An unsuitable alliance, p.10
An Unsuitable Alliance, page 10
James’s curiosity made it incumbent upon him to honour his promise to Beatrice, though he wondered how to frame his question as he indicated to the powdered waiter for more drinks. His friend’s words had also dispelled his good spirits. He searched his mind for anything to suggest Addy was unhappy or out of her depth. She had, he thought, seemed in better spirits than he’d seen her. Tristan was always conscious of taxing her emotional reserves.
Yet he’d misinterpreted her desire for greater intimacy considering she’d felt the need to dull her senses with laudanum immediately after pretending that physical intimacy was what she wanted those weeks ago.
Pretending?
No, he suspected she’d made a supreme effort in order to please her husband, only to discover that it was too much for her.
Tristan had been particularly cautious ever since.
He cast the reflection from his mind. ‘Seriously, James, if Beatrice can’t inspire you to greatness like this other wonderful creature then do not marry her, for you’ll be no happier than you were with Hortense.’
Like himself, he noticed James was gaining nothing by their exchange. His friend drained his glass in one gulp. ‘I’ll give her babies and she’ll be happy enough.’ He sounded morose. ‘If Hortense had only brought to term just one when she lost so many perhaps her misery would not have been such a millstone round my neck.’
‘You got your child in the end.’
James looked up sharply. ‘Yes, of course, a little girl whom Hortense kept away from me when we could no longer live together.’
Tristan clenched his glass and closed his eyes briefly. ‘I’m sorry to hear it but Adelaide has not even that.’ In the silence he continued, ‘Cassandra and I were married for three years without issue. Adelaide and I have been married three.’ He shrugged and opened his eyes to find James staring at him with obvious compassion.
‘Perhaps having a child doesn’t mean as much to Adelaide as you think,’ his friend said, awkwardly. ‘You could always adopt a little girl. I mean—’
Tristan tapped his glass, thinking. ‘If I have no son the estate will go to my second cousin. I barely know the man and what I know I like little enough.’ He broke off. ‘It’s not even that so much. Adelaide begged me the other evening to come to her more often because she so desperately wants a child. Do you know what torture it is to be in her arms and exercise the restraint needed so as not to repulse her or frighten her—’
‘God, Tristan, I can’t imagine what you’re saying,’ James mumbled as he brandished his empty whisky glass for a refill.
‘Restraint becomes an art form when a wife is emotionally delicate. The doctor is forever reminding me to have a care. Meanwhile Mrs Henley is forever exhorting me to curtail Adelaide’s pleasures so as not to overexcite her and perhaps precipitate an otherwise unavoidable emotional collapse such as the one she was recovering from when I met her.’
‘Mrs Henley is a cow. I’d not put too much store by what she advises.’
They laughed, clearly in accord on this point.
‘God knows,’ said Tristan, ‘I wish I could give Adelaide what she needs. I wish I could be with her more often, too, but I’m glad I have you to fill the breach.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Especially when I feel I can’t trust myself with my own wife.’
James was clearly shaken and Tristan was moved. ‘You’re good for her, James. You remind Adelaide of her carefree youth, perhaps, before French barbarians stole her innocence.’ Catching his friend’s discomfited gaze, he felt suddenly very close to him. ‘I’m glad you’re here, James. Glad you’re doing all you can for Addy. I can see how much of a paternal interest you must have taken in her when she arrived straight out of school and went to work with Hortense and Mrs Henley.’ He finished his drink and rose. ‘I must go. I trust you still find yourself free to accompany Adelaide to Mr Gilchrist’s studio tomorrow. She was not overwhelmed?’
‘Overwhelmed? No, she was superb. Mr Gilchrist found her the ideal model. But Tristan, I’m afraid that tomorrow—’
Tristan cut off his friend as he turned. ‘Please, James, just this one favour? Adelaide begged me to come but I simply cannot. Not tomorrow or in fact for the next few days at least, due to my very heavy work commitments, but clearly she does not wish to be left alone with Gilchrist.’
He was relieved when James raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Adelaide will be disappointed, but you know I’d do anything to help you out.’
