Rakehell's Widow Read online

  “Nonetheless, you appear to be in need of it, madam.”

  “How dare you—”

  “You are at risk, Alabeth, because you have made yourself vulnerable to Robert’s memory. Be sensible. Zaleski is no figment of your imagination, and he is certainly not the reincarnation of the somewhat rosy notion you have of your late lord.”

  “You speak of illusions, sirrah, so let me tell you that I am under none where you are concerned, for you are everything that is odious and treacherous.”

  “Believe what you will,” he said, turning away, “for I have said my piece. Perhaps I should have spared myself the trouble of being concerned about you after all.”

  “Being concerned about me….?” Her fury at this presumption threatened to get the better of her, but with a great effort she overcame the urge to go to him and strike him. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked from the room, leaving the door open behind her so that he could hear her light, angry steps on the marble floor.

  As she hurried away, however, her anger became even more bitter, for while he had been so kindly offering her advice on her conduct, she had not once had the wit to point out his indiscretions with Jillian. Once again she had allowed him to get the better of her, and she had left him with the last word.

  Chapter 11

  Jillian had not taken at all kindly to Alabeth’s strictures concerning her conduct at the ball, nor had she been pleased at not being able to even meet the Count, whereas Alabeth had been sought out by him and had not used the opportunity to mention her sister’s great desire to be his pupil. The uneasy truce which had existed between the Earl of Wallborough’s daughters faded away, with Jillian flouncing to her room on their return from Seaham House, announcing that she would not be accompanying Alabeth either to the private viewing at the Royal Academy or to the British Museum.

  Alabeth had retired to her own bed feeling very ragged, and her fitful sleep had been disturbed by dreams in which she danced with the Count again—or was it with Robert? And was it Piers Castleton’s indistinct figure she could see in the shadows? All in all, she awoke the following morning with a headache and feeling as exhausted as if she had not slept at all. She was certainly not in the mood to inspect the paintings at the Royal Academy, or to show any great enthusiasm about the contents of the British Museum, and her mood became positively sour when she was greeted with the news that Jillian was standing by her attitude of the previous night and was remaining in her room, pleading a purely invented headache.

  Taking her breakfast alone in the morning room, Alabeth glanced at some fragments of torn card in the hearth, and when she went to retrieve them, she knew that Jillian’s headache had not prevented her from coming down early to deliberately choose this particular invitation as proof of her defiance. The invitation was to a select dinner party thrown by Lady Dexter, and Jillian’s sole reason for tearing it up was that Charles Allister was to be the only other unattached guest and would most certainly have been paired off with Jillian, to whom the invitation had been addressed. Lady Dexter was Charles’ kinswoman and had obviously been approached by him, with the intention of being placed next to Jillian, but that young lady had no intention whatsoever of giving even an inch in her attitude toward him—hence the furiously torn pieces of gold-edged card scattered in the hearth.

  Alabeth pursed her lips crossly. Jillian was being odiously difficult, but there was little to gain for the moment in remonstrating with her as she was in too much of a pet. Perhaps it would be much wiser to let her fume in her room all day with just her own bad company; maybe that would prove a salutary experience and be a sovereign remedy for this latest fit of the tantrums. With a deep breath, Alabeth went to prepare to go out.

  Wearing an unbuttoned red spencer over a white muslin gown, she set off a little later to meet Octavia at the Royal Academy. On her head she wore a little hat with an upturned brim and a jaunty plume, and her pagoda parasol twirled busily behind her, for she was determined to put Jillian’s spoiled behavior from her thoughts. She was equally determined not to think at all about Piers Castleton, or the Count, or anything else which might disturb her equilibrium.

