The Wildest Rake: a stunning, scandalous Restoration romance Page 11

  She staggered and clutched at the chair, then faced him with the courage of anger. ‘Yes, he is admirable. He himself told me that we must never meet again. He even told me it was my duty to love my husband.’

  Rendel got up, towering over her in a bitter rage. ‘Do you think I want such dutiful affection? God, sometimes you make me sick to my stomach. Your frozen, sanctimonious little mind does not know the meaning of the word love.’

  ‘And what do you mean by it, sir?’ she demanded bitterly. ‘The hurried fondling of some vulgar woman of the streets? Love that can be bought in the open market?’

  His brows snapped blackly together. ‘Oh, as I bought you, Madame, as I bought you.’

  She stared, breathless with angry shame, then turned and walked to the door.

  The footmen, clearing the empty dining-room, turned to stare after her as she went. The guests had all, it seemed, been sent packing.

  She went up to her chamber and curtly told Nan to leave her. Nan, with one shrewd look, obeyed. Cornelia began to undress, dropping her clothes upon the floor.

  She was standing in her shift, brushing her hair, when Rendel came into the chamber.

  She threw him a furious look over her naked shoulder. ‘Get out of my room. ‘

  He slammed the door shut behind him and walked towards her, his eyes running over her insolently.

  ‘Why, no, Madame, I think not. You are my property. We are agreed upon that, are we not?’

  She struck at him with the heavy silver hairbrush and then shrank back, seeing him reel, clutching at his forehead where the blow had fallen. He took his hand away, staring at it. Blood smeared his fingertips. She looked in horror at the dark red mark which slowly began to swell outwards.

  His mouth twisted in an ugly smile. ‘Once again, Madame, you have marked me. ‘

  She was overcome with remorse, watching the bruise spread and darken. ‘You should not have insulted me,’ she said defensively, her voice timid.

  He brushed her words aside with an angry shrug. ‘Well, since you find me so repulsive, I will not force myself upon you. I can find plenty of women to pleasure me, my Lady. Do not think I shall sleep alone tonight.’

  He bowed briefly and walked out. She heard him shouting to a servant to bring him more wine, heard his feet bang down the stairs, doors slamming and raised voices.

  Was he sending for one of those crude, loud-voiced women? She bit her lip. Why should she care? She did not love him. Let him take some other woman —it would leave her free, wouldn’t it?

  But then she groaned. She might hate him, despise him, long to be free of him, but beneath this angry rejection of her mind her traitor body ached to be held in his arms, close to him.

  She shivered, standing in her shift, and turned to the bed. Climbing up on it, she drew the curtains and crouched, her arms crossed over her breast, listening to the distant sounds from below stairs.

  What was he doing? She should have seen that raw beef was put against his bruise to draw out the poison.

  The sounds below stopped eventually. All was quiet. She slid into bed and lay, eyes wide, frozen into immobility.

  At some time during the night she fell into a restless sleep. Then she woke suddenly, her brow wrinkling. Something was wrong. She opened her eyes, and remembered what had happened earlier. But it was not that that had dragged her out of her sleep. It was a strange smell. She sniffed deeply, then sat up.

  Was it smoke she could smell?

  Drawing back the curtain, she looked round the room. It lay dark and quiet. The candle had burnt down to a stump and flickered out. The shadows of the corners lay dark and impenetrable.

  Nothing stirred.

  She slid out of bed and walked to the door. In the passage she sniffed again. The smell of smoke was stronger now. She ran, heart pounding, to Rendel’s chamber and flung open the door.

  His room was large. Curtains hung at the windows, but they were not drawn across, and pale moonlight filtered across the floor.

  What she took to be moonlight wreathing around the great four-posted bed was pale coils of smoke, curving up towards the ceiling, and as she flung open the door the draught of air, rushing in, added impetus to the fire, sending up a thin tongue of flame from the bed curtains.

  Rendel lay across the bed, fully dressed, a glass in his hand. She ran to him, screaming his name. The bed curtains were now burning so fiercely that the heat struck her face as she bent over him, pulling at his waist, calling him to wake up.

