Fairfax twins collection.., p.48
Fairfax Twins Collection: Three Book Box Set, page 48
It still shocked Aubyn, even decades later, at the enjoyment his father had shown whilst humiliating him. His eyes had been filled with pleasure as he had destroyed his son's happiness, as though in some sick, twisted way, the late duke had planned, all that day, to build his son up just for the pleasure of tearing him down.
Aubyn realised that Eunice was watching him, waiting for him to finish speaking. He could not end his tale truthfully, so he merely shrugged in a Gallic manner.
"That's it," he said, struggling not to sound too short with her, "I saw a parrot as a boy and the desire for one has stayed with me since. I must say, I was not aware that I was verbalising my inner wishes to all and sundry, thank you for letting me know."
"Perhaps one day you shall own one," she suggested, the kindness in her eyes piercing Aubyn's very soul.
"In life, sometimes it is best not to realise one's desires," Aubyn replied lightly.
The vivid memory of his father's casual cruelty had reminded him that for everyone's sake, it would be best if Aubyn did not realise his. The longing he had felt whilst watching Eunice play with the children, now felt wrong—shameful almost. He had no right to wish for children or a wife, when he knew that all he could offer them was hurt and pain.
He could feel his temper begin to flare and he longed for respite from Lady Eunice's deep, brown eyes, which searched his own for answers to his sudden silence.
Thankfully, a group of well dressed ladies arrived in search of Eunice, and Aubyn was able—after exchanging a few pleasantries—to flee the Foundling Hospital.
It would be for the best, he thought, as his carriage made its way through London's streets, for him to begin to distance himself from his faux-betrothed. If Eunice wished to throw her hat in with a degenerate gambler, then that was her decision, there was nothing Aubyn could do to save her.
No, it was only right that he hardened his heart against the lovely Lady Eunice. For her sake, as well as his.
Chapter Ten
Of all the creatures to inhabit the world, men were by far the most curious, Eunice thought, as she surreptitiously eyed the Duke of Belmont.
They were attending a soirée in the home of Lord and Lady Havisham, and to all the world it must have looked as though nothing was amiss between the newly engaged couple, but Eunice could sense that something was bothering her sullen companion. Oh, he made all the appearance of being an attentive escort, fetching her drinks and standing by her side, but his conversation was so monosyllabic that Eunice almost wished she was standing beside her mother instead. Almost.
"Your cousin and Miss Blythe appear to be getting along famously," Eunice ventured, with a nod toward the duke's cousin and the season's belle, who were deep in conversation across the room.
"Indeed."
She bit back a scream of annoyance at the short reply. All evening, Belmont had been behaving thusly, leaving her to wonder why he insisted upon standing beside her if he did not wish to speak to her.
"Is something the matter, your Grace?" she asked, after they had drifted into another silence, which pressed against her nerves and made her anxious.
"No," Belmont replied, though when he caught the glint of annoyance in Eunice's eyes, he hastily added, "Thank you."
"It's just that you don't seem to be enjoying yourself," she continued, refusing to be cowed by his closed answer or his smouldering expression. "In fact, it rather feels like you are here on pain of sufferance—which is a ridiculous way for me to feel, for it was you invited me to this wretched event."
Belmont's lips twitched and Eunice could see that he was trying to stifle a smile. He was a most vexing man; she had unleashed her ire upon him and he thought it funny.
"Forgive me," Belmont said, his blue eyes flashing an apology, "I do find myself rather out of sorts this evening. Perhaps I shall repair to the garden for some fresh air. Would you like me to escort you back to your mother?"
Eunice glanced across the room at her mother, who stood in the centre of a circle of fawning ladies. Lady Cassius was probably holding court on her daughter's pending nuptials, and the idea of having to listen to her mother boast about a wedding that would never take place, was not an appealing one.
"No, thank you," she shook her head, "I shall go and freshen myself up."
She took herself away to the withdrawing room, where a dozen or so lady's maids waited for their mistresses. Silk screens had been set up, for those who might wish to use a bourdaloue, but Eunice simply wished to wash her hands.