The painting, after two sittings, was now nearly finished. Adelaide, posing on the artist’s chaise longue, smiled when she saw the difficulty with which Beatrice tried to put into words her … admiration? She was relieved that James had brought his betrothed along with him today.
Absorbed in his work, Mr Gilchrist muttered as he mixed paints while James grinned as he put his arm about Beatrice’s waist.
‘You seem rather … shocked, dear heart,’ he whispered in her ear.
‘Please raise your chin a fraction, Lady Leeson.’ Mr Gilchrist was insensible to anyone other than his subject. Adelaide, catching James’s eye, was suddenly speared by a frisson of uncertainty. Beatrice looked like a drowning schoolgirl. Was Adelaide really overstepping the mark with the semi-revealed bare ankle? Yes, she immediately thought, discreetly rearranging her gown.
‘Perhaps I’ll commission Mr Gilchrist to paint the next Lady Dewhurst,’ James said, obviously enjoying Beatrice’s fiery blush. ‘Venus? Circe? Although I’ll always think of you as the ever faithful Penelope … How do you wish to be regarded? I need a new muse if I’m to pen another volume and keep you in the style to which you’d like to be accustomed.’
Adelaide’s amusement turned to concern. James had gone too far. Beatrice was young and too out of her depth to deport herself with the required finesse in the face of such talk.
‘I should rather not be painted,’ she said. Clumsily.
Woodenly.
James sighed and dropped his arm from her waist. ‘As you wish.’ The boredom in his tone was more cutting than any outright slight could have been and Adelaide winced at the girl’s confusion.
Compared with Hortense, Beatrice was no zealot. Her beliefs were as unformed and malleable as any moderately well-educated young woman brought up to believe the pinnacle of success was a good marriage. From conversations with her, Adelaide saw she was idealistic and optimistic enough to believe love was part of the bargain.
But Beatrice’s hurt look would only inflame James. He would say she’d snubbed him; sucked the pleasure from the exchange.
Beneath lowered lids, Adelaide studied him with growing anger. He was playing with Beatrice’s feelings like a violinist.
The session was over. Mr Gilchrist put down his brushes, bending to attend to a question from Beatrice while James was quickly at Adelaide’s side, sliding his hand up her arm in order to help her off the bed. She shook him off. ‘Pay your future wife the attention she deserves,’ she hissed, adding in a more gracious tone, ‘Beatrice, it would be delightful if you could spare the afternoon to offer your opinion on what I should wear to Lady Glenton’s rout next week.’ She paused halfway towards the screen to change.
‘Really?’ The girl looked flustered as she glanced between her betrothed and Adelaide. ‘James plans to work this afternoon on his poems … so that’s very kind of you.’
‘Did I really propose to neglect you all afternoon, my beautiful Beatrice?’
He was too smooth, Adelaide thought as he smiled his charming smile, bringing a blush to the girl’s cheek as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.
‘Why, I had planned to surprise you with a trip to Gunter’s, but if you want to admire Lady Leeson’s finery then by all means we shall do so.’
‘That was a charming thought, James, and if you’d rather—’
‘I agree, we must advise Lady Leeson upon her wardrobe if only to have the satisfaction of telling the mob at Lady Glenton’s rout that we garbed the toast of London Town.’
Adelaide rolled her eyes. ‘You’re too much, James,’ she said, striving for a mocking tone as she slipped behind the screen and Mr Gilchrist’s young maid, who’d been summoned by James, helped her with her fastenings.
‘Beatrice won’t know what to make of you if you must dress everything up as a joke.’
She emerged, plastering on a smile as she detached Beatrice firmly from her fiancé’s grip. ‘I think, Beatrice, we need to spend some time together so I can teach you a thing or two about how to keep your husband-to-be in check.’
It had been a long time since Adelaide had been clothed so sumptuously.
Coquelicot red it was called, and it really did accentuate the russet tones of her rippling hair, she decided, as she considered her appearance in the cheval mirror at Madame Claudette’s Salon. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, enriching the sheen on the silks and lustrings arranged in higgledy-piggledy bolts amidst swathes of sumptuous trimmings.
