Anne Barbour (18 page)

“As I sat in the carriage, idly glancing into the street, the side door opened, and Clea stepped out. She was followed by R-Richard!”

Tally went rigid. No! Richard could not have behaved so basely. He had given his word! She laid her hand on Cat’s.

“Oh, my dear. It—it must have been the merest chance. I mean, in the middle of the day, and all.”

“Precisely,” said Cat in a dull voice. “Why would anyone visit a gambling house in the middle of the day? Madame does not start her festivities until very late in the evening. Besides, I have not told you all. Richard kissed her hand in the most intimate manner before turning away, and when he walked off, he was whistling! Tally, Richard and Clea are having an affair!”

Chapter Fifteen

“No!” Tally replied in horror-stricken tones. “Oh no, Cat! Richard loves you! He would never…”

Cat rose to pace the floor, her face a mask of pain.

“That’s what I thought. I believed his explanation of what happened at the Talgarth ball, and thought I had nothing to fear. Even when I caught a glimpse of the two of them at the opera last week, and he was laughing down into her face, I told myself I was reading something into his behavior that was not there. But today...  Oh, Tally, if you could have seen them!”

Tally lifted her hand to her friend, but Cat, with a strangled sob, brushed past her and ran from the room. After a few moments, Tally, her head bowed, made her way to her own chambers.

An hour or so later, she descended the stairs for dinner, but found the small salon empty. Bates informed her austerely, that neither Madame nor the Master would be dining that evening.

There followed what was the longest evening Tally had ever spent. She had hastened upstairs to tap at Cat’s door, only to be told in a remote but firm voice through the polished wood paneling that Cat wished to be alone. Tally did not seek out Richard, which was just as well, because she later discovered that he had strode from the house with the information that he planned to spend the night at his club, and had been seen no more.

In the days that followed, Tally watched in despair as the atmosphere in the Thurston home changed from one of warmth and gaiety and love to one of chill bleakness. Richard returned home eventually, but he and Cat behaved to one another like strangers who occasionally met in the corridors of a hotel, with a murmured greeting and lowered eyes.

Tally bled for her friends, but found her thoughts drifting to her own heartache. She had not heard from Jonathan since he had retired to his home in Warwickshire, beyond a short note informing her in businesslike terms that he had completed the last chapters of
Town Bronze
. He would, he said, send them by post, hoping that she would be able to complete the final drawings by the deadline issued by Mapes, and he was hers most sincerely etc., etc.

Tally stared dismally at the little piece of paper. Apparently, their entire friendship was to fall victim to a single kiss. Had her reaction been so obvious? Did he realize, she wondered in horror, that she was in love with him and feared that she would hang on his sleeve? That she would sit at home, wearing the willow and pining away to a thread for the sound of his voice?

She jumped to her feet in sudden anger. Well, he would find that he was very much mistaken in his assumption. She strode purposefully to Cat’s room where she found her friend, as usual, sitting by the window with her chin in her hand. Grasping her by the wrist, she pulled her abruptly in her feet.

“Cat Thurston, we have had enough of sighs and megrims in this house,”

Cat simply blinked at her in stunned confusion.

“How long are you going to sit in your darkened room like Patience on a monument? I know you are, er, upset with Richard—perhaps with good reason, perhaps not....”

“Perhaps not?”  squeaked Cat. “Tally, I told you…”

“I know what you told me, and I know what Richard told me, and I know what you told each other, and I am frankly weary of the whole thing, as I should think you would be, too. Are you simply going to cease existing? I’d think you’d have more pride. You are one of Society’s leaders, and here you sit, like…”

“Yes, I know, like Patience on a monument. Tally, it’s all very well for you to talk. You’ve never been in love, but—” She stopped short to stare, as Tally paled noticeably and dropped her eyes to her lap, where she began twisting her ring.

“Tally?”

Tally merely shook her head and furiously dashed away the tears that had sprung with appalling readiness to her eyes.

“Oh, my dear,” said Cat gently. “I had no idea. Who is it? Why have you not said anything?” She stopped abruptly and eyed her friend in sudden perception. “It isn’t—oh, it can’t be—Jonathan?”

