The Devil's Web Page 14

  The earl got restlessly to his feet and paced to the window, where he stood staring sightlessly out.

  Alexandra broke a lengthy silence. “If you are not going to lie down properly,” she said, “you might as well put your mind at rest, Edmund, and go to her.”

  “She is probably sleeping by now,” he said.

  “I doubt it.” She sat up and reached for his hand as he came toward her. “She was crying quite hard when we passed her room. Go to her, love. I would go myself, but you are her brother. And more to the point, I am James’s sister.”

  “Madeline never did cry often,” he said. “But when she does, she sobs and hiccups for all to hear.”

  “You were right all along,” she said. “It never has been James and Jean Cameron, even though he has told me that he may marry her. It has always been James and Madeline. I was so happy when they left the dining room at the Mortons’ together after supper. But their faces afterward, Edmund! Smiling and talking, both of them—with empty, empty eyes. I could shake the two of them. And cry oceans of tears over them. Go to her.”

  “Dominic should be here,” he said. “He would know what to do. I was always something of an outsider with those two, you know.”

  “Oh, nonsense,” she said. “Of course they are close. They are twins. But you are her elder brother. She adores you.”

  “I will go and see what I can do, then,” he said. “If she is still awake, she will probably throw pillows at my head or worse. But what are brothers for?”

  But Madeline was not in her room as he saw after he had knocked quietly and turned the knob of the door to look inside. He went downstairs to the conservatory, which had always been her private hideout and Dominic’s, though neither of them knew that he knew.

  She was huddled up into one corner of the window seat that ran around three sides of the room, clasping her knees, with her chin resting on them. The only light was that coming through the windows from the outside. He sat down close to her without saying a word.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said. “The night is too lovely.”

  “I heard you crying,” he said.

  She was silent for a while. “I want to go to Dominic’s,” she said. “Will you let me go, Edmund? He said I might spend the summer with him and Ellen if I wished. May I go? Tomorrow?”

  “Of course,” he said. “If it is what you really wish, Madeline. Is it?”

  She rested her forehead on her knees. “I feel so lost without him,” she said. “That is absurd to say, isn’t it, when I was without him for three years during the wars. But it was different then. He was in constant danger and I was constantly worried about him. He was still at the center of my life. Now he is married and happy and settled elsewhere. And they have their babies. Am I being very self-pitying? I know I am, so you need not answer me.”

  “Do you resent Ellen?” he asked gently.

  “No!” She jerked her head up and looked directly at him. “No, I love her, Edmund. I really do, both in her own right and because she is just perfect for Dom. No, I’m not jealous of her. Just …” She sighed. “Just a little empty without him, that’s all.”

  He reached out and touched one of her hands. “I’m not Dominic,” he said. “I can’t compete and wouldn’t want to. But I have always loved you as much as he has, Madeline. Will I do as a substitute tonight? I knew where to find you, you see. I have always known.”

  “Poor Edmund,” she said. “It must be dreadful to have a twin brother and sister and no others at all. But we always worshipped you, you know, Dom and I. You could never do any wrong in our eyes. And if we were far less full of mischief after Papa died, it was because we could never bear to see the look of reproach in your eyes when you confronted us. Papa was fair game because he was a father. But you were our brother. Our idol.”

  He chuckled and squeezed her hand. “Nighttime is sometimes a dangerous time to talk,” he said. “One says things one may regret forever after. I shall hold this idol business over your head, you know.”

  She leaned the side of her head against the window and smiled. “I was so proud of myself tonight,” she said. “I had decided, you see, that it was time I looked sensibly to my future. I have promised myself that I will marry within the year, and I have set about finding myself a kindly and sensible husband. Someone as like to you as possible. I will not say that I chose Captain Hands as soon as I saw him, for that would be utterly absurd. But I began something, Edmund. I talked with him. I mean really talked. And I did not flirt, which is what I have a dreadful habit of doing just so that I will not have a close relationship with any man.”

