a Drury Lane farce which would rival Sheridan—were we not both so busy I might suggest a collaboration. That fact alone persuades me to go, bearing in mind that “he who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day!”’
Louise could not resist murmuring back at him as he bowed his way out, ‘Oh, is that what we have been doing, m’lord, fighting?’
He turned towards her before he left and shook a finger at her, ‘Address me as Angmering, if you please, not m’lord: I can see that you are not yet ready for Marcus. I shall be back, soon.’
Louise sank on to one of the chairs provided for customers, and put a hand to her hot face.
No, I am not ready for this, or for him, nor will I ever be—I think. I thought that being Sywell’s wife would have affected me as cowpox is supposed to affect smallpox, as an inoculation against men—but no such thing. And what is the most surprising fact of all is that he bears no resemblance whatsoever to the handsome hero whom I used to dream about when I was poor little Louise Hanslope. The hero who would come to rescue me from penury and misery. He’s certainly not handsome—but he’s something better. He’s not a dandy either, simply a strong man who is full of confidence in himself.
But he shall not have me for his doxy unless I truly wish it, and I have no notion what my real feelings for him are—or might be.
But she was lying to herself, and knew it. The physical pull of him was so powerful that now he had gone she found herself shivering, and what did that tell her?
Something which she did not want to know.
Marcus could not truly read his own feelings either. He had not flattered himself that Madame Félice would succumb to him immediately, but he had been of the opinion that it might not be too difficult to win her.
He thought that no longer. There was steel there. By her appearance he might have thought her fragile. Fragile! Oh, she might look so, but she was actually as fragile as the Emperor Napoleon or one of his marshals. Send her to Spain, and Wellington would surely win his war there in short order!
On the other hand there was little pleasure in an easy conquest. His campaign to win her into his bed might be long, but it would be entertaining if this afternoon was anything to go by, and the prize he would gain at its end would be well worth winning.
To the victor the spoils—and now to return to his humdrum life again, to visit his old aunt, his mother’s sister, who had arrived in London for a short stay and had written to him to say that she particularly wished to see him.
What puzzled him was what she could possibly have to say to him. He remembered meeting her once, years before, and even then, when he was little more than a child, noticing that, unlike his mother, she was no beauty. He had heard that she was married to a Norfolk squire and had had a large family: his cousins, whom, for one reason or another, he had never met.
He discovered that she was still not a beauty, but, like his stepmother, had a face full of character. Her pleasure at meeting him was great and unaffected.
‘Oh, how much you resemble your father!’ she exclaimed when all the proprieties had been gone through, and they were seated together and he had accepted a glass of Madeira and some ratafia biscuits.
‘I always admired him, you know, and was sad when he offered for Danielle, and not me. On the other hand I was later relieved that he had not done so, for I should not have liked to go to India, so hot and nasty, and I could not have had a better husband than my dear Robert, God bless him.’
Robert Hallowes had died some years earlier and she had been living at the Dower House on the Hallowes estate near King’s Lynn. She spoke briefly of her life there, and asked Marcus about his in Northumberland.
‘I suppose you knew of, if you did not mix with, that dreadful man, Sywell. He was someone to avoid, you know. His reputation was bad from the first moment he burst into society, and believe me, burst was the right word! Your father grew to dislike him intensely and there were some rumours about him and Sywell both being interested in another young woman before he met Danielle and myself in our first season. Fortunately I was not the sort of youthful moneyed beauty Sywell was always pursuing.’
She gave a jolly laugh after saying this, and Marcus could scarcely believe that she was his mother’s sister, so unlike was she to her. She took a sip from her glass of Madeira before saying in a more serious voice, ‘I think that it is time that I spoke to you about the reason for my asking you to visit me. I have often thought that you ought to be told the truth about your parents’ marriage and when I heard from a friend that there had always been some constraint between you and your father, and that they thought it likely that it arose because of their failed marriage, I was more than ever convinced that I had a duty to do so—so here we are.’
She stopped, and now she was so solemn that she was like a different person. ‘You must understand that Danielle was a great beauty and it was our parents’ hope that she would make a grand marriage. They put a great deal of pressure on her to marry your father, who was known to be the likely Yardley heir, and was then a young man of great promise.
‘The trouble was that she had already fallen in love with the heir to the small estate next to ours, and was most reluctant to give him up—except that I think that the notion of becoming Lady Yardley one day attracted her. I regret to say it, but she was always flighty, changed her mind every other day and felt it her duty to attract every young man she met. My parents were eager for her to be married. They thought that it would settle her.
‘Alas, once she was married, she became more flighty than ever. She regretted her lost love and made up for it by behaving as wildly as she could without putting herself in danger of society ostracising her. She was very like Lady Caroline Lamb is today: defying all the conventions. The worst thing of all, though, is that her behaviour made your father doubt whether you were truly his son. It was only when, as you reached manhood, your likeness to him became so strong that he could no longer doubt that he was truly your father.’
Marcus gave a great start on hearing this. It explained so much of his father’s behaviour to him. He said, and his voice sounded strange to him when he spoke, ‘Had he any real reason to believe that she was telling the truth?’
His aunt smiled sadly. ‘A little, perhaps, but the pity of it was that Danielle, when they quarrelled, which was often, frequently taunted him with the possibility that he was not your father. It grieves me to say this, but the main reason for the failure of their marriage lay at Danielle’s door rather than his. He was, in fact, extremely patient with her. Unfortunately her behaviour resulted in the coolness which lies between you and your father. She was unhappy, made him unhappy and destroyed the affection which should lie between father and son. In all fairness to him—and to you—I thought that you ought to know the truth.
‘I understand that his second marriage is a happy one, and that you are fond of your stepmother and she of you—but my poor sister had much to answer for before she died. She had already broken off all ties with our parents and with me—to our great grief.’
Marcus sighed. He thought bitterly of the many years during which he and his father had been estranged. Of late they had come together a little, and now it seemed, if his aunt could be believed—and he thought that she could—that he might be able to heal the breach which misunderstanding had created.
His aunt could see his distress. She said, her voice anxious, ‘I hope that I was not wrong to tell you this, but I owed you the truth.’
Marcus leaned forward and kissed her impulsively
