“How many hours the three of us strolled Bond Street, Jane, a lady on Fitzroy's either side; or took the air of the Park in our carriage, Fitzroy seated opposite with Fanny at his right hand. It gradually became a torment; his mind and mine were too much alike not to leap at the chance to converse; we found much in common that thrilled and moved; and yet behind the growing felicity in one another's company, there was a burgeoning despair. The inevitability of my fate approached — and to dishonour the man who had done so much for each of us was impossible. That we thought severally in this vein, without speaking of it to the other — that we had never spoken of the feeling that overcame us in one another's presence — I need not assure you. Such a speech could not but harm.” She fell silent, lost in despondency.
“Until?” I prompted.
The Countess hesitated, as if unwilling to repeat in speech the indiscretions of the past. “Until the day Fanny suffered a slight indisposition, due to her greediness for cold stuffing at dinner the previous evening.”
“It prevented her from accompanying you the next day?”
“It did. We had formed the design of a visit to Hampton Court, by barge up the Thames, and visit we did — though the party was formed of but two.” My dear friend's face was suddenly transformed. “The delight in those few hours, Jane! The carefree happiness of our day! What laughter, what meaning in silence, what trembling in my hand as I took his arm to promenade! We moved through stately rooms and terraced gardens as though they were ours and we had come into our kingdom. A marvelous charade. For a time, we might play at what we never could be.”
A little of Isobel's emotion affected my senses, and I strove for calm. “And you spoke, then, of the future?”
“How could we not?” Her glad aspect dimmed. “But it was a discourse saved for the waning of the day, when the long shadows proclaimed our liberty at an end, our paradise lost. In contemplating the necessity of a return, the duplicity it meant, Fitzroy found that he could not bear it; and in the shadow of a great tree in the Court gardens, he seized me in his arms and… kissed me, Jane.”
I was silent with pity and horror.
“The memory of it burns upon my lips still,” Isobel said, reaching a finger to her mouth. “It was to burn in my heart all that night, as I dined with poor Frederick; and dined with Fitzroy, who sat opposite as though turned to stone.”
My friend's hand found mine and grasped it tightly. “Have you ever felt, Jane, a crushing sadness while at the same time experiencing a heady euphoria?”
I could only shake my head, unwilling to share my own poor fortune.
“Then you have never been in love,” Isobel said decidedly, “and you did right not to accept Mr. Bigg-Wither.”
“But what was the outcome, my dear?” I persisted. “Did you never consider a full disclosure to Lord Scargrave?”
“No, Jane. That could not be. We declared our love, canvassed our mutual honour and the esteem we owed the Earl, and came to a tortured resignation. I could not destroy Fitzroy by dishonouring his uncle — as destroy him I should. To do so would bring misery upon all in the Earl's household, and burden the purer emotions we felt with regret and recrimination.”
“But how could you go forward?” I cried, all amazement.
Isobel looked her confusion. “I know that you should not have done so, dear Jane. With your strength and sense, you should have broken off the engagement and retired from the scene.” She hesitated, as though her next words caused her pain. “But I had Crosswinds to consider, and all that Lord Scargrave had vouched he would do. For the sake of my father's memory, I determined that I could not choose otherwise than to marry the Earl.”
“And Lord Payne? What of him?”
“We deemed it best to part company until the fateful day was achieved. Fitzroy offered the Earl some excuse, and fled to the country. I was married not two weeks later, toured the Continent for some three months, and returned to Scargrave for the Christmas holiday.”
“I wonder how you bore it,” I said.
“Did not you see the change?” Isobel burst out. “You, who are my dearest friend in the world — did not you discern that I was in the throes of some great trouble?”
“I did not, Isobel,” I replied, wondering at my own stupidity. “I thought you only a trifle wearied by the duties of your new station. And that is for the best, my dear — for if I did not discern it, you may be assured your husband was equally in the dark.”
“How terrible,” the Countess murmured, “that one should find the ignorance of a husband to be a blessing.”
“And so you had not met again, the Viscount and yourself, until the night of the ball?” I resumed.
She shook her head. “It was for this I begged your presence on the occasion, my dear Jane. I dearly needed the strength of a friend beside me at such an hour. That Fitzroy came at all was necessary to the duty he owed his uncle; to have stayed away would have seemed strange: But he did not meet me with composure. And I believe his feelings are as unabated by the passage of a few months, as I know my own to be.”
“Isobel,” I began, and rose to stand before the fire with the maid's crumpled letter in my hand, “we must consider what we are to do. Marguerite claims she will go to the magistrate; we have determined to lay the business before him ourselves, and so prevent her the element of surprise. To contain the affair, this would seem the only course. But what then? Do you disclose what you must to Sir William regarding your feeling for Fitzroy?”
Isobel started from her chaise, cheeks scarlet and eyes ablaze with indignation. “It is impossible! In every respect, impossible!”
“You will dissimulate, then?”
“I shall regard the suggestion as of a piece with the rest of the maid's nonsense — no more to be believed than her accusation of murder,” she retorted, with spirit.
“To what, then, do we ascribe her motive? That must be our question.” I stopped beneath the Earl's portrait and regarded it thoughtfully. “We must tell Sir William we believe Marguerite capable of blackmail; that she wishes to frighten you into paying for her silence. A paltry art from a paltry maid. He must see the sense of it.”
Isobel moved swiftly to her desk in search of pen and paper. “Of course, Jane. It has merit. I shall ring for the footman directly; he may take my note to Sir William. I think it best we meet after the funeral tomorrow, do not you agree?”
“Propriety would argue the same.”
“So it shall be.”
“Isobel—” I began, and then hesitated. Why disturb further what was already disturbed beyond imagining?
“Jane?”
“You are certain in your mind that your husband died of natural causes?”
“Why should I not be?”
“Why, indeed?”
Chapter 5
Lest Old Acquaintance Be Forgot
15 December 1802
MY DEAREST CASSANDRA—
You asked that I write you once Lord Scargrave was in the ground, and tell you of the particulars.
The day dawned stormy and soon commenced to snow quite hard, so that we were bundled into closed chariots for the journey to the Reverend Samuels's service in the little church of Scargrave Close. The Reverend is an elderly man, of pinched and nearsighted appearance; he looks to be consumptive and not a little wandering in his wits, as he more than once addressed the deceased by his father's name, and on one occasion by his brother's, both of whom have preceded the Earl from this life. The poor health of the celebrant and his vague demeanour explain why his society is not sought at Scargrave; they bode well for the rapidity with which George Hearst may succeed to the living, if matters are disposed in the Earl's will as Mr. Hearst has reason to hope.