Disgrace and Desire

‘Shall we get on, my lady?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her eyes still fixed upon the smiling stranger. ‘Yes, I suppose we must.’

Really, she felt quite light-headed. Just how many glasses of wine had she taken?

The stranger was standing aside. The candlelight gleamed on his black hair and one glossy raven’s lock fell forwards as he bowed to her. Eloise quelled an impulse to reach out and smooth it back from his temple.

Alex firmly propelled her through the doorway and across the hall to the supper room.

‘Who is he?’ she hissed, glancing back over her shoulder. The stranger was still watching her, a dark, unfathomable look in his eyes.

‘I have no idea,’ said Alex, guiding her to a table. ‘But you should be careful, Elle. I saw the way he looked at you. It was pure, predatory lust.’

She sighed. ‘That is true of so many men.’

‘Which is why I am here,’ replied Alex. ‘To protect you.’

She reached for his hand.

‘Dear Alex. Do you never tire of looking after me?’

‘It is what Tony would have wished,’ he said simply, adding with a rueful grin, ‘besides, if you had not dragged me to London, I should be alone in Norfolk, pining away.’

‘And that would never do.’ She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you, my friend.’

When supper was over, Eloise sent Alex away.

‘Try if you can to discover if Lord Berrow plans to attend,’ she begged him. ‘If he does not, then we need not stay much beyond midnight. Although I think you must do the pretty and dance with some of the other ladies in the room.’

‘I must?’

His pained look drew a laugh from her.

‘Yes, you must, Alex. You cannot sit in my pocket all night. Several of the young ladies are already looking daggers at me for keeping you by my side for half the evening. You need not be anxious about me; I have seen several acquaintances I wish to talk to.’

When he had gone, Eloise moved around the room, bestowing her smiles freely but never stopping, nor would she promise to dance with any of the gentlemen who begged for that honour. Her eyes constantly ranged over the room, but it was not an acquaintance she was seeking. It was a dark-haired stranger she had seen but once.

Suddenly he was beside her.

‘Will you dance, my lady?’

She hesitated.

‘Sir, we have not been introduced.’

‘Does that matter?’

A little bubble of laughter welled up. All at once she felt quite reckless. She held out her hand.

‘No, it does not matter one jot.’

He led her to join the set that was forming.

‘I thought you would never escape your guard dog.’

‘Mr Mortimer is my very good friend. He defends me from unwelcome attentions.’

‘Oh? Am I to understand, then, that my attentions are not unwelcome?’

Eloise hesitated. This encounter was moving a little too fast and for once she was not in control. She said cautiously, ‘I think you would be presumptuous to infer so much.’

His smile grew and he leaned a little closer.

‘Yet you refused to stand up with the last four gentlemen who solicited your hand.’

‘Ah, but I have danced with them all before. I like the novelty of a new partner.’ She smiled as the dance parted them, pleased to see the gleam of interest in his eyes.

‘And does my dancing please you, my lady?’ he asked as soon as they joined hands again.

‘For the moment,’ she responded airily.

‘I agree,’ he said, his eyes glinting. ‘I can think of much more pleasant things to do for the remainder of the evening.’

She blushed hotly and was relieved that they parted again and she was not obliged to answer.

Eloise began to wonder if she had been wise to dance with this stranger: she was disturbed by his effect upon her. Goodness, he had only to smile and she found herself behaving like a giddy schoolgirl! She must end this now, before the intoxication became too great. When the music drew to a close she gave a little curtsy and stepped away. Her partner followed.

‘I know I have not been in town for a while,’ he said, ‘but it is still customary to stand up for two dances, I believe.’

She put up her chin.

‘I will not pander to your vanity, sir. One dance is sufficient for you, until we have been introduced.’

She flicked open her fan and with a little smile she walked away from him.

Alex was waiting for her.

‘Our host tells me Lord Berrow has sent his apologies for tonight. He is gone out of town. However, Parham expects to see him at the Renwicks’ soirée tomorrow.’

‘How very tiresome,’ said Eloise. ‘If we had known we need not have come.’ She tucked her hand in his arm. ‘Let us go now.’

‘Are you sure? You will disappoint any number of gentlemen if you leave now: they all hope to stand up with you at least once.’

