Lord Hadleigh's Rebellion

She would not be drawn into conversation with him, not now, or ever again. He deserved nothing from her, and nothing was all that he would get. She had done her duty to her hosts by speaking to him at all and from this evening onward she would be careful to avoid his company.

Russell ate the rest of his dinner in silence and it might as well have been straw that he was consuming. Angelica offered him the odd word now and then, and it was a great relief when the meal ended, the ladies retired, cigars were offered, and the port began to circulate.

Talk became general, and, as Mary had earlier thought, the men being alone together it became unbuttoned. The younger men at the bottom of the table began to talk prize-fighting, their seniors, politics. Russell, caught between the two, said nothing.

Presently Perry, avoiding his father’s eye, leaned forward and said to his fellows, sub rosa, as it were, ‘To avoid the stifling dullness of the Leicestershire countryside in spring I have two diversions to offer you, gentlemen. Tomorrow a Luddite is to be hanged at Loughborough for an attempt on the life of a local mill-owner. I thought that we might make up a party and compare how these matters are organised in the country compared with those in town.

‘On the following day there is to be a mill not far from here between two bruisers, both from London. One is Sam Tottridge, who gave Tom Cribb a hard time before he lost—and Tom’s a tough customer, being champion of England. T’other is a man of colour, known as Yankee Samson because he comes from some godforsaken corner of the States. What say we make up another party to watch that? I’ll run a book on the match if that is agreeable to you all.’

He turned to Russell, who had sat there quietly trying to make his one glass of port last until it was time to join the ladies. ‘How about you, Hadleigh? Are you game?’

‘Not for the hanging,’ said Russell as coolly as he could in an effort not to give offence to his host’s son. ‘I find no pleasure in watching a man being strangled to death to the cheers of his fellows, particularly when the man in question is a poor devil who has lost his livelihood. As for the boxing match, I shall decide that on the day. I prefer to put the gloves on myself occasionally rather than applaud a man who does it for me.’

‘Oh, well, suit yourself, Hadleigh. Tottridge is worth watching, believe me, and the black has a good reputation, too. As for murdering Luddites, I beg to disagree with you there. Hanging’s too good for them. Not turning parson, are you?’

It was plain that Perry Markham had drunk more than he ought. Russell smiled. ‘Not at all. Merely growing old, I suppose.’

‘Doesn’t seem to take others that way. Never mind, though. You can always stay at home with the ladies and play back-gammon and help to wind their wool for them.’

Several of Perry’s hangers-on laughed sycophantically at this. Russell merely smiled, and answered him, again pleasantly, ‘What a splendid notion, Markham. I thank you for your suggestions on how to pass my time. You have, I believe, a good library, and that might serve to catch my interest.’

Several of his hearers sniggered at this, and Russell was relieved that the General ended this rather unpleasant conversation by announcing briskly, ‘Time to join the ladies. They will be wondering what has become of us.’

I doubt that, thought Russell, watching the rest of the party stagger rather uncertainly towards the drawing room, although some of them might welcome our arrival to save them from boredom.

I also wonder whether Mary will be kinder to me after dinner than she was during it!

Chapter Two

Russell was among the last to arrive in the drawing room where some of the ladies were busily talking, others were playing a hand of whist, and the quieter souls were happily engaged in their canvas work, Mary Wardour among them.

There was a chair near to her and on impulse he walked towards it, and pulled it round so that he half-faced her and her companion, who was also stitching purposefully away. Thus placed, he had quite deliberately trapped her into a situation where their conversation would be so public that she would be loath to rebuke or reprimand him as she had done at dinner.

‘Mrs Wardour,’ he said, smiling at her.

Mary looked up at him and, despite herself, it was as though something wrenched inside her. She was a girl of seventeen again and her young lover was smiling at her: his mouth had a little curl at the end and his eyes…

She shook her head. What in the world was she thinking of? Lord Hadleigh was no longer her young lover and she had tried to forget him and all his works. Alas, here in this crowded room, surrounded by the curious, careless and the malicious, she must say and do nothing which would damage her own reputation.

‘Lord Hadleigh?’ she said and inclined her head.

