compliment slipped out before he knew what he was saying, and her face echoed his own surprise at the civility.
“Th-thank you, sir.” She searched his face as if looking for something lost.
Lord Thomas stepped into the awkward moment.
“Rickon, a pleasure as always. My lady, your cloak. My sister’s French chef resents having to put meals back for late guests.” Before he could settle the black velvet wrap over her shoulders, Richard stepped forward and did so, inhaling another breath of sandalwood.
Shaking his head at him behind her back, Lord Thomas offered Bethany his arm and escorted her out of the room. Richard watched them leave. The snug dinner he had planned to enjoy with several cronies sounded less appealing now.
Bethany felt much the same as she sat in Lady Haynes’s fine box in the Salisbury Court Theater. Her companions were most delightful, several having met her before in her ladyship’s company. However, even the witticisms flying back and forth over the dinner table earlier had failed to amuse her. For the play itself, the music and costumes better diverted her more than the plot.
“’Tis probably best Richard did not accompany us. This stuff is certainly not to his taste at all.” Lord Thomas leaned in to speak to her under cover of two actors.
“Indeed, he would not care for it at all. Can you imagine his commentary?” She kept her eyes on the stage as she replied.
Her escort shook with suppressed laughter. “I have already had that pleasure, my lady.” The actors left the stage, indicating the start of the interval. “Do you care to walk with me for a few minutes? There is something I should like to discuss with you.”
She agreed, and stood to take his arm. However, once they left the confines of the box, his lordship merely promenaded along the hallway outside, as if composing some great speech. Bethany waited for him to speak, contented to squeeze through the brightly dressed crowd.
“Sir, I beg you to tell me whatever it is you wish to.” She nodded to a baronet she knew. “You will lose your chance, else, at least until the next interval.”
Lord Thomas took a deep breath. “I have been thinking of marrying.”
Bethany floundered for a reply to this bald statement. “Ah. What does Richard think of the lady you have in mind?” She glanced up at him. “You do have someone in mind, do you not?”
“Yes! Yes, of course I do.” Slightly reassured, she took his arm once more and they resumed their stroll. He coughed. “I haven’t told Richard yet, actually.”
“Oh?” Bethany drew out the syllable, looking at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. If Lord Thomas had not confided in her husband about his choice of bride, it could only be because he feared Richard’s disapproval on some reason. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing! She possesses fortune, beauty, and a sweet nature.” Lord Thomas bowed to a passing pair of older ladies. “Friends of my mother,” he murmured.
“But not birth.” Bethany guessed from its absence in his list.
“She is the daughter of a Levantine merchant.” To her irritation, he sounded downright guilty. “My brother found out about her and recommended I make her acquaintance.”
“And why do you tell me about this poor girl instead of his lordship? Surely you cannot believe that my husband, of all men, would object to you marrying for a fortune.” She returned the salute of another young matron wearing a startling shade of aubergine.
“Yes, I am a younger son and my brother wants a well-dowered wife in the family. But having met her on various occasions, I find both her person and her spirit so very engaging that I should count it the greatest loss of my life not to marry her.” His vehemence startled her.
Bethany stared at him a long moment through narrowed eyes. If he play-acted, he outperformed the actors on the stage. Still, his innate charm and glibness might fool her.
“Are you saying you are in love with this girl?”
“To the depths of my soul.” He leaned against the wall and sighed dreamily. Straightening right up, he asked, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
She shook her head at him but promised to remain silent. “I am touched at your confidence, sir, but why reveal it to me? Is it that the lady will not have you?”
He beamed. “Indeed, she indicates that she returns my sentiments.”
“My felicitations.” Her dry comment was lost on the moonstruck nobleman. “You love her, she loves you, your brother the earl approves, and all is well.”
“That’s just it.” He lowered his voice confidentially. “All is not well. My brother approves, but my mother and sister are too high in the instep to welcome a city merchant’s daughter into the family.”
“Are they? I have known nothing but kindness from them.” Bethany suddenly wondered if they only feigned affection for her. As if reading her mind, he patted her hand where it rested on his arm.
“For one thing, Richard and his sister are great favorites of my mother, and for another, you are gently bred and your family has land.” His bright blue eyes twinkled. “And for a Puritan, you have taken to society remarkably well.” His features sobered. “I fear Richard shall raise the same complaint about her background, although I trust he’ll change his mind when he comes to know my Rosalind.”
Knowing her husband’s high opinion of his lordship, Bethany reassured him on this point. “Though I’m not sure what can be done about the Dowager Countess and Lady Haynes.” Her brow puckered sympathetically.
“If only that were the end of it. Her father objects to the match, of all things.” Indignation swelled his breast. “He seems to think my reputation is unsuitable for his daughter. I believe it would rectify the situation if a woman in society befriended her and put in a good word or three with the merchant.” Her escort raised an eyebrow meaningfully.
“I should be delighted to help, but only if ’tis what the girl wishes.” Bethany pinned him with a hard stare. “I won’t be party to a forced marriage.”
“I assure you this is not the case.” Lord Thomas kissed her hand in gratitude. “She attends the play this evening. If you permit it, I shall introduce you at the next interval.”
The crowded hall had emptied until only a few tardy patrons remained. As Bethany playfully swatted him with her fan for his enthusiastic expression of gratitude, Captain Loring sidled by. Seeing their clasped hands, he said nothing, but raised a sardonic eyebrow and bowed at both of them. Bethany lifted her chin and regarded him blandly even as her other hand tightened on the ostrich feather fan.
“Loring.” With a curt nod, his lordship accompanied her back to their seats.
“I do not know why, but that man makes my skin crawl.” Careful to keep her voice lowered, she looked about to be sure no one sat close enough to overhear.
“He’s a poor piece of work, that’s why. We all three served in the French army during the King’s exile, but Richard couldn’t afford an officer’s commission. Even so, he often showed up Loring, and Loring didn’t like that. He’ll make trouble for him if he can.” His lordship’s fair head bent close to hers as he assisted her into her chair. He caught his breath. “There she is, across the house from us.” He adjusted her chair slightly so that she could look without being seen to, and seated himself beside her.
In a box almost directly across from Lady Haynes’s, a very pretty girl sat between a middle-aged man in a vast periwig and another lady of indeterminate age. Pearls ornamented the fashionable arrangement of her hair, winding through the soft brown curls. Bethany could not tell the color of her eyes, but they were large, and widened when they caught sight of her companion. A row of small teeth bit down on the lower lip of her perfect rosebud mouth.
“’Tis her. Rosalind Hunter.” He breathed the name as if weaving an enchantment. “Is she not the loveliest creature you have ever beheld?” As the girl’s expression struck her as rather bovine, Bethany chose not to reply, deciding to withhold judgment until she met her.
She spent the second act paying more attention to the besotted Lord Thomas, who with blown kisses, winks, and jerks of his head attempted to communicate with his goddess. The object of these displays very properly kept her eyes on the stage, except for the stolen glances in his direction when her father appeared to be engrossed in the play.
By the time Lord Thomas ushered Bethany to the Hunters, she earnestly desired to meet the object of his affection. According to him, Mr. Hunter owned a prosperous bank and had already settled his eldest daughter upon his intended successor. He now thought to marry his youngest into the aristocracy, but he wanted a peer in his own right for her, not the impecunious younger brother of one.