Eloise shrugged. If she could not dance with her dark stranger she did not want to dance with anyone.

‘There will be other nights.’

She concentrated on disposing her diaphanous stole across her shoulders rather than meet Alex’s intent gaze.

‘What has occurred, Elle? I mislike that glitter in your eyes. Did your last partner say anything to upset you?’

She dismissed his concern with a wave of one gloved hand.

‘No, no, nothing like that. He was a diversion, nothing more.’

‘He was very taken with you.’

‘Did you think so?’ she asked him, a little too eagerly.

Alex frowned.

‘Does it matter to you that he should?’

Eloise looked away,

‘No, of course not. But it is very flattering.’ She tried for a lighter note. ‘He was very amusing.’

Alex looked back across the room to where the tall stranger was standing against the wall, watching them.

‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that he could be very dangerous.’

‘Hell and damnation!’

Jack watched Lady Allyngham walk away on Mortimer’s arm.

It would not have taken much to have Parham present him to the lady. That had been his design when he had first arrived, but the sight of Eloise Allyngham had wiped all intentions, good or bad, from his mind.

He had carried Allyngham’s locket with him for the past year and was well acquainted with the tiny portrait inside, but he had been taken aback when he saw the lady herself. The painting only hinted at the glorious abundance of guinea-gold curls that framed her face. It had not prepared him for her dazzling smile, nor the look of humour and intelligence he observed in her deep blue eyes.

He had intended to find the lady, to hand over the bequests and retire gracefully, but then Lady Allyngham had collided with him and when she had turned her laughing face to his, every sensible thought had flown out of his head. He had prowled the room until she returned from the supper room and by then his host was nowhere to be seen, so Jack seized the moment and asked her to dance. He should have told her why he was there, but he could not resist the temptation to flirt with her, to bring that delicious flush to her cheeks and to see the elusive dimple peeping beside her generous mouth.

He pulled himself together. It had been a very pleasant interlude but he had a duty to perform. He sought out his hostess.

‘Lady Allyngham?’ She looked a little bemused when he made his request. ‘My dear Major, I would happily introduce you to her, if it were in my power, but she is gone.’

‘Gone!’

‘Why, yes, she took her leave of me a few minutes ago. Mr Mortimer was escorting her back to Dover Street.’ She gave him a knowing smile. ‘He is a very attentive escort.’

Disappointment seared through Jack. He tried to convince himself that it was because he wanted to hand over Tony’s ring and locket and get out of London, but he knew in his heart that it was because he wanted to see Eloise Allyngham again.

Jack took his leave and made his way to St James’s Street, where he was admitted into an imposing white stone building by a liveried servant. White’s was very busy and he paused for a while to watch a lively game of Hazard, refusing more than one invitation to join in. Later he wandered through to the card room where he soon spotted a number of familiar faces, some of whom he had seen in Lady Parham’s ballroom earlier that evening. A group of gentlemen were engaged in a game of bassett. One looked up and waved to him.

‘Had enough of the dancing, Clifton?’

Jack smiled. ‘Something like that, Renwick.’

He looked at the little group: Charles Renwick was an old friend and he recognised another, slightly older man, Edward Graham, who had been a friend of his father, but the others were strangers to him—with one exception, the dealer, a stocky man with a heavily pock-marked face and pomaded hair. Sir Ronald Deforge. A tremor of revulsion ran through Jack. At that moment the dealer looked up at him from beneath his heavy-lidded eyes. Jack saw the recognition in his glance and observed the contemptuous curl of the man’s thick lips. As he hesitated a gentleman with a florid face and bushy red side-whiskers shifted his chair to make room for him.

‘Doing battle in the ballroom can be as hellish as a full-scale siege, eh, Major? Well, never mind that now. Sit you down, sir, and we’ll deal you in.’

‘Aye, we are here to commiserate with each other,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘Come along, Deforge, deal those cards!’

‘Oh?’ Jack signalled to the waiter to fill his glass.

‘Aye. There was no point in staying at Parham House once Lady Allyngham had left.’ Edward Graham paused, frowning over his cards. ‘Hoped to persuade her to stand up with me later, but then found she had slipped away.’

Jack schooled his features to show no more than mild interest. Sir Ronald cast a fleeting glance at him.