  He stirred as she dragged him off the bed. For a brief moment, there was total bewilderment in the grey eyes, a fuddled confusion which cleared into a dark anger.

  ‘The curtains are on fire,’ she cried, trying to help him to stand, her arm around his waist. He was very heavy, his limbs relaxed, and she could not support his full weight.

  He blinked then and looked round. ‘Damn,’ he murmured thickly, his glance taking in the burning bed. ‘I must have forgotten to snuff the candle.’

  ‘Oh, be swift, be swift,’ she moaned, pulling at him. The flames had reached the bedclothes, which began to burn and smoulder. Smoke was now pouring up into the air, making her cough. .

  They somehow staggered to the door. A maid, in a torn shift, appeared, pop-eyed, and wrung her hands as she saw the grey smoke curling out of the door after them.

  Rendel laughed drunkenly.

  Cornelia shouted to the girl to bring water, then, abandoning her husband, she ran back into the chamber and flung the contents of the ewer upon the bed, where it sizzled but made no appreciable difference to the flames.

  She reached up and wrenched at the canopy, hoping to tear down the curtains before the whole room was set alight, but a wisp of burning brocade floated down and set light to her own shift, so that she had to pause to beat out the flame, wincing and crying at the pain in her hands.

  Servants ran into the room with buckets of water. Nan, grumbling furiously, sprang to her side and led her out of the room, scolding her for having tried to fight the fire herself.

  Rendel was leaning against the wall outside, very white and shadowy around the eyes.

  Nan glared at him.

  ‘In her condition she should not have to bear such shocks,’ she accused him.

  Rendel frowned. ‘In what condition?’

  Nan looked at her mistress, her mouth compressed in irritable shrewdness. ‘Haven’t you told him? You fool. Why, sir, she is carrying your child.’

  Rendel straightened then, and stared at Cornelia with a tight-lipped intensity. ‘Is it true?’

  She was conscious of a peculiar mixture of emotion; weariness, regret, depression, which, combined with the pain from her burnt hands, made her want to weep.

  ‘Yes,’ she said flatly. But it had all been too much, and her head was swimming.

  She felt a strange, panic-stricken confusion, as though she was drowning, and she clutched at Nan hard before slowly crumpling to the floor.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When she came out of the web of pain which had suddenly enmeshed her, it was to hear that she had lost the baby.

  A stranger sat beside her bed, gazing at her with mild, myopic blue eyes. He was, it seemed, Rendel’s doctor, and had been called to the house after she fainted, only to discover that she was in the process of miscarrying of the child. He shook his head over her. ‘You are slightly made, my Lady,’ he murmured, almost in accusation. ‘It will never be easy for you to bear a child full term—you must take more care.’ The sunlight glinted on his bald head as he nodded vehemently.

  She began to weep, weakly, turning her head away from him, yet too weary to speak.

  The doctor clicked his tongue. ‘This will not do,’ he said.

  Nan pushed him aside, skirts flurried. ‘There, there,’ she said fiercely, wiping Cornelia’s wet cheeks. ‘The idea . . . bullying her while she is still weak . . . Men.’

  Over her shoulder she flung a resentful glance at the little doctor, who backed towards the door, smilin
g apologetically and ducking his head at her.

  Nan’s contemptuous snort sent him flying from the room.

  She lifted Cornelia’s head and made her sip a pungent liquid. She shook up the pillows, which were piled very high, and laid her back as gently as though she were a child again.

  Cornelia closed her lids with a wretched sigh.

  When next she opened her eyes, Rendel stood beside her bed. A frown made his face sombre. He was staring out of the window, his hand resting on the quilt near hers. Cornelia weakly moved her own hand to touch his fingers. He started, looking down at her, then a smile came into the grey eyes which had, until then, seemed only to reflect the grey dawn light from the sky. His hand enfolded hers gently, squeezing her fingers.

  ‘How is it with you today?’

  The gentleness brought a prickle of tears, but she smiled. ‘I feel better this morning.’ A little pause, then she said huskily, ‘I am sorry about the child.’