Still wordless, Tally continued to twist her ring in agitation.

Cat sighed. “What an awful thing to have happened,” she continued sympathetically. “But I suppose it might have been foreseen, with the two of you living in each other’s pockets for the past weeks. I am sorry, my dear. Life plays cruel jokes—on those who least deserve them, it seems.”

There was a moment’s silence, broken at last by Cat, who managed a rusty little laugh. “I believe you came in here to persuade me to rise up off my backside and get on with my life. Apparently you could do with the same good advice.”

Tally shook herself and gave her friend a watery smile. “You’re right, as always,” she replied briskly. “What do you say to a few morning calls, plus a side trip to Bond Street. I understand Cecile’s is displaying a new line of bonnets.”

Afterward, Tally decided ruefully that it would have been better to lengthen the shopping trip and shorten the time allotted for visits, for at the third home on their itinerary, Chesterfield House, one of the guests gracing the drawing room was none other than Lady Belle.

Tally, entering behind Cat, stopped short at the threshold, but it was too late to draw back. She seated herself as far away from Clea as she could, but in a matter of minutes, the countess had risen to make her leisurely way across the room.

“How nice to see you again, Lady Talitha,” she breathed. “You have not been out and about lately, I believe.”

“No,” replied Tally discouragingly, but Clea was not to be deterred.

“Have you been out of town?”

Tally merely shook her head and made as though to turn away to converse with the person seated on her other side. Clea would have none of it and laid a restraining hand on hers.

“I was just saying to Jonathan this morning, that I wondered where our sweet Lady Talitha had got to. Yes,” she twinkled in response to Tally’s swiftly raised glance. “He returned late last night and visited me very early this morning. He said he could not do without his morning kiss from me for one more day.”

Her laughter tinkled obtrusively in the quiet buzz of conversation surrounding them, and Tally felt herself turn hot and then cold. She cast an agonized glance at Cat, who in another moment rose to take her leave, apologizing prettily for the shortness of their visit and murmuring something about an appointment with her interior designer. The two women made their exit, leaving Clea to gaze after them in triumph.

Her pleased expression lasted only as long as it took for them to make their departure. If only, the countess thought bitterly, Jonathan had really said those words to her. In actuality, his visit had lasted no more than five minutes. He had been distant, not to say curt, and had disclosed the purpose of his visit as a request for Clea to produce the bracelet he had given her so that his man of affairs could see that it was properly insured.

Clea had informed him regretfully that the bracelet was not at the moment in her possession, since she had taken it to the jeweler’s just yesterday to have its faulty catch repaired. Oh, how sweet of him to volunteer to collect it for her, but she really couldn’t remember to which jeweler’s it had been brought. Her maid, you see, had taken care of it, and she was out of the house at the moment.

When she had seen Jonathan from her home, Clea had sunk into the little brocade sofa by the fire, cold and shaking. Even now, thinking back on the incident, she felt perspiration dampen the palms of her hands. Oh, God, what was she to do?

On leaving the home of his betrothed, Jonathan had leapt into his curricle with a light step. For the first time since he had left London so precipitously, he perceived a ray of hope in his situation. How could he have been such a fool, he asked himself for the hundredth time in the past few days. He had been blind as a schoolboy in the throes of calf love, bewitched by a lovely face and a seductive form. If it had not been for the advent into his life of one small elf with brown eyes, he might have entered into a life-long partnership with a woman whose unearthly beauty he now realized was as shallow as her soul.

Was it really Tally who had opened his eyes? Surely, he had never known such enjoyment in the company of a woman, or could have believed that simple conversation with one who shared one’s interests and aspirations could be so satisfying. But, what was there about Tally that had caused him to take her unknowingly into his heart?

He laughed softly, picturing glossy chestnut curls, rumpled by ink-stained fingers or skewered with well-gnawed pencils. He thought of a turned-up nose and a soft mouth curved in a wide, genuine smile. Tally was without artifice. She may have learned the age-old feminine craft of flirtation, but her beguilements were open and joyous, and were never used with an eye to what she could get out of a man. Tally was, he concluded, unique to his experience, and he was eternally grateful to have acquired her for a friend.