‘It seems Major Clifton was the only one of us to be favoured with a dance.’

The whiskery gentleman dug Jack in the ribs.

‘Aye, Sir Ronald is right, Major. You lucky dog! How did you do it, man? Are you well acquainted with her?’

‘Not at all,’ Jack replied, picking up his cards and trying to give them his attention. ‘I know very little about the lady.’

‘Ah, the Glorious Allyngham.’ Jack’s neighbour raised his glass. ‘The whole of London is at her feet. She would be a cosy armful, for the man that can catch her! We are all her slaves, but she spreads her favours equally: a dance here, a carriage ride there—keeps us all on the lightest of reins—even Sir Ronald there is enthralled, ain’t that right, Deforge?’

A shadow flitted across the dealer’s face but he replied indifferently, ‘She is undoubtedly a diamond.’

‘Rumour has it she is on the catch for a royal duke.’ A gentleman in a puce waistcoat chuckled. ‘Ladies don’t like it, of course, to see their husbands drooling over another woman. They’ve christened her the Wanton Widow!’

‘So they have.’ Mr Graham sighed. ‘But I wish she were a little more wanton, then I might stand a chance!’

Ribald laughter filled the air, replaced by good-natured oaths and curses as Sir Ronald Deforge displayed his winning cards and scooped up the little pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table. There was a pause while a fresh hand was dealt and the waiters leapt forwards to refill the glasses.

‘Where did Allyngham find her?’ asked Jack, intrigued in spite of himself.

‘She was some sort of poor relation, I believe,’ said Graham. ‘Caused quite a stir when Allyngham married her—family expected him to make a brilliant match.’

‘Caused quite a stir when he brought her to town, too,’ remarked Renwick, pushing another pile of rouleaux into the centre of the table. ‘We were all in raptures over her, but Allyngham was careful. He made sure no one became overfamiliar with his new bride.’

‘Except Alex Mortimer, of course,’ remarked one of the players.

‘Nothing surprising in that.’ Edward Graham grimaced as he studied his hand. With a sigh of resignation he threw one card down. ‘He is a neighbour and close friend of Allyngham. Escorted the lady to town while her husband was in the Peninsula.’

‘While the cat’s away,’ said Sir Ronald said softly. ‘And now the cat is dead do you think Mortimer plans to jump into his shoes?’

‘Shouldn’t be surprised if he’s got his eye on the widow,’ said Charles Renwick. ‘Apart from the title, which died with Allyngham, his lady inherits everything, I hear.’

‘In trust, I suppose?’ said Deforge, dropping his own tokens on to the growing pile of rouleaux in the centre of the table.

‘No,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I heard she has full control of the property.’

‘Making her even more desirable, eh, Deforge?’ murmured Jack.

The dealer grew still.

‘What the devil do you mean by that, Clifton?’

There was a tension around the table. Jack met Deforge’s hard eyes with a steady gaze.

‘I think you might be looking to replenish your fortune.’

Deforge shrugged.

‘No sensible man takes a penniless bride.’

‘Your first wife was not penniless,’ remarked Jack, a hard edge to his voice. ‘I hear that there is nothing left of her fortune now, save the house in Berkshire, and you would sell that if it were not mortgaged to the hilt.’

An unpleasant smile curled Sir Ronald’s thick lips. He said softly, ‘Your allegations have all the marks of a disappointed suitor, Clifton.’

‘Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is all history,’ declared the whiskery gentleman sitting beside Jack. ‘If you wish to quarrel then take yourselves off somewhere and let the rest of us get on with our game!’

‘Aye, let us play,’ added Charles Renwick hastily. ‘Deal the cards, Deforge, if you please.’

Jack spread his hands, signifying his acceptance and after a final, angry glare Deforge turned his attention back to the game. It did not last long. Luck was running with the dealer and as soon as the last card was played Sir Ronald scooped up his winnings and left.

Charles Renwick called for a fresh pack of cards.

‘You caught him on the raw there,’ he remarked, watching Deforge stalk out of the room. ‘Damnation, Jack, why did you have to mention his dead wife?’

‘Because I don’t believe her death was an accident.’

Charles Renwick leaned over and placed his hand on Jack’s sleeve. He said, ‘Let be, my friend. It was years ago. It can do no good for you to dwell on it now.’