  The Royal Academy was uninteresting. Try as she would, she could not enthuse about the array of paintings suspended from every conceivable inch of the walls, and she knew that she was not being exactly sparkling company for Octavia. The much-vaunted visit to the British Museum, housed at Montague House in Great Russell Street, was hardly less inspiring in spite of the undoubted cock of the snook the presence of ladies gave to those hallowed rooms. They were led through chambers filled with stuffed birds and animals, many of which, to Alabeth’s rather jaundiced eye, appeared to be in an advanced state of decay, and through more rooms containing the arms, dress, and ornaments of savages, a collection of minerals, antiquities from Herculaneum and Pompeii, and even more from Egypt. There was a curious slab of dark porphyry from Rosetta, marked out in three languages, including the hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt, which did interest her a great deal, but apart from that she found the whole visit decidedly flat.

  Octavia took exquisite delight in exacting full revenge for the fact that ladies were excluded, thus almost certainly ensuring that the exclusion continued for some considerable time to come, if the affronted expressions of the various gentlemen who overheard her pointed remarks were anything to go by. Normally Alabeth would have entered more into the spirit of things, but today somehow she just could not; her mood was too low and she did not seem to have the resilience to shrug it off. Perhaps it was having to contend with Jillian, or maybe it was the unsettling effect of having met the Count the previous evening. It could even have been the result of having had yet another disagreeable meeting with Piers Castleton, who had the uncanny knack of completely destroying her poise. Whatever it was, it made her poor company, and Octavia was not altogether displeased when the time came to depart.

  Alabeth felt a little guilty for having undoubtedly been a damper on the proceedings, and as the landau set off along Oxford Street on its way back to Berkeley Square, she suddenly decided that perhaps it would be better if she took a drive in Hyde Park first, as the fresh air would probably do her a great deal of good and might put her in a better frame of mind to deal with Jillian.

  Hyde Park, as usual, was crowded, but she was indeed beginning to feel a little better as the landau passed beneath the dappled shade of the trees and the slight breeze played with the fringe of her parasol. A moment later, however, the lighter mood was shattered when she happened to glance across the grass and saw Jillian riding alone with Piers Castleton.

  Alabeth could not believe her eyes, for it was very bad form of Jillian to plead indisposition in order to escape previous engagements, and then to be so foolish as to display the truth to the whole of fashionable society by riding in so public a place as Hyde Park. And to make matters worse, she was behaving with a great deal of intimacy toward Piers, leaning toward him, smiling up into his eyes, and even being so bold as to reach across and momentarily rest her hand on his. Even as Alabeth stared in unbelieving dismay, the two horses were reined in and Piers dismounted. Jillian seemed to be pointing down to one of the leathers of her sidesaddle, and Alabeth was appalled to see how she flicked her riding habit aside to afford him an excellent view of her neat little ankles. And all under the guise of pretending the leather needed attention.

  Alabeth was speechless, quite unable to credit that anyone, even Jillian, could be that indiscreet. Even Lady Adelina Carver would have shrunk from quite such an exhibition, and to do Piers a little justice, he was obviously a little taken aback and seemed reluctant to comply with Jillian’s request. All eyes were surely riveted on the curious little scene, thought Alabeth, feeling almost haunted at the awful apparition of her sister’s tattered character being merrily savaged by every tongue in every drawing room across London. It was the final straw; Alabeth could brook no more nonsense from Jillian, and as the landau carried her inexorably on her way across the park, she det
ermined that the time had come for a final confrontation—one from which Lady Jillian Carstairs would not recover in a hurry. And as for Piers Castleton…. Well, maybe the time had come for the error of his ways to be pointed out to him. He was so free with his advice and comments, so sure that he was without fault, that it would undoubtedly come as a great shock to find that there was someone who could justifiably criticize him.

  Bristling with anger, she ordered the coachman to return to Berkeley Square, and her fury bubbled still more when she was told by Sanderson that Lady Jillian had gone to visit Mrs. Haverstock, an old friend of the family who had just arrived in Town. Mrs. Haverstock, indeed! The minx had deliberately fibbed in order to steal out and keep an assignation with a rogue who should have known a great deal better.

  Her fingers drummed impatiently on the arm of her chair as she sat waiting in the drawing room for Jillian to return. An hour passed before she heard the hooves clattering outside, and she rose to see Jillian dismounting and handing the reins to the waiting groom. Holding her cumbersome riding skirt, she hurried into the house, to be told by Sanderson that Lady Alabeth awaited her in the drawing room.

