The Ruby Pendant Read online

  He was simply playing with her, proving, if any proof were needed, that her recent behaviour obviously led him and everyone else to believe she would not demur at any liberties they might take. Any young lady who could creep out of the house at dead of night and gallop about like some highwayman, deserved all she got. No wonder her mama had been so shocked. 'Please take me back inside.'

  `Of course. I am profoundly sorry I distressed you.' He encircled her waist once more and waltzed her back into the ballroom, as if they had done nothing but take a turn about the terrace.

  As the music came to an end, they both became aware that they were the subject of speculation. The mothers and chaperons ranged around the room had left off their gossiping and were peering through quizzing glasses at them. Their host's daughter, the tabbies knew, but the man they did not recognise. He was very tall and danced superbly, but who was he? And by the look of him, he was putting James Martindale quite in the shade. Juliette Martindale was nothing but a little flirt and the sooner her mama and papa took her in hand and married her off, the better.

  `I think it would be expedient to disappear,' he whispered to her. 'I am afraid I have to go away for a while, but do not let yourself be forced into this marriage, if that is not what you want. Wait. Play for time. I will be back.'

  But she knew they would not let her wait, not James, nor Mama, nor even her papa who could not, or would not, stand up to his wife. 'I am not being forced,' she said, unable to explain how confused she was. She only knew that for five heaven-sent minutes she had been happy, five minutes of a lifetime. How little that was to hold on to for the rest of her life. 'It is my wish.'

  `Then I bid you adieu, ma petite.' He left her side and all eyes, complete with quizzing glasses, turned to watch him go. Then they swivelled back to where she stood a little to one side of the dancing area, alone and apparently not quite composed. There was a collective sigh that was audible all round the room.

  James was striding towards her, determination etched on his face. She moved towards him, her face stiff with trying to smile when all she wanted to do was weep.

  Philip returned to his apartment to discard his robes and change into rough blue breeches and a coat of drab cloth that had certainly seen better days, a low-crowned hat and scuffed French army boots. Then he hurried down the steps and mounted his horse, walking it slowly down the length of Piccadilly before turning north into Park Lane, which would take him past the end of Mount Street.

  It was almost dawn and the ball must have long-since ended, the guests departed. What had happened after he left? Had she succumbed to persuasion? Sitting upright in his saddle, he relived the few short minutes they had danced together. He dreamed of having her in his arms again, kissing her again, of telling her he loved her. Because he did love her; it was no use denying it. 'Wait,' he had told her. 'Play for time.' But had she understood? He doubted it.

  Without knowing why he did it, he turned into Mount Street and down a narrow lane beside Martindale House that led to the stables and garden. Here he dismounted, tethered his horse and walked forward. He was creeping about like a thief in the night and to what purpose? Miss Martindale would be curled up in her bed fast asleep and even if she were not, he had no right to intrude again, even if he had been suitably dressed to go calling. All there was to say had been said and it was not in his power to change either his circumstances or hers. He glanced up at the back of the house. Everywhere was in darkness.

  And then he saw a shadow flitting between the bushes, which was there one moment and gone the next. He was not the only one slinking about. A real thief? Or someone who intended to harm Lord Martindale? His death would cause a furore in government circles and would certainly please his country's enemies. Philip crept forward silently, making for the spot where he had last seen the shadow. He was momentarily taken aback when the figure came into view. She was wearing a long black burnous that covered her almost completely, but he knew those eyes, even in the poor light of a moonlit garden, and the way she held herself, they were imprinted on his heart.

  Startled to find someone else in the garden, she turned to face him, but recovered quickly when she recognised him. 'Mr Devonshire, what are you doing here?'

  `I was riding by and I thought I detected an intruder,' he said. 'I did not know it was you. I am sorry if I startled you.'

  `I needed a breath of fresh air.' She was doing her best to keep her voice light, but she was only too aware that she was trembling uncontrollably. 'I did not expect to find anyone else taking a moonlight stroll in our garden.' It was then she noticed his strange garb. 'Mr Devonshire, why are you dressed like that? The masked ball finished hours ago.'

