Regency Christmas Wishes(60)

“Well, I . . .”

“The truth, sir, no shilly-shallying.”

Charles took a long, unhappy breath, and shook his head. “No, of course I wouldn’t.”

“Exactly. You would be crushed to a point you would fear was beyond redemption, and you would certainly need time to recover from such a blow to your heart, your pride, and your faith. So kindly have the grace to accept how Juliet feels right now. I’m afraid you will simply have to wait and hope that she comes around.”

He looked anxiously at the older woman. “She will, won’t she? I—I mean, she won’t spurn me forever?”

Lady Marchwell didn’t know the answer. “That is in the lap of the gods, Charles. One thing I will say is that you have much growing up still to do. Boys do not make good husbands, and I fear that your particularly infantile behavior has forced Juliet to reassess everything. Maybe you stand no chance of winning her back until you are a man in every meaning of the word.”

“If I leave, where should I go? Back to the Retreat?”

“Certainly not, for that is Juliet’s territory.” Lady Marchwell’s mouth twitched. “Your present destination is your problem, sir, but if you wish there to be any hope of a reconciliation with Juliet, I suggest you stay well away from your mistress. Grosvenor Square will not do for obvious reasons, so I suggest you hie yourself back to Somerset. Neville Castle is a bolt hole par excellence.”

“So is Hades itself,” he remarked in a wryly resigned tone.

Lady Marchwell smiled. “I think you are already in that particular place, Charles. If there is to be an ultimate destination, I pray it will be somewhere that will guarantee you mature from the callow boy you reveal yourself to be right now. Whatever you do, I cannot emphasize enough that you rid yourself of your unpleasant mistress, whose blackmail can surely hold no threat now that Juliet knows the worst. Who is this other woman, by the way?”

He responded reluctantly. “Her name is Sally Monckton, and she is an actress at Astley’s.”

Lady M recoiled. “Astley’s? Oh, Charles! You might at least have had the discernment to find someone at the Theatre Royal or Covent Garden!”

“I would have thought a mistress was a mistress, no matter whence she came.”

“Your words, not mine. Now, be gone, for the sooner you are no longer beneath this roof the better.”

“I will return tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that.”

“I cannot prevent you, but if Juliet requests me to have you ejected, you may be sure I will carry out her wishes. I have always liked you, Charles, but I am first and foremost Juliet’s aunt, and she is my sole consideration in this particular matter.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

Minutes later he had ridden away from Marchwell Park and returned to London, not to the Grosvenor Square town house but White’s club in St. James’s, where his lack of female companionship could not only be guaranteed, but could be confirmed by any number of witnesses. It had also to be said that being an all-male preserve, the club was free of those feminine touches that were bound to make his pain and remorse all the worse.

He gave Sally her congé that very night. It was a disagreeable meeting, during which she revealed that behind her charming exterior there lurked a common vixen who had managed to stay completely out of his sight until now. She berated him as being every vile thing under the sun, except that her vocabulary was far more shocking and colorful than that. It seemed that Astley’s Amphitheatre was nothing if not educational.



The past faded and it was 1819 again. Juliet placed her empty cup on the little table beside the sofa, next to the decanters of sherry and brandy that were always kept there, then she leaned her head back. Had she been foolish to refuse all Charles’s pleas six years ago? Had she been a mule not to listen to Aunt M’s commonsensical arguments? Would he have been faithful ever after if they had been reconciled? Or would he have known her for an incurable gull and broken that same commandment again and again?

It was too late for answers now, because he had gone to Bengal—Madras itself, she believed—and before leaving he had intimated that he did not intend to ever return to England. For several minutes more Juliet gazed into the fire, dwelling on it all. She was warm and drowsy from the flames and the hot chocolate, and gradually her eyes began to close. As she slipped into sleep her last thought was to wonder what had happened to the wedding ring that Jack had hidden so securely that it had never been found.





4


Charles paused at the library door to glance back at the entrance hall. For a moment he saw again the misty figures of 1813, like actors placed upon a stage, with their audience of Christmas guests gazing down from the top of the staircase. He took a defiant breath. Those events had not brought the curtain down on his marriage, but had merely been a temporary setback.