  ‘You are sorry?’ his voice was quick and deep. ‘My dear, it is I who am sorry. My cursed folly. I was too drunk to snuff my candle. You saved my life. Had you not smelt the smoke I should have suffocated in my bed or been burnt alive.’

  She shuddered. ‘Don’t. How horrible. I have always been afraid of fire. Houses burn so easily.’

  She took a deep breath and moved to a less emotional subject. ‘Was much damage done? The chamber must be thoroughly cleaned before you use it again. The smell of smoke lingers so long. You must order the sewing maid to make new curtains for the bed.’ A little frown wrinkled her brow. ‘There is some brocade in the old walnut chest in the blue chamber. She can use that. It will match the window curtains.’

  He looked at her broodingly. ‘Why did you not tell me you expected a child? If I had known I would never have behaved so wildly.’

  She was thrown into confusion.

  At the moment, she did not feel able to face the old entanglement of emotion, and yet she did not want to hurt him. Her motives had become as twisted as the strands of plaited hair.

  She could no longer follow the thread of her thoughts.

  Stammering, she said, ‘I was not certain ... And … I was too shy ...’

  He watched her closely for a moment, then when she fell silent, smiled less tensely and lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Of course,’ he said gently. ‘I understand. You are so young. I forget that sometimes.’

  She improved in health quickly. Her former strength returned once she had passed out of the first weakness and she was permitted to get up after a week, although she had to spend the day in a chair, her feet on a little velvet-covered stool, reading and sewing beside the open window.

  Her parents came to visit her. Her mother patted her hand and told her about her own past miscarriages. ‘You have been unlucky this time, but it is common enough with the first child. You’re young. You will have other chances. Many women miscarry the first baby. Next time you will know how to take better care of yourself. The first four months are the most dangerous. Next time you must rest often, take little exercise and have no excitements.’ And she smiled reprovingly at Rendel. ‘No more fires in your chamber, son-in-law.’

  The Alderman was restless. ‘Women’s talk, women’s talk,’ he mumbled to Rendel, and was relieved when, at this hint, he was invited to take a glass of wine in the gallery.

  Rendel came into the chamber next morning, frowning, a letter in his hand.

  ‘I have been summoned to Stelling,’ he said abruptly.

  She looked up from her sewing. ‘Is something wrong there?’

  ‘My bailiff thinks I should put in an appearance. I have not been down there for some time and there is trouble with some of the tenants. I think Whittle is too hard on them. They are always pleasant enough to me. He bullies them and that puts up their backs. I think I should go, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you must go,’ she said eagerly. ‘I am looking forward to seeing the house. When do we leave?’

  He looked at her in some surprise, then shook his head in regret. ‘The journey would be too much for you, my dear. You are still very weak.’

  Her face fell. ‘Oh, but if we travelled by coach it would not be so tiring.’

  ‘Even if we loaded the coach with cushions you would have to suffer too much jolting. The roads are badly rutted and pot-holed. It is time something was done about it. But in the meantime, I must go alone. If I travel on horseback I shall be there sooner and get back the faster.’

  Her mouth drooped at the corner but she did not argue. ‘How long do you think this business will take?’

  ‘No longer than absolutely necessary, I promise,’ he said, smiling at her. ‘I shall hurry back.’ He sighed. ‘I have too much parliamentary business to be able to stay out of London for long.’

  ‘Then you leave at once?’

  ‘At once,’ he agreed. ‘There is no point in losing time.’ He stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘Rest as much as you can. Take care of yourself.’

  She watched him walk briskly from the room.

  He was wearing a black cloth suit and riding boots. His very tread had an unusually determined air. His manner was in absolute contrast to the languid cynicism he had displayed on their first meeting. She had seen him in many other moods since then. Wild and reckless when drunk, gentle since her miscarriage, coolly business-like with his Commons colleagues— there were many facets to his nature, she had learnt. She knew the many masks he held up before his face. What she could not fathom was what lay beneath them. He still held her off emotionally, disguising his real feelings. She knew no more of his heart now than she had before they were married.

  When he had ridden off to Kent, she felt flat and dull.