Adelaide was delighted at how well she looked, and the warmth in James’s assessing look told her he echoed the sentiment. She only wished it was Tristan smiling at her, but other than at Lady Middleton’s rout, for four days he’d been involved with his work. Nervous Mr Finch had called with some paperwork he’d prepared for her husband, but it seemed Tristan was always out these days.
Guiltily she saw that Beatrice looked withdrawn and spiritless, her pale complexion gaining nothing from the primrose trimmings on her simple muslin gown. Though fashionable and, as required for a debutante, chaste, it was unbecoming.
‘Who chooses your gowns for you?’ Adelaide asked the girl, casting subtlety to the wind. Beatrice’s potential for becoming a beauty had become an imperative, considering the way James was ignoring his fiancée. By contrast, the searing glances Adelaide intercepted as James gazed upon her reclining for her portrait were clearly calculated to make her fling herself into his embrace and damn the rest of the world – and any potential for lasting happiness.
James’s obvious attraction needed to be channelled in worthier directions – like sweet Beatrice.
‘Miss Maple, my governess, and Aunt Wells chose my London wardrobe.’ The girl sounded doubtful.
‘I think they could have been more … perceptive in finding colours to enhance your colouring and those lovely brown eyes of yours.’
‘I’m not terribly interested in clothes.’
As if sensing something gallant were required of him, James declared, as he ushered the ladies into the early summer sunshine, ‘Beatrice refuses to see herself as the shining star she’s destined to become, nor can she understand the new standard by which she will be judged. Hers has been a disciplined and restrained upbringing.’
‘As was mine,’ Adelaide replied, forcing gaiety into her tone as she took Beatrice’s other arm. ‘Only look at me now. The despair of my mother.’
‘And London’s brightest star.’
Adelaide did not miss the glance Beatrice darted towards her betrothed, as if uncertain how to interpret this. Nor did she miss the confusing cocktail of emotions that churned within her own breast. James was as in thrall to her as he had ever been. Meanwhile Tristan palmed her off onto his old friend though she begged for his company. When she’d been vulnerable and needy Tristan had always been there, but the more she blossomed the more he seemed willing to relinquish his role of quiet stalwart. He said his parliamentary duties required him, but Adelaide told him she required him more. The truth was, she found it increasingly difficult being alone with James, though she could hardly say that to Tristan.
‘You’ll have much more fun with James and Beatrice than an exhausted husband,’ he’d said that afternoon, kissing the tip of her nose before sending her away with a brief caress.
Now, forcing aside her frustration, Adelaide said brightly, ‘Shining Star? You flatter me, James. Well, Beatrice must be the vanguard. My glory days are nearly behind me as I approach my dotage.’
‘A beauty you will always be, Lady Leeson – don’t you think?’ James appealed to Beatrice as if she must surely share his admiration. ‘Come to the opera with us tonight, Addy? Beatrice and I have been invited to use her uncle’s box. We can make silly faces at everyone across the gallery.’
‘I’m sure Beatrice can think of nothing better,’ Adelaide said drily, squeezing the girl’s arm. ‘You and I are old friends, James, who might take pleasure in such childish pursuits, but remember, Beatrice is soon to be your wife.’ She sent him a meaningful look when Beatrice’s head was turned. ‘And now, if you would kindly escort me home, James. I’m afraid I shall have to decline your kind offer as I’ve barely seen my husband.’
James insisted on depositing Beatrice with her aunt before walking Adelaide the rest of the way home, but nonetheless, she was poised for a calm farewell in the late-afternoon gloom of the downstairs lobby of their townhouse.
‘Ah, James!’ Tristan appeared from an adjoining annexe. Though conversation with James had been general and unexceptional, Adelaide nearly jumped out of her skin as her husband’s voice penetrated their cloistered leave-taking. ‘Stay and have a drink with us. I’m exhausted and can think of nothing better than the company of an old friend.’ He sounded in unusually robust spirits.