"There's a fresh basin over her, my lady," Sarah, who had jumped up when she entered, said, guiding Eunice over to the wash stand. Eunice plunged her hands into the warm soapy water and allowed her mind to wander over Belmont's strange behaviour as she lathered the soap.
It was the first time that she had seen him since the Foundling Hospital and he had been much changed. Before, he had always been entertaining—if slightly prickly—company; always ready with a joke or a quick witted quip. Tonight he had been cold and the change in him alarmed her.
Perhaps he is tiring of the charade, she thought.
It wasn't beyond the realms of possibility that Belmont had tired of escorting her to this ball and that. In fact, it was highly possible, given his initial reluctance for the scheme and his unsociable nature. It was probably a miracle he had lasted this long at all!
Eunice took a towel from Sarah and dried her hands, trying to maintain the outward appearance of calmness, though inside her heart was racing. Anxiety tore at her, though she could not decipher if the nerves she felt were from the knowledge that she was no nearer to securing Theo's affections than she had been a month ago...or if it was the thought of losing Belmont's presence in her life which made her so nervous.
The idea that Belmont might suddenly vanish from her life completely was gut-wrenching. Oh, she knew he could be trying at times, but over the past few weeks, he had established himself in her heart as a friend. His humour, his charm, the kindness that he tried so hard to disguise—all of the things that she liked about him could soon become mere memories.
A wave of sadness overcame Eunice, so all consuming that for a moment she thought she would drown in it. Luckily, Sarah began to prattle on about the diseases which one might catch from sharing a hand-towel and Eunice's mind was dragged back to the present.
"I once heard of a woman who attended a ball and used the towel in the withdrawing room to dry her hands. The next day she woke up and all her skin was covered in warts."
"At least she didn't die," Eunice quipped.
"I dare say she wished she did," came Sarah's dark reply.
With their delightful conversation about plague and death at an end, Eunice left the withdrawing room. She had just closed the door behind her, when she spotted a familiar figure loitering in the empty hallway.
"Theo," she called out in surprise, "I mean, Mr Belhurst."
"Oh, there's need for such formality between friends," Theo said, flashing her a winning smile.
He was dressed the dandy, in a clawhammer coat of cerise over dark breeches. The points of his collar were pointed high and his hair was artfully mussed in the Romantic style. Anyone else would have looked loud and flamboyant, but to Eunice's eyes, he looked perfect.
"I must confess," Thoedore continued as she neared, "That I was waiting for you."
"Oh?"
Eunice tried not to raise her eyebrows in shock; it was most risqué to admit to loitering in a hallway for any woman, let alone one who was purportedly engaged to another. And even though attracting Theo had always been her objective, she did not like to think he might behave in such a rakish way toward her.
"You think me bold."
It was a statement more than a question, and it was one which was delivered with a hint of pride. Had he always been so sure of himself, Eunice wondered, for her memories of Theo had painted him as being humble. How strange to think she might have misread him...
"I will keep you but a minute," Theo continued, not waiting for her to reply, "I simply wished to say hello before I left for the evening. I did not want you to think that I had snubbed you."
"You're leaving already?" Eunice replied, whilst wondering how she could have considered herself snubbed, when she had not even noticed he was there in the first place.
"There's a fight in Fives Court I cannot miss, I've twenty guineas on Jock O'Sullivan to win."
"Oh. Well, good luck," Eunice offered. She knew nothing of boxing, nor did she care to.
"I don't need luck," Theo flashed another devastating smile, which left her feeling a little weak at the knees, "He's fighting Freddie Lightening—it's no contest at all, poor Freddie's on his last legs."
Despite not knowing anything about boxing, Eunice felt a stab of sympathy toward this Mr Lightening fellow. She knew well what it was like to not be considered the favourite, and as such had quite a soft spot for any underdog.
"Would you place five guineas on Mr Lightening for me?" she asked impulsively. She opened her reticule and fished out the coins for Theo, who took them with a new look in his eyes; admiration.
"I didn't have you pegged as the Lady Bampfylde type," he said with a wink, as he pocketed her coins. Lady Bampfylde was a prominent racehorse owner and gambler, and Eunice rather thought that she would sniff at the paltry amount Eunice wished to gamble.