  “He seems worthy enough,” he said.

  “Yes, he is.” They were both silent for a while. “I have to continue what I started tonight, Edmund. Not necessarily with the captain. I am not saying I am going to maneuver him into marriage whether he likes it or not and whether he is suitable or not. But I must continue. I will not go to Dominic’s. I will not run away. I am six and twenty years old and no child. And I have always prided myself on being independent. It has been a self-delusion, I think, but I am going to make it true.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened with James?”he asked. “But only if you wish. I will not pry.”

  “I wish I could,” she said. “I wish I knew myself what is happening with James. He has blighted my life for four years, you know.”

  “Has he?” he said. “There was something even when he was here last, then? I’m sorry, Madeline. I did not notice. I had thoughts for no one but Alex during that summer, I’m afraid. But blighted? That is a strong word, is it not?”

  “We bring each other nothing but the most dreadful misery,” she said, “and we can do nothing but quarrel and hurl insults at each other when we are together. Yet we cannot seem to stay apart. He kissed me tonight, Edmund. Oh, I kissed him too. We kissed each other. But it was after we had said dreadful things to each other and before we said more dreadful things.”

  “You love him?” he asked.

  She laughed without humor. “It is hardly love,” she said. “But I am terrified, Edmund. I’m terrified that I will never be able to put him from my mind. I don’t love him, but I’m afraid that he will make it impossible for me ever to love anyone else. And it is no idle terror. It has already proved true for four years. I couldn’t love Jason. I wanted to so very much. I think I may always regret losing him. But I couldn’t love him.”

  There was silence for a while. “I wish I could think of a wise answer,” he said. “I wish I could live up to your image of me, Madeline, and solve all your problems with a few words. Alas, it cannot be done. All I can say is that love is a strange thing. Never the same from one couple to another and never the easy, euphoric thing that one expects. It was not easy for Alex and me, though I don’t think you know the full story. And it was not easy for Dominic and Ellen—and we doubtless don’t know the full story there either.

  “But somehow the four of us fought it through. And I can tell you from personal experience that for Alex and me it has been worthwhile. And that is the most foolish understatement I have ever made. I think Dominic would say the same, though doubtless he would phrase it better than I have done. Perhaps it will be worthwhile for you too, Madeline. Fight for what you want, dear.”

  She smiled. “If I just knew what I want,” she said. “Oh, but I do know. I want contentment and peace, Edmund. I want an end to all the uncertainties. I want to be respectably married. I want some children before it is too late. I don’t want James. For life could never be tranquil with him. We would forever fight.” She swallowed and closed her eyes. “And love.”

  “Come here,” he said, and he held her while she cried for the second time that night.

  “There,” she said when she was finished. “Now I have soaked your nightshirt and given myself two swollen eyes and a headache. And we have not solved any of the world’s problems. Tears never were worth the effort of crying them.”

  “I remember once,”
he said, “asking a woman to marry me. She refused me and told me that she could give me only friendship and comfort. She told me that I needed passion. I really did not agree with her. Until I began to love Alex very soon afterward, that is. I think you need passion as badly as I, you know. If I were you, I would not settle for anything less.”

  “But that may mean settling for nothing at all,” she said.

  “Yes,” he said with a sigh. “That is always the risk. But I don’t think so, Madeline. I really don’t think so. And I know that is small comfort. I am no miracle worker, you see.”

  She smiled at him, the side of her head against the window again. “No miracle worker, perhaps,” she said. “But I’m glad you came, Edmund. I have always loved you, but I have never really thought of you as a brother like Dom. You have always been up there on a pedestal. But you are just as dear as he is. Every bit as much.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Alexandra will still be awake, won’t she, waiting for you? And she ought not to be awake this late. Or you. Thank you for coming.”

  “Come on,” he said, “I’ll take you back to your room. Are you going to be all right? You are not going to sob into your pillow all night?”