Jack’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles showing white against the green baize of the table. How could he be thankful that the girl he had wanted to marry, the love of his life, was dead?

They subsided into silence as the next game of bassett began. Jack played mechanically, his thoughts still on Deforge. He hated the man because he had stolen the woman he loved, but was that rational? Clara had been free to make her own choice. He had no proof that she had not been happy in her marriage, only a feeling in his gut. He gave himself a mental shake. Clara was dead. There was nothing he could do about that now. It was time to forget the past.

‘I did hear Deforge is running low on funds.’

The remark by one of the players broke into Jack’s thoughts.

‘As long as he can pay his gambling debts, I don’t care,’ laughed Edward Graham.

‘If he marries the Glorious Allyngham his worries will be over,’ said the gentleman with the red side-whiskers.

‘She won’t have him,’ said Jack emphatically.

‘Oho, what do you know, Clifton?’

Jack shook his head. The thought of that beautiful, golden creature marrying Sir Ronald Deforge turned his stomach. He schooled his face into a look of careful indifference.

‘If the lady is as rich and independent as you say she has no need to marry a man like Deforge.’

‘Perhaps you think she might prefer a handsome soldier,’ chuckled Graham, giving a broad wink to his companions.

Charles Renwick cocked an eyebrow.

‘Fancy a touch at the widow yourself, Clifton? Well, I wish you luck.’

‘I need more than that,’ grinned Jack. ‘We have not yet been introduced.’

The red side-whiskers shook as their owner guffawed loudly.

‘What, and you stole a dance with the widow? Impudent young dog!’

‘If you want an introduction, my boy, my wife is giving a little party tomorrow. A soirée, she calls it,’ said Renwick. ‘Come along and she’ll present you to the Glorious Allyngham.’

‘Thank you, I will.’

‘I’ll wager Mortimer won’t let you breach that particular citadel,’ declared Mr Graham. ‘I think Renwick has the right of it and Alex Mortimer’s looking to wed her himself. His principal estate marches with the Allyngham lands: I’d wager a monkey he would very much like to combine the two.’

Jack took another card and studied his hand. He did not like the conversation but knew that any remonstrance on his part would only fuel the speculation.

‘That might be his intention, but what about the lady?’ remarked Renwick, flicking a smile towards Jack. ‘Our mutual acquaintances in Paris tell me the Major has gained quite a reputation over there with the fairer sex, to say nothing of the havoc he wreaked with the beauties of Spain and Portugal.’

‘Ah, but the Glorious Allyngham’s different: you might say Mortimer is already in residence,’ chuckled Graham. ‘He will protect his own interests, I’m sure.’

Jack threw down his hand.

‘Deuce and a pair of fives. I am done, gentlemen.’

Mr Graham gave a snort.

‘Well you know what they say, Clifton, unlucky at cards…I’ll wager Lady Allyngham will be married before the year is out. Any takers, gentlemen?’

Jack smiled but made no reply to that. With a nod he took his leave of them and as he walked away he heard the man with the red side-whiskers calling for the betting book.

Jack made his way to his lodgings in King Street, where his valet was waiting up for him, dozing in a chair. He jerked awake and jumped up as Jack came in.

‘You’s early, Major,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘Didn’t think to see you for an hour or so yet.’

‘I have an appointment with my man of business tomorrow morning.’

Jack allowed himself to be eased out of his coat and waistcoat but then waved his man away.

‘Thank you, Robert. I can manage now. Wake me at eight, if you please.’

When he was alone, Jack delved into the bottom of his trunk, searching for the ring and the locket that he had carried with him since Waterloo. They were safe, tucked into a small leather pouch at one side of the trunk. On impulse he pulled out the locket and carried it to the bed, where he opened it and turned it towards the flickering light of his bedside candle. Two faces stared out at him, the colours jewel-bright. Lord Allyngham’s likeness was very much as Jack remembered him, curling brown hair and a cheerfully confident smile. The other face was but a pale imitation of the original. He frowned. Tony Allyngham’s image of his quiet, loyal, loving wife was sadly at odds with the glorious creature that now had all of London at her feet.

The Renwicks’ narrow town house was full to overflowing by the time Eloise arrived.