  Nan was her usual companion, talking, sewing, complaining about the laziness of the other servants.

  Cornelia teased her, let her run on without really listening. She had come to terms now with the household. She saw beneath their wooden masks to the decent good nature many of them felt towards her. The cook insisted on discussing the meals with her. The housekeeper praised the delicacy of Cornelia’s sewing when she mended some of the fine linen. The footmen waited on her eagerly, fetching and carrying, anticipating her slightest desire.

  Several times she had other visitors. Rendel’s sister came once, very stiff as always, yet slightly more unbending than she had ever been before. Gruffly, she expressed her sympathy over the loss of the child.

  ‘I know how much it would have meant,’ she said, not quite looking at Cornelia. ‘You must not despair. You will have other children.’

  Touched, Cornelia thanked her, and saw a flush come into the sharp features. Dorothy changed the subject in a fluster and began to complain about the rudeness of the watermen who had taken her up river the day before. ‘The creatures laughed when I pointed out that my feet were getting sodden with the wash of filthy water in the barge. They get above themselves. ‘

  Lavinia came, a more welcome visitor, and chattered with her engaging frivolity about the latest Court gossip. Germaine, it seemed, had rapidly lost the King’s favour.

  ‘She was too greedy too soon,’ Lavinia grinned. ‘Even the King is not such a fool. She was a fool to challenge Lady Castlemaine—she insulted her in public, and Barbara never forgets or forgives an insult. The King was more frightened of Barbara than of Germaine. So Germaine loses. He is a weak man.’- Lavinia shook her pretty curls regretfully. ‘He always retreats. Barbara has only to scold him, or weep, and he is undone.’

  Cornelia laughed, remembering how the King had shrunk in horror from her own tears on that dreadful evening. Then she also remembered his kindness to her, the way he had helped her to escape from the humiliation of being a witness to Rendel’s public flirtation.

  ‘Oh, I like the King,’ she said fervently.

  Lavinia looked at her in amused surprise. ‘Why, so do I, my love. But if a woman can govern him so easily, with a frown or a tear, how can he be trusted with the government of the country?’

  ‘
Think what an unhappy life he has had,’ said Cornelia compassionately. ‘He has endured much. It is no wonder that he flings himself into hours of pleasure now.’

  Lavinia’s eyes twinkled. ‘Aye, he does that with the greatest good will in the world. The Puritans have been preaching against him again, you know. They call him Charles the Lecher. The King laughed when someone told him. ‘Why,’ he said, ‘so I am, by God.’’ Her blue eyes danced. ‘His sense of humour will save him if nothing else.’

  Cornelia nodded thoughtfully. ‘His father lacked that common touch. I wonder if it was that which brought him down? If he could have laughed more, been more open with his people, he might never have lost his head. I remember how impressed my own father was when he met the King— he thought him a good fellow, easy to talk with, friendly to the lowest of his subjects.’

  ‘Even that is wrong—if one listens to the Duke of York. He thinks the King lacks dignity. He tells everyone so. The Duke is determined that if the King is too open with the Commons, his brother shall more than make up for it in stiffness and dignity. Poor King Charles. He can do nothing right.’

  ‘I think the King is right,’ declared Cornelia, laughing.

  Lavinia laughed back. ‘Why, so do most women, my dear. He is an amusing monarch. There is nothing of his levity in his brother. If you prick the Duke of York, he bleeds sawdust. ‘

  Lavinia’s visit did Cornelia good. She had not once mentioned the miscarriage, although, Cornelia knew, Rendel had told her of it, and that silent sympathy was more comforting than Dorothy’s few brusque words.

  When the other girl had gone she lay back, flushed and relaxed, smiling as she thought over their talk. Nan, coming to help her back to bed, looked pleased as she took in the change.

  ‘Well, you look a hundred times better. Sir Rendel will be delighted in the change in you.’

  It was only during that night that Cornelia suddenly realised that, if Germaine were no longer the King’s mistress, she would be free once more to encourage Rendel. She lay wide awake, staring into the stuffy darkness, restlessly turning between the sheets. What would Rendel do now? Would he resume that old relationship?