this morning.’ With his latest mistress. Last night he beat me and forced himself on me, and today he takes his doxy abroad. I wondered about her sometimes; who she was, whether he treated her as he did me. I hoped he did for it would be intolerable to think there were women he cherished.
‘Then this is an ideal time in which to take some rest.’ Dr Baird smiled at me encouragingly. ‘Perhaps a family visit—’
‘No.’ I did not want to go to Moresby Hall, with its huge dark rooms cluttered with the spoils of war. I had hated Moresby as a child and even now as an adult, that dislike persisted. It was a vast, echoing barn of a house that was no home, only a mausoleum to my grandfather, a dead war hero. My brother lived there now but he had changed nothing and the house offered no comfort.
‘Perhaps not.’ Dr Baird had misunderstood me. ‘I appreciate that you might not wish to see anyone at the moment. But some time in the country might be restorative after the bustle of London.’
I glanced towards the window. Constance had pulled back the drapes and was looking out over the gardens now in order to avoid having to look at me. The window was open and a light summer breeze stirred the air. It was very quiet. I could hear no carriage wheels, nor voices; nothing to connect me to the world outside. London was light of company in the summer, of course, when most people were at their estates, and what company there was I could not be seen in, not with a face like this. Dr Baird was correct. The heaviest veil would not conceal Eustace’s handiwork and the most convincing story could not account for it.
I felt so tired all of a sudden. To go anywhere, to do anything, would be the most monstrous effort. Merely to think of it made me want to close my eyes and sleep.
‘Lady Gerard.’ Dr Baird’s voice prompted me. I wished he would cease nagging.
‘I will consider it.’
There was a crease of concern between his eyes. They were hazel in colour with very thick, dark lashes. I had not noticed before but now that I did I realised that he was a good-looking man.
‘I do feel,’ he said slowly, ‘that for the sake of your health you should consider speaking to your brother.’
I knew at once what he meant. When my sister Betty had left her husband it was George who had given her shelter and helped to effect a reconciliation between her and Lord Pembroke. I knew George would be prepared to do the same for me, but my situation was very different. Eustace and Jack Pembroke were both philanderers but Jack had never raised a hand against my sister. If I left Eustace I would not want to go back.
‘I will consider speaking to the Duke,’ I said. Then, with an effort: ‘Thank you for your concern, Dr Baird.’
The frown remained in his eyes. He knew I would not approach George for help.
‘Is there anything else I can assist you with, Lady Gerard?’ His tone was bland again but his gaze dropped lower, making his meaning precise. It was all I could do not to squirm in my chair with the power of suggestion.
‘No thank you,’ I said. ‘I am well at present.’
‘You have no need for a further dose of mercury?’
I repressed a shudder. ‘No, I do not.’ Regrettably, that had been the other occasion on which Dr Baird had had to treat me: when Eustace gave me a dose of the pox passed on from some whore he had bedded.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Dr Baird snapped his case shut. It was his custom to leave at that point, and briskly, his task accomplished. This time, though, he lingered.
‘Please consider my advice,’ he said. His tone had changed. He sounded almost diffident. ‘For the sake of your health – for your safety, Lady Gerard, I do counsel you to leave.’
I looked up, startled. This was too close to plain-speaking. If he continued in this vein we could no longer pretend.
‘Dr Baird—’
He swept my words aside, reaching for my hand. ‘I have watched for too long in silence. Now I must speak. If you need assistance, Lady Gerard, if I can help you in any way, you need only ask. It would be an honour. I appreciate that you might not have financial means of your own and so may need money or some other support—’
I heard Constance gasp. So did Dr Baird; he looked over at her quickly, nervously, as though he had forgotten she was in the room. It was too late for concealment now. His words, his touch, had given him away. In my preoccupation I had been very slow to realise how he felt about me. Dr Baird liked to save people. I suppose it was laudable in a man of his profession. Unfortunately he wanted to save me from my husband and that was impossible.
‘You are very kind.’ I moved to extricate him from his mistake, releasing myself gently from his grasp and releasing him from his unspoken pledge. ‘I am grateful to you for your advice and I will consider it.’ Then, as he opened his mouth to speak again: ‘Good day to you, Dr Baird. Pray, send your bill to my husband as usual.’
I saw the withdrawal come into his eyes. He bowed stiffly. ‘Lady Gerard.’ The door closed behind him with a reproachful click. Constance turned towards me.
‘Oh, ma’am!’ she said. ‘That poor man. He is smitten by you.’
‘You have too soft a heart,’ I said. ‘What would you have me do? Accept his attentions?’ I could just imagine my great-grandmother, the Duchess, ‘A physician? My dear, if you must dally, at the very least you should choose a gentleman.’
‘He only wanted to help you.’ Her chin had set obstinately. Constance, so well named, saw the world in very simple terms.
‘There is always a price.’ I picked up my cup. The tea was cold.
‘I’ll call for more.’ With a practical task to perform, Constance was restored to good spirits. I watched her busy about my chambers. I could not have moved if I had tried. My body felt weighted with lead.
She rang the bell, then started folding and tidying away my clothes. Over the back of a chair I saw the golden gown that Eustace had given me the previous night. It was exceedingly pretty, with silver thread woven through the silk, and a soft, shimmering appearance. I had seen it as a peace offering, which had been foolish of me. It was not peace Eustace wanted, except perhaps from the torment of both hating and desiring me.
He had presented the gown to me with a great flourish, just as Constance had been dressing me for dinner. It had been an odd business, for Eustace never normally gave me clothes, having a very masculine inability to judge my size. I could see at once, simply looking at it, that the gown was too large for me. Not only that, but the silk weave was of too thick and heavy a style for the summer.
‘How beautiful it is, my dear,’ I said. ‘But tonight is so very hot, don’t you think? I would rather save such an elegant gown for the winter balls—’
I got no further, for Eustace swept every item from the surface of my dressing table. Powder clouded the air, brushes and combs flew, my pearls clattered to the floor. Constance hurried forward to try to pick them up and he turned on her.
‘Get out, girl!’
She ran.
But not I. Eustace never let me run. He smiled at me, that madman’s smile, and then he struck me. I had learned