Before she could voice this thought, however, Theo started as he spotted something—or rather someone—behind Eunice.
"Your Grace," he said, quickly masking his surprise with a facade of slick charm, "I do hope you are enjoying the evening's festivities?"
"I would have enjoyed them much better, had I not been forced to spend most of my time searching for my betrothed," Belmont answered, his voice low and menacing.
Eunice turned at his tone and was shocked to find that Belmont wore a look of pure anger upon his handsome face. Theo also seemed to sense the duke's rage, for he quickly made his excuses and fled, leaving Eunice and the duke alone.
"What do you think you are at?" Belmont growled, once Theodore had vanished, "Skulking in dark hallways with him? Have you no concern for your reputation?"
If his imperious tone had not made her so angry, Eunice would have laughed at this hypocritical statement. The Duke of Belmont was not famous for being a paragon of virtue, rather the opposite in fact. He may take as many lovers as he pleased without censure, whilst Eunice could not even converse in a hallway with her childhood friend. The injustice of it rankled, rendering her far more combative than usual.
"I was not skulking," she snapped, rising to meet his ire with a fiery wrath of her own, " I was speaking with Mr Belhurst. Skulking implies that I had some sinister or immoral motive for my actions, which I can assure you, I did not."
"I know your motives are honest," Belmont bit back, "But what if it was someone else who had found you both and not I? Your name would be sullied from John o'Groats to Land's End."
"I don't think anyone else would jump to such wild conclusions as you have," Eunice replied, then sniffed the air, "And for you to insinuate that you were put out looking for me, when it's obvious you have just been smoking what smells like a dozen cheroots, is most dishonest. If you'll excuse me, your Grace, I want to go back inside before anyone finds me skulking in the corridor with you."
She turned to leave, but Belmont's hand shot out and clasped her elbow, preventing her from making her exit.
"I did not mean to imply that I don't trust you," he said, his voice a low rasp, "It's Belhurst I don't trust. He's up to his neck in debt, from what I've heard, and causing a scandal with a rich heiress would be his ticket to a most advantageous marriage."
Perhaps he had meant his words as a warning, but to Eunice's ears—which had sadly, throughout her lifetime, become accustomed to sly digs—it sounded like an insult.
"I suppose you think that all any man could want me for is my money," Eunice replied, hoping that he could not hear the quiver in her voice. Hot tears stung at her eyes as she yanked her arm from his grip, and though he protested, she did not stop to listen. She fled down the corridor, as fast as her slippered feet would take her, wishing to get as far away from Belmont—and the pain she felt—as was possible.
Once safely back inside the crowded rooms, Eunice found her Mama and begged her to leave, pleading a migraine.
"It's hardly surprising you're in pain, dear," Lady Cassius said in reply, "Given the awful performance Miss Havisham is subjecting us to. Come, let us go."
With the sound of poor Miss Havisham, beating out a tune on the piano-forte, Eunice and her parents departed for home.
"You do look rather ill, dear," Lord Cassius observed with concern.
"I'm sure it will pass with some rest, Papa," Eunice replied, though inwardly she wondered if she would ever get over this feeling. To hear Belmont dismiss Theo's attraction to her as little more than a coin-purse with legs had cut her more deeply than she thought possible. If he thought that Theo could only want her for her fortune, then surely he thought that her fortune was the only desirable thing about her...
The next morning, all Eunice wished to do was stay abed with a cup of steaming chocolate, but Sarah woke her early with a reminder that she had promised to call on the Duchess of Belmont.
"Lud," Eunice groaned; the dowager duchess was the last person she wished to see. How could she feign enthusiasm for the duke, when all night she had been dreaming of running him through with a sword?
Still, manners were everything and Eunice knew that she could not cry off, so she dragged herself from underneath her warm blankets, determined to face down the day.
The dowager duchess lived in fashionable Mayfair, in a white, stucco-fronted town house whose uniform exterior belied what lay beyond the front door.
"Heavens," Eunice heard Sarah whisper, as they were led into the entrance hall.