‘Mrs Wardour,’ he said again, as though he were memorising her name, ‘we were well-acquainted long ago, I believe, and we meet again after many years. I think that we should be doing one another a kindness if, from now on, we behaved as though we were meeting for the first time.’

Was he drunk, to make such a monstrous proposition to her? He looked and sounded sober, unlike Perry Markham, who had obviously over-indulged and was lurching into the room and now trying to avoid her, probably as the result of finding her a dull partner at dinner since she had shown no interest in racing or the delights of the London stage.

Russell Hadleigh was plainly waiting for an answer from her. What could she say to him? Not what she wished to, here in public, that was for sure. To have exclaimed, ‘Go away and cease to trouble me,’ would certainly set society’s tongues a-wagging, and no mistake!

Instead she said, as coolly as she could. ‘If that is what you wish, m’lord, it would only be civil of me to agree to such a polite request.’

‘Splendid,’ was Russell’s answer to this rather cold concession. He leaned forward a little confidentially, adding as he did so, ‘Then if I proposed that we should take a circuit of the picture gallery together, you would not refuse me, I trust. I understand that you have visited Markham Hall before and would surely be qualified to show its treasures to me.’

‘I, m’lord?’ Mary could not help replying. ‘Would it not be more appropriate for you to ask Miss Markham to display the family treasures? After all, I gather that she is the real reason you are here.’

Good God! Had rumour already given Angelica Markham to him as a bride? Rumour also said that Mary Wardour had been invited for Perry Markham’s sake. Was that as false as the one relating to Angelica? If he had been dubious about making her Lady Hadleigh before he had met her, now that he had, any dubiety he had previously experienced had been reinforced: he had not the slightest intention of marrying the girl. He was only too happy that the moment the Hon. Tom Bertram had arrived in the drawing room Angelica had made a dead set at him. They were each well suited to the other.

‘Oh,’ he said, as carelessly as he could, ‘you should take no note of gossip of that nature. I am here—why am I here?’ he continued. ‘I am not quite sure, but looking for a bride is far from my mind at the moment,’ and he gave her his most dazzling smile again, a smile which poor Mary remembered only too well.

‘Nor am I looking for a husband,’ returned Mary shrewdly, for she knew full well why she had been invited and Perry Markham was certainly not to her taste.

Miss Truman, who had been listening to their odd conversation with some interest, now took a hand in it.

‘I think, my dear,’ she said to Mary, a light note in her voice, ‘that it would only be proper to introduce me to Lord Hadleigh, seeing that you have had such a long acquaintance with him.’

Now, what to say to that? was Mary’s somewhat frantic thought. She could scarcely tell her companion the unhappy truth of her first acquaintance with Russell, who had now risen to his feet, waiting for the introduction which would inevitably follow.

The rapport between him and Mary, once so strong, but now almost forgotten, was strongly revived. He grasped that she was somewhat overset by her companion’s innocently made remark and, however badly she might have treated him in the past, he had no desire to embarrass her in the present.

He bowed to both women. ‘My friendship with Mrs Wardour was long ago, when we were little more than children. We have, alas, seen nothing of one another for many years, until this very day.’

Mary and Miss Truman both rose on that, and Mary, thankful for Russell’s intervention, if for nothing else, did the pretty by making her companion known to him.

‘I believe, m’lord,’ Miss Truman said, ‘that I had the honour, some years ago, of being for a short time the companion of your brother Richard’s wife, then Miss Pandora Compton. Circumstances parted us and we lost touch. I trust that she is in health.’

‘Very much so. She is now the mother of a lively and handsome boy.’

‘Which does not surprise me,’ Miss Truman said, ‘since my dear Pandora is both lively and handsome herself.’

Russell gave a smile of such pleasure on hearing this that Mary was bitten by a sudden sharp and unwanted pang. What in the world would make her indulge in such folly as being jealous of the unknown Pandora Chancellor? she asked herself furiously. Lord Hadleigh could compliment the whole female sex and bed whom he chose. It was no business of hers if he admired his brother’s wife. But, alas, it seemed it still was, since she was being weak-minded enough to allow him to charm her all over again. It was as though thirteen years had never passed.