‘What a squeeze,’ muttered Alex as he escorted her upstairs. ‘I do not know how you expect to find anyone in this crush!’

‘You are too pessimistic, my friend. If Lord Berrow is here I shall find him.’ She swept ahead of him to greet their hostess, and moments later they were pushing their way through the crowded rooms. There was to be no dancing, just a little music provided by those proficient at the pianoforte and the harp, and Mrs Renwick had hired an Italian singer for their entertainment.

Eloise left Alex talking to an old acquaintance and made her way to the music room in search of her quarry. A young lady was playing the harp and while it could not be said that her audience was universally enraptured, the crowd was a great deal quieter than in the other rooms. It did not take Eloise long to realise that Lord Berrow was not in the music room and she turned to make her way back to the main salon.

‘Ah, Lady Allyngham!’ A silk-coated gentleman approached her. His wizened, painted face looked unnaturally white in the candlelight and it made his crooked teeth look even more yellow. She forced herself to smile, not to flinch as he took her hand and bowed over it. ‘My dear madam, you are looking lovelier than ever tonight.’

She inclined her head, wishing she had not dismissed Alex quite so quickly.

‘And shall we hear you sing, this evening, ma’am?’

She shook her head.

‘No, sir. Tonight I am a mere spectator.’

His yellow smile widened and he leaned towards her.

‘You could never be a mere anything, my lady! Shall we find a quiet corner where we may be private?’

‘Alas, sir, that will never do,’ she said archly, treating him to a flutter of her dark lashes. ‘I must not keep you all to myself when there are so many ladies here waiting to talk to you—I see Lady Bressington even now doing her best to attract your attention.’

The old man straightened, his narrow chest puffing out and with a murmured excuse and a flash of her lovely smile Eloise moved away, barely suppressing a shudder. How had she come to this, she wondered miserably, to have every rake and roué hounding her?

You know very well it is your own fault.

The words clattered through her head as clearly as if she had said them aloud. Her spirit sank a little lower. Yes, it was her own doing. When she had first come to town with her husband he had not objected to her flirting with other gentlemen. Indeed, Tony had been happy to encourage it. It had amused him to see his beautiful new bride the object of such admiration, but Tony had always been there in the background to ensure that the flirtations were not carried too far. Eloise’s return to town as a beautiful young widow had aroused a great amount of interest and it had suited her plans to allow herself to be drawn once more into that heady world of flirtation, but now she wondered perhaps if she had taken the game a little too far. Respectable hostesses were beginning to look askance at her and she was for ever fending off unwanted amorous attentions. She could only be thankful that Mrs Renwick had taken her under her wing and still treated her kindly. Eloise bit back a sigh. Once she had concluded her business with Lord Berrow she would retire to Allyngham and live quietly there until the world had forgotten the Wanton Widow.

She heard her hostess calling to her.

‘My dear Lady Allyngham, I have a gentleman here most eager to make your acquaintance.’

Eloise turned, schooling her face into a polite smile which changed to one of genuine pleasure when she recognised the man beside Mrs Renwick as her dancing partner of the previous evening. There was no smile on the gentleman’s face, however, but a faint look of frowning disapproval. She lifted her chin. No doubt he had seen her encounter with the old roué.

‘May I introduce Major Clifton, madam? He is new to town, having only recently returned to England—he was with the Army of Occupation in Paris.’

‘So you are a soldier, sir?’ She held out her hand.

‘I was, ma’am. I have sold out.’

Major Clifton took her fingers in a firm clasp. She was not prepared for the tiny flutter of excitement she experienced at his touch. Glancing up she saw the startled look in his eyes. Was he, too, shocked by this sudden, unexpected connection? Eloise withdrew her hand and struggled to speak calmly.

‘And what will you do now, sir?’

‘Oh, this and that. Become a gentleman farmer, perhaps.’

His response was cool, distant. If she had not seen that look of surprise and confusion in his face she would have thought him nothing more than a polite stranger. Inconsequential thoughts chased through her head: how dark his eyes were, fringed by long black lashes. She liked the way his hair curled about his ears. She wondered how it would feel to run her fingers through those glossy black locks, to stroke his lean cheek…The major was still speaking and Eloise had to drag her mind back to concentrate on his words.