He frowned. Who was he trying to cozen? That kiss in the carriage had not been one of simple friendship. Not on his part, certainly. It had taken every ounce of self-discipline he possessed to release her from his arms that night. The urge to press her soft curves against him, to continue drinking in the dizzying sweetness of her lips had been almost overpowering. What must she think of him, he wondered. He had behaved like the veriest schoolboy, dropping her off in the street in the middle of the night without a word, and then scuttling out of town as though the bailiffs were after him, with no message to her beyond that priggish little business note.

Was he in love with Tally? He was a little uncertain of the meaning of the word, after his experience with Clea. Certainly, he felt no inclination to mold his character and redirect his life to fit Tally’s expectations, as he had with Clea. There was no need for that; he had shared every secret of his heart with Tally, and she had empathized with his aspirations. With her he had felt no shame in indulging his talent; rather she encouraged pride in his accomplishments. All he knew, really, was that Tally had become a part of him, and he could no more envision continuing his life without her than he could imagine doing without fresh air to breathe.

Such was his distraction that it became necessary for his tiger to point out to the most notable whip in London that his reins were slackening perilously.

Tally peered anxiously at Cat. During the course of their excursions, her friend’s spirits seemed to have lifted somewhat, but upon their return home, it was as if she had removed a rigidly cheerful mask. The bright smile fell from her lips, and she seemed to wilt visibly. In an effort to dissuade her from retiring to her room for another afternoon of gloomy reflection, Tally drew her into the small salon for some light conversation.

“Did you hear Lady Fox this morning? She was rattling on about
Town Bronze
at a great rate, and her conversation was not about its author, but about the illustrations! I cannot tell you how set up I am in my own estimation.”

Cat smiled wanly. “I’ve heard more than one comment on ‘those wicked sketches,’ Tally.” She became more animated. “I think everyone has become just as interested in them as they are in Jonathan’s work. Have you nearly finished with them?”

“Almost. I’m expecting the last batch of chapters to arrive by post any time.”

“Jonathan will not bring them himself?” asked Cat idly, but with a sharp glance at her friend.

Tally began a minute study of her fingernails.

“N-no. I-I don’t know whether Jonathan will be coming here much from now on — particularly since work is nearly finished on
Town Bronze
.”

“No other collaborations with him in the future?”

“Good Heavens, no! I really think it would be best, all in all, if the Viscount Chelmsford and I part company.”

Cat sighed. “What a pair we are! Moping like a couple of weeping willows. Oh, Tally…” She put up a hand to brush away the tears that threatened once again. “I never thought I would be put in the position of betrayed wife!”

Tally rose to sit beside her on the small confidante placed by a sunny window. “Cat,” she began diffidently. “Do you think it is possible you might be wrong? Richard did deny any involvement with Lady Belle, and, truly it doesn’t seem like him. He asked you to trust him; can you not do so?”

“I know what I saw, Tally. You should have seen the way he was kissing her hand. I hope she counted her fingers when he was through! And, of course, he denied it. My mother told me that when she made the mistake of facing Papa with his infidelities, he swore up and down he was innocent—at first, anyway. Later, he raged at her for prying into matters that did not concern a wife. That’s when she learned the value of complacency—and compliance.” Her voice broke. “But, oh—I don’t know whether I shall ever be able to absorb that lesson. Oh, Tally, I do love him so.”

The tears had begun in earnest now, and Tally watched in dismay as Cat hurriedly left the room.

So much for her efforts to cheer Cat out of doldrums, she thought sourly. With dismal clarity she realized that she had failed to extricate herself from them as well. At least Cat had known herself loved and known herself to be worthy of that devotion. Tally had no such knowledge with which to console herself. The idea of Jonathan’s forsaking the fascinating Lady Belle for the uninspiring Lady Talitha was ludicrous—or at least it would be, if it weren’t so painful.