‘Indeed,’ he replied, serious now.

‘And I am sure that my dear Mary would be happy to show you the picture gallery. She is extremely knowledgeable about such matters. You could not have a better guide.’

It was quite plain to both her hearers that Miss Truman was busy matchmaking. She had already decided that Perry Markham was not a person whom she could recommend her employer to marry. Lord Hadleigh, now, was quite a different matter. Not only was he handsome, but she had already been informed that he had been decent enough to refuse to join the party which was attending the hanging on the morrow while, on the other hand, the wretched Perry was the ringleader in the unhappy affair.

As for Mary, after such a recommendation from Miss Truman, she had no choice but to agree to Russell Hadleigh’s wish to have her as his escort and the pair of them rose to carry out Miss Truman’s bidding.

The eyes of most of the room watched them leave it. Later, General Markham was to say fiercely to his son when he cornered him in his room, ‘You must know how essential it is that you offer for Mary Wardour. Most of our problems would be solved by such a marriage. But instead of fixing your sights on her, you fool about with a pack of young men whom you have brought here against my wishes. As a result of that, you have allowed Hadleigh to corner her when I wished to fix his interest on Angelica. Do you wish to live permanently in Queer Street?’

Perry hissed back at his father, ‘May I remind you, sir, that it was not I who lost the family’s money by gambling on Boney winning at Waterloo, but it is I who will have to pay for it by marrying a blue-stocking of a widow who is older than I am and has no interest in any of the things which amuse me.’

‘Delay much longer in offering for her,’ his father exclaimed, trying to goad his son into doing as he wished, ‘and the whole world will soon know that we are bankrupt. So far I have been successful in staving off ruin, but my creditors are growing weary of waiting for pay day.

‘As for her lack of interest in your idle life, what has that to do with not wishing to marry her? Get her with an heir or two and you and she may go your own separate ways. No need to wish to play Romeo and Juliet together. After all, I am the heir to my cousin, Viscount Bulcote, and since, unfortunately, he is as poor as a church mouse, too, we have no salvation there. On the other hand, Mrs Wardour might care to be called Lady Bulcote—if Russell Hadleigh hasn’t snapped her up first.’

Russell Hadleigh wasn’t snapping anyone up, least of all Mary Wardour. In fact, he wasn’t sure exactly what he was about. He had told himself to avoid her, that he had nothing more to say to her, nor could she have anything to say to him, and yet, when dinner was over, the mere sight of her had set him mooning after her as though he had been twenty again!

Once they were out of the room and in the vast Entrance Hall, one door of which led to the picture gallery, Mary turned to him and said in the frostiest tones she could summon up. ‘You can really have little wish to spend the next half-hour in my company inspecting paintings about which you must care little. May I suggest that we part—possibly to return to our suites and then, after a decent interval, to the drawing room.’

‘Indeed not,’ was his answer to that. ‘Not only do I have no wish to return to the drawing room, other than in your company, but I do wish to see the General’s paintings. I missed the Grand Tour because of the war, my Oxford education was ended prematurely for a reason of which you are well aware, and, as I grow older, I have become determined to fix my interest on other pursuits than gambling, drinking and attending race meetings and boxing mills. An idle life is beginning to tire me.’

Whatever could he mean by speaking of his education ending prematurely for a reason which she well knew? Had he not ended it himself when he had abandoned her so cruelly?

She was about to tell him that in no uncertain terms when something about him stopped her. The empathy for her which Russell had experienced a little while ago—that memory of their lost happy time together—now overcame her. Whatever else, she knew that he was not lying to her. After all these years he wanted her company. Not only that, his interest in the paintings was genuine, not a trick to enable him to begin deceiving her all over again.

‘Very well, since you put it so movingly, Lord Hadleigh, I will do as you ask. You must, however, remember your request that we meet as strangers and practise a self-denying ordinance, as the saying has it. Refer to the past again—however remotely—and I will leave you at once.’

‘So noted,’ he replied in a comic parody of a clerk registering the commands of his superior, and again it was as though the years had rolled back and he was teasing her as he had done then. ‘Lead on, Mrs Wardour. You may begin my education.’