The house was unlike any other Eunice had ever visited. Where most of her friend's homes were sedate residences, decorated with masculine mahogany and oozing grandeur, Beatrice's was the opposite. The entrance hall was painted in a soft pink, the floor gleaming white marble, and a large chandelier with rose coloured droplets dominated the ceiling, which was painted with frescoes of angels and cherubs.
"My son often says he feels like he's walking into an upmarket bordello when he steps through the door. Of course, as his mother, I have to ask him how on earth he knows what the inside of a bordello looks like. That always puts a halt to his grumblings."
Eunice tore her gaze away from the ceiling and found the dowager duchess standing before her. Beatrice's eyes danced with mischief and her face wore such a warm, welcoming smile, that Eunice's apprehension at visiting quickly vanished.
"Come," she said, holding out an arm to Eunice, "I have dozens of French Fancies waiting to be devoured inside."
The duchess led Eunice into a drawing room, which was equally as feminine as the entrance hall. The wallpaper was patterned with flowers, the furniture all sumptuous, overstuffed velvet, and even the paintings on the walls were girlish, featuring garden scenes rather than glowering ancestors. Though one looked rather out of place amongst the other paintings...
"Lilliput," Beatrice said proudly, as Eunice eyed the large portrait of a dog above the mantelpiece, "Aubyn brought him to me a few years ago. He says I spoil him, but then he would say that. Men are apt to be jealous when attention is diverted away from them. Isn't that right, Lily?"
Beatrice cooed down at what Eunice had originally assumed to be a rug, but it moved at the sound of the duchess' voice and unfurled itself from its splayed position upon the floor to reveal that it was, in fact, a dog.
Or perhaps a mixture of dog and horse, Eunice thought with alarm, for the beast was giant.
"Don't be nervous," Beatrice said with a smile, as she noted Eunice's apprehension. "He has no understanding of how big he actually is, he thinks he's as small as a Pomeranian."
The pair settled themselves down on the plush settees and as a maid served tea and iced cakes, Beatrice and Eunice made the usual small talk. When the maid left, however, to top up the tea pot, the duchess turned to Eunice with a conspiratorial look in her eyes.
"You must tell me how you have managed to change my son in such a short space of time," she said, her words causing Eunice to choke a little on the bun she had in her mouth. "I have not seen him so content in years. Why, even the dog has stopped growling at him when he visits. He seems completely, utterly and totally besotted by you."
"He does?"
Eunice could not help the surprised tone which escaped her, for she had not thought the duke besotted with her. Why just last night she had thought him tired of their agreement, and after his display of pomposity, she had felt quite the same. Was he such a good actor that he could fool his own mother?
"Oh, I know he is not always good at displaying his emotions," Beatrice replied, mistaking Eunice's surprise for modesty, "But a mother knows...I am so glad that he has found you. I feared that he would remain alone forever. He's so afraid, you see."
Afraid? Eunice was glad that she had swallowed her cake, for the thought of the fearsome Duke of Belmont being frightened of anything, was so shocking that she would surely have choked.
"Afraid of what, exactly?" she ventured.
"Why of being hurt," Beatrice reached out and clasped Eunice's hand. "His father was quite the tyrant and I'm afraid that Aubyn has never quite recovered from it. He's so afraid of his own vulnerability that he hides all his emotions under a veneer of indifference."
"He did mention that the late duke was not affectionate," Eunice said hesitantly, thinking back to their conversation about St Bartholomew's Fair, "When he told me a story about seeing a parrot at Polito's..."
"Oh goodness, I recall that day," Beatrice said, heaving a melancholy sigh, "He was so upset by his father's cruelty, I don't think he ever recovered. To be told one is not loved by one's own father is a terrible thing for a child to endure."
So there had been more to that story than the duke had let on. Eunice frowned; she did not wish to pry any further into Belmont's business, but her heart ached for the poor boy that he had been. She knew something of parental cruelty, of wanting to be loved by someone, but always falling short of their expectations. She was surprised to find that the anger she had felt toward Belmont just that morning had vanished, replaced by a sense of empathy and understanding.