  `I am simply playing the part that Society has cast for me, a mountebank, a social outcast.'

  `You are bamming me.'

  `Not at all.'

  `Then is it to do with your work for Papa or James?'

  `James,' he asked in surprise. 'Why James?'

  `I don't know. Except that you seem to be enemies and he has some curious acquaintances, one of them dressed very much as you are now.'

  `How do you know that?' He tried not to sound too curious, but he had to know.

  `I saw them together in Richmond Park when I was walking alone the day of the picnic. I wondered why the man was wearing a greatcoat on a warm summer's day. And money changed hands, I am sure of it.'

  `Perhaps it was a beggar who accosted him;' he said, levelly. 'There are so many about these days.' He paused. `But why are you not in your bed? You were not planning to ride away into the night again?'

  She smiled a little wanly. 'No, I could not sleep.'

  `Too much excitement, I'll wager.'

  `Perhaps.'

  He peered into her face. There were tears glinting on her lashes. 'Has the announcement been made? Are you officially betrothed?'

  `Yes.'

  Inwardly he cursed. 'What has become of the young lady who told me she would only marry for love?'

  `I am persuaded that it will come. Mama told me she hardly knew Papa when she married him, but theirs has been a very happy union.'

  `Do you believe you will come to love your cousin?'

  `Oh, don't you see?' she cried. 'I have to believe it or...' Her words trailed away and she choked on a sob.

  He reached out and took her into his arms, realising as he did so that she was wearing nothing but a nightshift under the all-concealing cloak and her feet were clad in the Greek sandals of her earlier costume. He did not speak, for what could he say? He simply held her close until she quieted.

  'I am sorry,' she said at last. 'You were right. I have had too much excitement. I had done better to take a little Godfrey's Cordial to make me sleep than a walk in the night air.'

  `Perhaps. But I am glad you did.' He put his finger under her chin and tipped it up so that he could look down into her eyes. The hood fell from her hair, which cascaded free like a shining silver river. For a long time neither spoke. Words seemed superfluous. If she had been anyone but Viscount Martindale's daughter, he would have carried her off there and then and been damned to the consequences. But he could not and because he could not, it would have been thoroughly reprehensible of him to tell her how he felt about her. That must remain locked in his heart. He could give her no comfort and had no right to expect comfort from her.

  'If there is ever anything I can do for you, it will be my privilege to do it,' he whispered. 'You have only to ask.' Then, very gently, he lowered his lips to hers in a featherlight kiss and seconds later he had gone, melted away into the shrubbery, leaving her to make her way slowly back to her bed, so bemused she hardly knew what to think.

  Chapter Five

  'You mean you took a walk in the middle of the night dressed in nothing but a nightgown and a cloak? Miss Juliette, whatever possessed you to do it?' It was almost midday and Anne, coming to help her mistress dress had found her curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed with the covers heaped up round her. Her face was flushed
and her body hot as fire.

  `Now, you've caught cold. Whatever will your mama say? There will be dozens of people calling this morning to offer congratulations, not to mention Mr Martindale, who will expect you to be radiant. And there will be arrangements to make.'

  `What arrangements?' Juliette, eyes watering and nose blocked, peered over the edge of the sheet as if she really did not understand.

  `For the wedding, miss. You can hardly have forgotten that.'

  `Oh. Yes, but we have not set a date. It won't be for ages yet.'

  `Anyone would think you did not want to marry Mr Martindale. You are not behaving like a happy bride-to-be at all.'

  `Aren't I?' Juliette said dully.

  `No. You should be laughing and full of energy and busy making plans.'

  `I don't feel well enough.'

  `And whose fault is that? Of all the cork-brained things to do, that was the most foolish.'

  `But the night was so warm.'

  `So it might have been, but you had been dancing in an overheated ballroom and drinking more wine than you are used to. To go out half-naked...'