He had not been lying to her when he had said that he wished to see the contents of the picture gallery, or else he was a superb actor. He showed a keen interest in the paintings, which ranged from a fourteenth-century panel of the Madonna and Child by a pupil of Duccio to the latest works of the English masters. Lawrence had painted the General himself and they debated briefly whether he deserved to stand alongside the great masters of the past.

‘Reynolds, perhaps, or Gainsborough at his best may merit such an honour,’ was Russell’s verdict, ‘but Lawrence is an extremely competent journeyman, no more.’

‘I think that you know more about painting, Lord Hadleigh, than you suggested earlier.’

‘That is my brother Ritchie’s influence,’ he confessed. ‘He is a gifted water-colourist—but then he is a gifted everything, unlike his slightly older brother.’

There was no bitterness in Russell’s words, nor in his voice, but there was something there which told Mary not of envy or of jealousy, but of a certain wistfulness, of something missed and lost.

‘I have not had the good fortune to meet your brother,’ Mary said, surprised at how easy talking to Russell had become. ‘I remember that he went to Oxford a few years before you when I was still little more than a child.

‘Oh, few people have met him. He resigned from the Army after Waterloo in order to restore the estate which had been left him while he was still a serving officer. He spends most of his time in the country and visits London rarely. As for Oxford, he was excessively precocious and was only fifteen when he matriculated. My father also thought it best that we did not attend there at the same time.’

Again there was that odd note when he referred to his brother. A mixture of pride and something else, hard to judge.

By now they had completed their tour. Russell motioned to a long sofa which stood in front of one of the glories of the collection: a Tintoretto showing the god Jupiter in the shape of a bull abducting Io. The sky above them was a miracle of colour.

Once seated, Russell stared at the painting and a thought which was difficult to resist popped into his head. I ought to have behaved like Jupiter all those years ago and carried Mary off before she had time to change her mind about me. Had I done so, we should not now be sitting primly side by side—and like Ritchie I might be starting a little family of my own.

What would happen if I tried to kiss her now—which would be much less than Jupiter did to Io, of course—but it would serve for a new beginning with her. Merely to sit by her has my unrepentant body behaving as though I am twenty again.

No, I must not! I promised to behave myself, and behave myself I will.

Mary, seated beside him, her hands in her lap, and her mind a whirl of conflicting sensations, was also affected by the painting’s subject. She tried to drive both memory and desire from her. In an effort to banish the unwanted feelings which were beginning to overwhelm her, she turned towards Russell in order to say something banal to him which would return her wandering senses to their proper condition of calm self-control.

She began to speak.

Only to discover that Russell was also turning to her and also beginning to speak.

What they were about to say was never to be known.

As many times before in their lost past when they had found themselves similarly afflicted, they began to laugh. Laughter released them from the unnatural state in which they had been living since they had found one another again.

Russell gave a little cry, something between a moan and an exclamation of exaltation, and put one arm around her. With the other he tipped her face towards him and began to kiss her on the lips. Mary responded by kissing him ardently back. The kiss, which had, at first, been a gentle one, began to change its nature and ascend into passion. That, and their sudden unwanted recollection that they were in a public room where they might be discovered by their fellow guests at any moment, ended the kiss abruptly and left them staring into each other’s eyes aghast.

Laughter and passion had alike flown away.

‘Forgive me,’ said Russell hoarsely.

‘I cannot forgive myself, let alone you,’ Mary said breathlessly. ‘Whatever possessed me to make me start kissing you back? No, do not speak of the past,’ she went on, ‘I see by your expression that you are about to.’

Well, that was true enough, particularly since the present had become unbearable. It was a long time since merely the presence of a woman had roused Russell so rapidly. Even with Caroline true passion had been missing—something which explained why their relationship had deteriorated so rapidly.

He thought of Ritchie’s eyes following Pandora around the room: his rapt expression when she had been cuddling their child. He cursed himself. What was the matter with him that Ritchie and his doings seemed to exist as some kind of reproach to his own empty existence?

Mary saw his face change and, before she could stop herself, put a hand on his arm.

‘What is it, Russell? What troubles you?’