Taking his arm, she said, ‘I’m afraid James must get ready for the opera tonight.’ Heady satisfaction swept through her as she basked in the warmth of her husband’s expression. Her mother had accepted a dinner invitation, meaning Adelaide would be alone with Tristan for the first time since they’d been in London.
‘I invited Addy to join us in Beatrice’s uncle’s box, but sadly she has declined.’
‘Declined? Why is that, Addy? Surely you’d enjoy a night’s entertainment?’
‘Please, no, Tristan,’ she protested. ‘I don’t want to be the gooseberry between James and Beatrice.’
‘Gooseberry, indeed,’ scoffed James. ‘Beatrice hangs off every word you utter. I’m the one who needs Tristan for company. Won’t you join us?’
Tristan met Adelaide’s look with an apologetic glance. ‘Much as I would love to, I’m afraid my work is more important.’
Adelaide gripped his wrist. Desperately, she whispered, ‘I shan’t go without you, Tristan.’
‘You’ll have to on this occasion, I’m afraid,’ he said, but Adelaide would not be fobbed off. She drew her shoulders back, declaring so that James could hear, ‘Then I’m afraid I must definitely decline your kind invitation, James. I won’t go if Tristan won’t accompany me.’
‘You’d prefer to spend the evening gossiping with your mother?’ Tristan’s mouth quirked. ‘Her plans have changed, in case you didn’t know, and she will be in this evening. I would not thrust that upon you. No, James, I insist that you play Adelaide’s gallant escort this evening. I entrust her to you entirely. No doubt you’ll do a far better job of introducing her to the city’s pleasures than I will.’
He’d turned his head before Adelaide could focus her entreating look upon him.
‘Splendid!’ James clapped Tristan on the back, saying over his shoulder, ‘I’ll make it an evening to remember, Addy. I promise.’
Chapter 10
In her youth, Adelaide was used to prevailing, so it was a satisfying feeling to brush her lips across Tristan’s hand as he stood behind her, securing her pale blue silk Witzchoura Mantle lined with white fur, and know that once again he’d been unable to refuse her.
‘I’m so glad you changed your mind, darling,’ she murmured, taking the opportunity to nestle against him before the butler turned to open the doors onto the portico.
At the bottom of the stairs the carriage was waiting for them.
‘There’s a certain way you look at me, Addy, that renders me completely unable to refuse any request.’ Fleetingly, he kissed the top of her head.
His smile, when she turned, filled her with happiness, and when Barking wasn’t looking she hugged him quickly. ‘Show me exactly what this look is,’ she began, ‘so I know which one to use for future reference?’
Ushering Adelaide over the threshold he said softly, ‘That one.’ Then he laughed, more carefree than Adelaide had ever seen him. ‘Like a wood sprite, my darling? Has no ever told you that you have the sweetest rosebud lips and the wickedest pair of eyes?’
‘Tristan!’ He had never spoken to her quite like this. Certainly, he’d never spoken of the effect she had on him. Little bursts of pleasure seemed to explode inside her. She giggled and clung to him as the postilion let down the steps and Tristan helped her in.
Tristan had his own box and Adelaide was glad of the privacy. She preferred sitting beside her husband without being covertly observed by James, at any rate.
‘The painting is almost done and will be displayed in Mr Gilchrist’s rooms on Wednesday,’ Adelaide told him. ‘You’ll come to the unveiling? Mr Gilchrist is hoping to secure a great deal of patronage and is enormously grateful to you, Tristan, for honouring him with the commission.’
‘Are you pleased with it? That’s all I’m concerned with.’
‘I think it’s a flattering likeness.’ Adelaide hugged the secret that it was undeniably a masterpiece. ‘Most portraits manage that, though, don’t they? James wants to commission Mr Gilchrist to paint Beatrice after they are wed but she refuses. She says she’s not interested in showy things like clothes and portraits, but I think she should agree, if James wishes it.’
‘I hope James does not repeat the mistakes of the past.’
‘Hortense?’
‘My cousin was a most unsuitable match.’ Tristan leaned down to retrieve the opera glasses she had dropped. ‘I’ve said it before, but James should have married someone like you, my dear.’