  “Edmund!” she said brightly. “If I did that, I would have puffy eyes at breakfast. Have you ever known me to put on such a dreadfully public display?”

  He thought a moment. “Yes,” he said. “When I was taking Dominic and Perry and Howard and a few others fishing when you were ten, and Mama forbade you to go because you would be the only girl. And Papa refused to be wheedled. You cried all night and pouted all through breakfast. And Dom pouted all through the fishing trip and kicked Perry in the shin when he was unwise enough to swagger and comment on how grand it was to be all men together.”

  She giggled.

  “Hush!” he said. “You will wake everyone up.”

  THE WEATHER CHANGED THE DAY AFTER THE Mortons’ party so that no one could wander outside during the Courtneys’ dinner and dance two evenings later, and the Carringtons’ picnic had to be changed to an indoor tea. And at Amberley the music room and the library and the nursery became favorite haunts of the inhabitants seeking employment.

  During the following two weeks the weather was chilly and unsettled. But somehow everyone managed to resume the visits and the shopping trips to the village and the rides.

  Anna declared to Jean that it was a shame the weather was not cooperating. It was true that she had seen Sir Gordon Clark on several occasions and had conversed with him each time. “And I am sure he is as taken with me as I am with him, for he always arranges matters that he sits next to me, you know. But we are always in a room full of other people, Jean.”

  “But they are staying for Lord Amberley’s ball,” Jean said. “Perhaps you will be able to have some time alone with him there.”

  Anna pulled a face. “As like as not,” she said, “he will kiss me there but will think it far too soon to declare himself. And then he will be returning home with Mr. and Mrs. Clark. I am doomed to be a tragic spinster.”

  “At the age of nineteen?” Jean said, and smiled. “You are very elderly, Anna.”

  “And poor Jean,” Anna said. “You have scarce seen Lieutenant Cowley, have you, except at the Courtneys’ dance. This is not turning into a very delightful summer after all. You have seen far more of Howard. It is a pity we cannot turn him into a romantic lover for you. He is really very sweet, you know, but dreadfully dull.”

  “I don’t find him so,” Jean said. “But then I have not moved in such exalted circles as you all my life.”

  Anna did not pursue that line of conversation. “I have had a letter from Jennifer,” she said, her eyes growing round. “She has had two offers since we left town, both from gentlemen I have never heard of. At least, she had one offer and another was made to her grandfather. She says she may not accept either as she has a string of beaux. It does not sound like Jennifer to be so wild, but she does sound as if she is enjoying herself immensely.” Her tone was wistful.

  “What of Mr. Penworth?” Jean asked. “I thought they had an understanding.”

  “But they had some nasty quarrels,” Anna said. “Jennifer’s grandfather did not favor his suit, and Mr. Penworth told Jennifer she must not feel bound to him and she must go out and enjoy herself and meet other gentlemen. And Jennifer told him that if he was going to feel sorry for himself because he could not offer a whole body, he might go hang. He has gone home to Devonshire. Jennifer pretends not to care.”

  “I liked him,” Jean said. “I think he is very fond of Jennifer, poor gentleman. And she of him.”

  Anna sighed. “One longs and longs to be grown up, doesn’t one?” she said. “I dreamed of being eighteen and having a Season and meeting handsome gentlemen even apart from Dominic and falling in love with one of them and marrying him and living happily ever after. But life is not nearly as simple when one finally does grow up.”

  “It’s the rain,” Jean said soothingly. “When it clears away, you will not feel near as gloomy. After all, Sir Gordon is still here, and there is still the ball to look forward to before he goes away.”

  “Yes.” Anna brightened. “And I really must feel those auburn curls before he leaves. He has already asked if I will reserve the first waltz for him.”

  Jean was restless. Time was slipping by. Soon she would be returning to London and thence to Montreal. It was something she looked forward to. She wanted to see her father and Duncan again, and it would be good to be home and to see all her old friends there. But even so, she willed time to a standstill. She knew that for the rest of her life she would treasure her memories of England and the people she had met there.