  With an air of complete innocence, not untinged with a certain gleam of triumph, Jillian entered the drawing room, removing her gloves and placing them on a table, together with her riding crop. Her smile was cool, her mien haughty. “You wish to see me?”

  “I trust you found Mrs. Haverstock in excellent health?”

  “Oh, yes. She vowed she was delighted to see me as simply everyone appeared to have gone to the Royal Academy. I stayed with her for a considerable time.”

  “Indeed? You’ve come straight from her house, have you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must have passed her in the doorway, for she

  was at the Royal Academy and asked especially after you.”

  Jillian went pale. “There is some mistake—”

  “Yes, missy, and you’ve made it. I know precisely what you were doing this morning and it certainly was not calling upon Mrs. Haverstock. I saw you in Hyde Park with Piers Castleton, as I suspect everyone else did too, and I was appalled at your immodest and forward conduct.”

  Jillian was now visibly shaken. “I suppose you were spying on me again,” she cried.

  “I was not doing any such thing.”

  “Hyde Park does not lie between this house and Great Russell Street.”

  “I decided to go for a drive, and it is just as well that I did, Jillian, for otherwise I would not have seen your incredible folly. How could you behave like that? How could you? Are you so contemptuous of your reputation?”

  “I only rode with him,” Jillian said defensively, turning away then to bite her lip and try to hide how upset she was becoming.

  “Propriety demands more demureness than you seem capable of, Jillian; you behaved more like a Cyprian than a proper young lady. What would Father have thought had he witnessed your behavior? Well? You are impossible, and you are making my task impossible too, for how can I be expected to present you to society as a desirable bride and excellent match when you lie and scheme to prove the very opposite? Today you broke many rules, not least of which was that if you are going to break a prior appointment, you do not then do all in your power to be seen and thus risk having your deceit reported. You agreed to conduct yourself with more decorum. Well, if this is a sample of your notion of decorum, then it is obvious that I dare not let you leave this house. I shall inform Sanderson of my decision.”

  Jillian was aghast. “You would humiliate me in front of the servants?”

  “I know of no other way, Jillian, for you have shown yourself capable of lying in order to have your own way.”

  “You cannot imprison me. I won’t permit it.”

  “There is nothing you can do to stop me, for Father left me in sole charge of you—and that means in charge of your good name and character, two items for which you appear to have scant respect. And don’t think to resurrect my past escapades, for it will avail you of nothing. I may have played with fire, but I was singularly fortunate in not being burned. I am aware of my sins, Jillian, which makes me doubly aware of yours. And if you stop to consider for a moment, that is precisely why Father wanted me to look after you, isn’t it?”

  Jillian said nothing, but she looked very rebellious; two specks of red stained her cheekbones and her blue eyes were bright indeed with unshed tears.

  Alabeth’s mind was totally made up now. “I shall inform Sanderson that you are to be confined to the house until further notice, and I shall nip this undesirable affair with Piers Castleton in the bud by paying that gentleman a visit.”

  Jillian was suddenly quite ashen. “You cannot mean that—”

  “I do mean it, for I simply cannot have any further misconduct like this, and he will have to be told. I don’t know what madness has got into you, Jillian, but I shall do my utmost to combat it, that much I promise you.”

  “Don’t go to him,” begged Jillian, tears shimmering on her lashes. “Please don’t—”

  “I have to; you’ve left me with no alternative.” But Alabeth was a little taken aback by the obvious horror with which this statement was received.

  “I’ve done nothing,” whispered Jillian, “nothing at all—”

  “You know that that is not the case. I trusted you, Jillian, and you deliberately broke faith. I should have known from that moment we encountered Piers and Charles in Hyde Park that there was a great deal more to your ‘acquaintance’ with him than met the eye.”