  `I was not half-naked,' she protested feebly, wondering if Mr Devonshire had been aware of how little she had been wearing. Whatever had he thought of her? She had all but thrown herself into his arms. But oh, how comforting it was there!

  He had appeared like a wraith, almost as if he had been waiting for her. But he could not have been, could he? He could not have known she would suddenly decide she needed to get out of the house, away from its cloying atmosphere, where the smell of stale perfume, wine and faded flowers did battle with that of snuffed candles, oil lamps and honest-to-goodness sweat. But he had been there, like a guardian angel, large and warm and tender. That was what she had needed most, tenderness, to feel that she mattered as a person in her own right, not someone to be married off for expediency's sake.

  She closed her eyes a moment, reliving his kisses. The first, out on the terrace, while they had been dancing, had been powerful and urgent and aroused in her a flood of warmth that seemed to have as its source, that most private of places between her thighs. It had made her cling to him in a kind of desperation which, she told herself, was purely physical. It both repelled and attracted her, a contradiction she could not understand. The second kiss, out in the moonlit garden, had been very different, gentle, undemanding, as if he really cared what became of her. But he could not have done or he would have offered for her himself. And now the decision was made and her fate was sealed. Looking radiant was the last thing on her mind.

  `I really do not know where you get your hoydenish ways, Miss Juliette.' Anne's voice broke her reverie. 'It is certainly not from your mama. Now, I had better make you a restorative and go and tell her ladyship.'

  `You won't tell her I went out, will you? I don't think I could bear her ringing a peal over me. It is bad enough having you scolding me. I want to go back to sleep.'

  `No, I shall not tell her. I shall say I think you took a chill when you went riding on the heath in the middle of the night. It will have to serve, though that was two days ago and on that occasion you did have the sense to dress properly. Now, you stay there. I shall be back directly.' She went off still grumbling, but Juliette knew she would say nothing to her mother of how the cold had been caught.

  `You are to stay in bed today,' she said, returning ten minutes later, carrying a glass full of steaming liquid. `Her ladyship will be up to see you soon. She is entertaining Mr Martindale.'

  `Oh.' The voice was muffled by a pillow.

  `He sends his regards to you and hopes you will soon recover.'

  `I don't think I shall.' But she was not referring to her illness.

  `Now, don't be silly, miss. It is nothing but a catch-cold. You are a little feverish to be sure, but it is not serious. Now drink this, it will make you feel better.' Anne helped her to sit up and drink the bitter liquid.

  She pulled a face at the taste. 'I do not want to be better if it means I have to start thinking about my wedding.'

  Anne sat down on the edge of the bed and looked searchingly into Juliette's face. It was clear that it was not only the cold which had made her eyes red and swollen, but a paroxysm of weeping. 'Child, whatever is the matter? Surely you want to marry Mr Martindale?'

  'No, I do not. Oh, Anne, I am so m...miserable.' And she flung herself into the maid's arms and sobbed.

  `Hush, my dear, hush.' Anne held the girl in her plump arms, stroking her hair and murmuring to her. When Juliette had become calmer and only the occasional sniff betrayed her distress, Anne went on. 'Why did you agree to marry him? You could have refused. Your papa would have understood.'

  'Papa would, but not Mama. She says it is my duty to marry Mr Martindale. He is the heir and she says Hartlea and its fortune should be kept together. It will mean that Mama can live with us at Hartlea after...'

  If Anne had been a cursing woman, she would have had some choice words to say about Lady Martindale, but she remained silent on the subject. It was not for her to criticise her employer. 'But you would like to be mistress of Hartlea one day, would you not?'

  'Yes, but... Oh, Anne I do not love him. He... he frightens me a little.'

  'Frightens you! Now you are being fanciful. Why, he is nothing but an overgrown schoolboy. You will have him eating out of your hand in no time at all, you will see.'

  'Do you think so? Do you really think so?'