  “James,” she said one morning, finding him at last in the long gallery staring out a window along the valley toward the sea, “I have hunted all over for you. Come walking with me?”

  He turned to smile at her. “It may be a little damp underfoot,” he said. “Will you mind?”

  “My hem will get wet,” she said, “but I can change my dress when we come home again. It is no great matter.”

  They walked slowly along the valley he had just been looking at through the window. It was a cold, raw morning with heavy gray clouds overhead and a wind buffeting them from the direction of the sea.

  “Oh,” she said breathlessly, “this is glorious. Isn’t it lovely, James?”

  He bent his head so that he could see into her face around the brim of her bonnet. “Yes, very lovely,” he said. “Two rosy cheeks and two sparkling eyes. A slightly reddened nose too, but I am too gentlemanly to mention that.”

  She laughed gaily. “I meant the weather, silly,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely?” She closed her eyes and lifted her face.

  “I thought that perhaps now you have tasted how dreary English weather can be,” he said, “you would be impatient to be gone back home again.”

  “No,” she said, “not impatient. I want to enjoy what is left of my time here.”

  They strolled in comfortable silence for a while.

  “James,” she blurted at last, “may I talk to you? I would talk to Anna, but she would giggle and make something silly of it. Or I would talk to Lady Amberley or the earl’s mother, for they are both very kind ladies, but I would feel young and foolish. May I talk to you?”

  “But of course,” he said, clasping the hand that rested on his arm. “What is it, Jean? Troubles?”

  “No,” she said. “Maybe nothing at all. Maybe nothing will happen and I will feel very foolish for having said anything to you. But I really don’t know what to do if it does happen.”

  He smiled gently down at her. “And what do you think might happen?” he asked.

  “I think Mr. Courtney might ask me to marry him,” she said.

  He missed a step and gazed down at her in some amazement. “Mr. Howard Courtney?” he said. “He is seen as something of a confirmed bachelor, I believe, even though he is younger than I. He has been courting you, Jean? I’m
sorry—I must have lost my powers of observation. I had not noticed.”

  “He likes to sit beside me and talk,” she said. “And he kissed me at Mrs. Morton’s party. I have never been kissed before.”

  “I am all amazement,” he said. “And what are your feelings, Jean? He is a thoroughly worthy gentleman, I am sure. A trifle dull, perhaps.”

  “That is what everyone thinks,” she said, “but he is not. He likes to talk of his farm and his work, but there is nothing dull about that. I like him. I feel comfortable with him. And I liked his kiss.”

  He did not say anything for a while. “You are very young, Jean,” he said. “You would be living in a strange country far away from your family.”

  “I know,” she said. “And he has not even asked me and may not do so. Maybe he has never even contemplated doing so. And I shall feel very foolish and find it difficult to look at you if he does not. But I must be prepared, you see, because he may ask me and it is a huge and difficult decision that I would have to make.”

  “Is it perhaps that it will be your first offer and you feel you should accept in case it is your last?” he asked. “If so, think very carefully, Jean. I can see more objectively than you, perhaps, and I can assure you without any doubt at all that you will not lack for offers during the next several years.”

  “I have thought of that,” she said, “for it is very flattering to be kissed and to have one’s company sought out. But I don’t think it is that, James. This will sound foolish, because as Anna says Mr. Courtney is not a romantic figure of a man, and as you say, he is a little dull by some standards—but I think I love him, James. I have a warm feeling here”—she spread her free hand over the ribs beneath her bosom—“whenever I think of him, and I know I will miss him of all people when I return home.”

  “Then it seems that the only thing we have to hope for,” he said with a smile, “is that Howard Courtney will have the courage to make his proposal before you leave here and that your papa will agree to your marriage. I don’t think there is any other decision to make, is there?”