  Jillian’s breath caught on a gasp, her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, and then she turned on her heel, running from the drawing room and up the stairs toward her own room. Alabeth heard the door slam and then there was silence. She was trembling a little herself as she took a long breath to steady her nerves. She would have to be true to her word; she would have to go face Piers and tell him that she expected him to stay away from Jillian from now on. It was her duty as Jillian’s guardian to do that, but it would not be an easy task, not an easy one at all….

  Chapter 12

  The footman stood aside and Alabeth stepped into the vestibule of Piers Castleton’s elegant house in Cavendish Street. The walls were a pristine white and hung with oriental tapestries, the floor was of pink marble, and the only pieces of furniture were two Indian sofas set in recesses on either side of the fireplace. An elliptical staircase rose from the far end of the vestibule, vanishing between immense columns which stretched up to the domed roof far above.

  “I will inform Sir Piers that you have called, my lady.” The footman bowed and left her.

  She watched him mount the staircase. She felt a little less sure of herself now that she was here, but she was determined that she would put an end to Jillian’s liaison, however much it took.

  It seemed, that she stood there waiting for an unconscionable length of time, but then at last the footman returned. “If you will come this way, my lady, Sir Piers will receive you in the green saloon.”

  Her heart was thundering as she followed him up the staircase and along the wide passage to the pale green-and-gold doors. He thrust the doors open and announced her.

  The green saloon was done up in the style of ancient Rome, the chairs and sofa looking very much as if they had been plucked from a villa in that city. The wallpaper was striped in shades of green, the woodwork was painted white, and the design on the octagonal carpet echoed the beige, pink, and green of the elaborately decorated ceiling. At the tall windows there were gold satin curtains with green cords and tassels, and the breeze which crept into the room moved the crystal droplets of the chandelier above the circular mahogany table.

  Piers stood by the huge mantelpiece, one boot resting on the gleaming fender. He wore a dark-brown coat and fawn breeches, and his full and complicated cravat spilled over his maroon waistcoat. He waited until the footman had closed the doors again. “Good afternoon, Alabeth, and to what do I owe this unexpected honor
?”

  “I think you know full well, sir.”

  “Do I, indeed? I can see from your icy demeanor that this is not a pleasant social call.”

  “Your conduct is quite unforgivable, sir, and I have come to demand that you desist immediately.”

  He straightened. “What conduct?”

  “Your pursuit of my sister.”

  “I am not pursuing her.”

  “Last night you danced three times with her and encouraged her most lamentably, and this morning you rode alone with her in Hyde Park, after she had broken previous engagements by pleading illness, and you conducted yourself in a way which must have been obvious to all and sundry.”

  “I say again that I am not pursuing her,” he said, maintaining a level tone, although with some difficulty, “and while I admit that I may have been a little remiss—”

  “Remiss?” She was amazed. “Is that all you can say?”

  “What else? I should have done more to discourage her, and in that, and that alone, I have been at fault.”

  “You have pursued my sister, sir, and your conduct is certainly more serious than the word ‘remiss’ would seem to suggest. I don’t profess to know what has gone on between you since you met at Chatsworth last year, but—”

  “Nothing has gone on,” he interrupted angrily. “And I’m damned if I’m going to stand here and let you accuse me of all manner of things of which I am innocent. Until that first time I met you and your sister in Hyde Park, when I was with Charles Allister, I had only met Lady Jillian once before—at Chatsworth, when I danced once with her. I have since met her at Octavia Seaham’s ball and again today, when I happened to encounter her in Hyde Park when she was out riding. If that amounts to pursuing her, then I am guilty.”

  “Last night you danced an inexcusable three times with her and thus allowed her to make a mistake from which you, sir, could easily have saved her. You know full well that it is frowned upon for a young lady, especially at her first London ball, to be seen too much in the company of any one man. You chose to ignore that. Furthermore, you arranged an assignation with her this morning in Hyde Park, at which assignation she behaved with a familiarity which you did nothing to discourage. You are contemptible, sir, for you’ve casually and thoughtlessly allowed her to compromise her reputation. I find that despicable.”