  'Of course. But it won't hurt him to wait a little. I shall tell him, and your mama too, that you are not at all well and it would be much better if you were to return to Hartlea to recuperate.'

  'Can you do that? Oh, Anne, if only I could go home.' She had brightened a little but then became sombre again. 'Mama will not be deceived. She will send for a physician.'

  In the event it was easier than they had expected. The physician, prompted by a private word from Anne, declared that country air might be more beneficial to the patient, and before her mother could argue, Lord Martindale announced that he had business to look after in Peterborough.

  `The Season is all but over,' he said. 'Juliette is betrothed, which was the whole reason for coming, so we may as well all go home to Hartlea.'

  Juliette's happiness was marred only by the fact that Mr Devonshire had disappeared again and her mama had invited James to come and stay for a few weeks. He was due to arrive two weeks after they returned. She began to look on it as her last two weeks of freedom.

  They arrived back in Hartlea to find the harvest in full swing. Men were out with scythes cutting the corn under a cloudless sky, their movements fluid and rhythmic. The women were there too, their heads protected by floppy cotton bonnets, gathering up the golden sheaves, tying them and standing them upright in stooks. Barefoot children ran around chasing the rabbits who ran before the glinting blades. Laden carts made their way slowly along the narrow lanes to the barns where the corn would be threshed during the winter months, catching their overhanging loads on the hedges as they passed, so that wisps of the cereal clung to them, like tiny fluttering banners.

  Juliette began to feel better immediately and a week later was pestering her mama to allow her to go out. She wanted to ride, to clear her lungs with a good gallop. Permission being given, she put breeches on under her riding skirt and hurried to the stables. Diablo seemed pleased to see her. He snickered and rubbed his head against her shoulder while one of the stablelads saddled him. That done, the boy held out his hand for Juliette's boot-clad foot and threw her up. She settled herself astride in the saddle and set off across the home park.

  As soon as they reached the open meadow, Juliette put the horse to the gallop and away they went, thundering over the turf. It was gloriously exhilarating, especially as her papa did not insist on her being accompanied while she was on home ground; there was no Thomas plodding behind and she could please herself where she went.

  She rode all round the estate, stopping now and again to watch the harvest workers and exchange pleasantrie
s. She had known most of them all her life and they rewarded her with a cheerful smile and a wave. Later, when all was gathered in, she would attend the early part of the harvest supper in the barn of the home farm to celebrate the successful bringing in of the harvest. It was a tradition in his lordship's family. Viscount Martindale was a good landlord and employer and popular among his people. Juliette sincerely hoped that James would continue in the same way when his turn came. She could not bear it if he spoiled it all.

  Thinking of James made her feel miserable again, but the day was too splendid to allow thoughts of the wedding to ruin it. And besides, she told herself firmly, being married to James might not be so bad. Many young ladies had far worse to contend with. Some were married off by their parents to old men simply for a title or a fortune, while some found themselves mistresses of crumbling old mansions with everything threadbare. Others became step-mamas to motherless children and even more were expected to be nothing more than breeding machines. If you were a woman, you did as you were told and that was that. If she could stay at Hartlea, then she could learn to live harmoniously with James. In spite of his insensitivity and his unbounded conceit, he was not an ogre.

  She pulled up on the far side of the estate where a group of prisoners of war was helping with the harvest. The number of prisoners had risen since Wellington had completely routed the French at Vittoria in June, and forced Napoleon's brother, Joseph, to flee from Spain into France. She watched them, remembering Pierre. What had happened to him? Surely he had not been punished for painting that portrait? She had intended to find out why her mother had reacted so violently to it, but she had been too preoccupied to do anything about it. Now she was back, perhaps she could. The first thing to do would be to find Lieutenant Veillard.

  She rode forward, pausing at the edge of the field. One of the prisoners, who had been gathering up the stooks ready to load onto a cart, looked up when her shadow fell across him.

  `Good day,' she called.

  `Bonjour, mam'selle.'