Regency Collection 2013 Part 1. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘If it makes you feel better, Jem, think of it as charity work, just as my brother always wanted me to do. Or perhaps as economic investment in a small business.’
Jem stared sceptically at the boxes. ‘I’m thinking, at least ladies’ dresses are lighter than books.’
‘Well, then. You have nothing to complain about.’
She had chosen to wear one of her new dresses home, a simple thing in pale pink muslin, with a rose-coloured spencer. The matching bonnet was a work of extreme foolishness, with a shirred back and a cascade of ribbons, but it seemed to suit the dress and she did not mind it overmuch. When she walked up the steps to the townhouse, it was a moment before the man at the door recognised her, and smiled before bowing deep.
Very well. The transformation must be startling. Adam would be pleased. She was certain of it. And he would admire the way she had managed the ball with a minimum of effort.
And then she remembered it did not matter at all to her what Adam thought. The whole of this production was an attempt to fool society into believing in their sham marriage, and put up a united front for his spurned lover, Clarissa.
If she was truly spurned. It was quite possible that Penny had wandered on to the scene in the middle of a contretemps and things would be returning to their despicable normal state at any time. If she allowed herself to care too much about her husband’s good opinion, she would feel the pain of his indifference when he was through with her.
She hardened her heart, and walked down the hall to her husband’s study, pushing open the door without knocking.
He was not alone. Lord Timothy was there as well. They had been deep in discussion over something, but it came to a halt, as she entered. ‘I have returned. As Madame Giselle would say, “C’est fini”.’ The men stared at her as she pulled the bonnet from her head and dropped it on to her husband’s desk. She reached into her reticule and removed the papers. ‘Here is the list of guests for your ball. Add any names I have missed to the bottom of the list. Dinner will be buffet, but there will be no oysters, because it is too late in the season. You have but to choose a date. You know your social schedule better than I. For my part, I mean to be studying every night, for the foreseeable future. Which means any night you choose for this ball is equally inconvenient.
‘Once you have decided, send the cursed guest list to the printer yourself. If you do not know where I wish you to take it, I will tell you, in no uncertain terms.’ She looked down her nose at her husband, in what she hoped was a creditable imitation of a ton lady. ‘Is that satisfactory, your Grace?’
Her husband stared at her in shocked silence. Lord Timothy grinned at her in frank admiration and supplied, ‘Oh, yes. I should think so.’
‘Very well, then. I shall retire, in my mildly pink dress, to my incredibly pink sitting room, put my feet on a cushion and read Gothic novels. I do not wish to be disturbed.’ She turned to cross the hall, only to have Tim bound ahead of her to open the door.
Before it shut behind her, she heard a noise from the study that sounded suspiciously like a growl.
Chapter Twelve
Adam stared through the open door of his study at the closed door across the hall. The silence emanating from the room was like a wall, laid across the threshold to bar his entrance. She spoke to him no more than was necessary, ate in her rooms and politely refused all visitors. She had succeeded in achieving the marital state that they had agreed on, allowing herself total solitude, and deeding complete freedom to him. He could do as he wanted in all things. His life was largely unchanged from the one he had before the marriage, with the exception of a near-unlimited supply of funds.
Why did he find it so vexing?
Perhaps because he had grown tired of that life, and had been quite ready to end it by any means available. Sick to death of playing, by turns, the wit, the lover or the buffoon for a series of false friends. Bone weary of dodging the insistent affections of Clarissa, who refused to believe that he looked back on their affair with regret and self-disgust.
And Tim, still at his side as a true friend and adviser. He chose to play the absentminded academic, more interested in his books and his conservatory than in the people around him. He pretended no knowledge of what had occurred between Adam and his wife, until such moments as he let slip an idle comment or odd turn of phrase to prove he knew exactly what had occurred, and was disappointed, but not particularly surprised.
Adam had hoped that the introduction of Penelope to his life might lead to a lasting change. She had qualities most unlike the other women of his set: sweetness, sincerity and a mind inquisitive for things deeper than the latest fashion. And she had seemed, for a time, to hold him in respect. He must present a much different picture in The Times than he did in reality. For though she claimed to respect Bellston, the politician, it had taken her a week to become as disgusted with Bellston, the man, as he was himself.
A servant entered, offering him a calling card on a silver tray.
Hector Winthorpe.
It was some consolation to see that the card was impeccably done, for Adam had sent the invitations for the ball to the Winthorpe shop. And he had grudgingly added Hector’s name to the bottom of the guest list, as a good faith gesture. The man would not fit, but what could be done? Hector was family and they must both get used to it. But what the devil was he doing, coming to the house now?
Adam gave his permission to the servant and in a moment, Hector entered the room without making a bow, then stood too close to the desk, making every effort to tower over him.
Adam responded with his most frosty expression and said, ‘If you are searching for your sister, she is across the hall. But it is pointless to try, for she refuses visitors when she is at work.’
‘You have had no better luck with her than I did, I see, if she is shut up alone in a library. But I did not come for her. I wish to speak to you.’
‘State your business, then.’
‘It is about this, your Grace.’ There was no respect or subservience in the title, as the man slapped the invitation to the ball on the desk in front of him.
‘A written response of regrets would have been sufficient.’
‘Regrets? It is you, sir, who should have regrets.’
Adam stared back, angry, but curious. ‘And what precisely should I regret, Hector? Marrying your sister? For I find I have surprisingly few regrets where she is concerned.’
Hector sniffed in disapproval. ‘Because she has given you your way in all things, I suppose. And because you care naught for her happiness, you have no guilt of the fact. If you felt anything at all for her, you would know better than this.’
Adam stared down at the invitation, truly baffled now. ‘I fail to see what is so unusual about a small gathering to celebrate our nuptials.’
‘Small?’ Hector shook his head. ‘For you, perhaps. But for my sister, any gathering over two is a substantial crowd.’
‘That is ridiculous. I have noticed no problems.’ Which was a lie, but he could not give the man the upper hand so easily.
Hector let out a disgusted snort. ‘If you noticed no problems with my sister, it is because she is a proud woman, and does not wish to admit to them. Did you not think it strange that she wanted nothing more from you than a chance to lock herself in her study and read?’
‘Not overly,’ he lied again, thinking of his first suspicions of her.
‘Or that an argument over something so simple as a book would drive her to such extreme action as marrying a total stranger?’
There was nothing he could say that would cover the situation, and he certainly could not tell the whole truth, which reflected badly on the man’s sister as well as himself. ‘It has not proved a problem thus far.’