‘Nothing,’ he said abruptly. ‘Only that I am selfish to tease you so, and to jump on you just now, without warning. Whatever could you think of me?’

Honesty won, as it usually did with Mary. ‘I thought how much I was enjoying being jumped on. I suppose that means that I wasn’t really thinking of anything at all. Until I remembered our situation.’

Russell began to laugh and his body began to behave itself. He remembered that one of the reasons why he had loved Mary was her transparent honesty—which made her subsequent behaviour so surprising.

‘You did not find me repellent, then?’

Truth won again. ‘No, I never did.’

The smile which she gave him served to set his recovering body on edge once more.

This would never do. Russell rose, put out his right hand, said, ‘Allow me,’ and lifted her. ‘Is it your wish that I escort you to the drawing room?’

Before Mary could answer him, the door to the gallery was opened by Perry Markham, followed by the Hon. Tom Bertram and a giggling Angelica.

Perry made straight for them, saying, his voice lurching like his walk, ‘We have come to see what could be occupying you so. Not the paintings apparently, Hadleigh, since you had your back to them.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Russell, raising the quizzing glass which he rarely used and inspecting Perry through it. ‘I have been admiring your Duccio, a very rare specimen that, and the Tintoretto behind me. That, too, is a nonpareil, or so both my brother and Mrs Wardour assure me. For my part, I prefer something less showy, like the tiny Watteau—a great favourite of yours, I dare swear.’

Perry goggled at him. Dutch O, What HO, and Tint O—whoever he was! What in the world was the fellow spouting about? Perry Markham might be the heir to rooms full of rare paintings, but he knew nothing about any of them.

‘You see how well Mrs Wardour has been instructing me,’ continued Russell sweetly, using all the charm for which he was justly famous. ‘Pray do tell me, which is your favourite painting? I would be delighted to inspect it.’

Perry gazed wildly around the room before pointing at a Fragonard oil of a pretty courtesan and saying, ‘Oh, that, I suppose.’

‘Really,’ teased Russell, swinging around and bringing his glass to bear on it. ‘I can’t read the painter’s name from here. Do tell me who he is.’

Perry continued to goggle helplessly at him. Mary, to save the poor wretch from further embarrassment, said helpfully, ‘It’s by Fragonard and its title is Girl with One Slipper.’

The Hon. Tom, not so fuddled as his host’s son, exclaimed, ‘I like it, but it’s a trifle warm, is it not? Shouldn’t be hung where the ladies can see it.’

‘Really!’ exclaimed a tittering Angelica, who was behaving as though she, too, had spent the evening drinking, ‘Do let me look,’ and she swayed over to the painting, past the amused Russell and inspected it closely.

‘It looks quite ordinary,’ she announced disappointedly.

Mary, whose attempt to spare Perry from Russell’s naughtiness had backfired badly, and who was determined to reprimand him in private for roasting the poor ignoramus so mercilessly, announced, ‘Oh, dear, Lord Hadleigh, I am most dreadfully thirsty. I should imagine that by now lemonade and other light refreshments will be being served.’

‘Quite so,’ agreed the Hon. Tom. ‘We came here to get away from them.’

Russell, bent towards her and put out a gallant arm. ‘Allow me, Mrs Wardour. I, too, feel in need of light refreshments. I have no wish to be overset by the heavy.’

‘Stop it,’ Mary hissed furiously into his ear when she took his arm. ‘I am having difficulty in keeping a straight face while you engage in your nonsense—and he is our host’s son.’

‘Delighted to oblige you,’ Russell almost carolled, so pleased was he that Mary was at last treating him as a fellow human being and not an obstruction in her path. ‘You must continue to instruct me in proper conduct during the remainder of my stay here, most improving, exactly what I need.’

‘Did he really mean that?’ asked a baffled Angelica when Russell and Mary had disappeared through the door. She was the only one who had heard Russell’s reply to Mary. Fortunately, she had not heard Mary’s remark which had provoked it.

‘Mean what?’ asked Perry, who was now fuddled in a double sense. Firstly through the amount he had drunk and secondly through Russell’s nonsense about painting and artists.