started quietly, but she didn’t let him finish.
‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered, half plea, half dismissal. ‘I’m not – I can’t – If there’s any mercy in you, just let me be.’ She turned away and, with shaking hands began cutting the puddings and spooning them into bowls. She could hear him breathing but he didn’t speak. Then he loped back to his place at the table. He was met by noisy approval for having got rid of William, and further warnings about her.
After several moments, calmer now, driven by curiosity, she risked a glance. He was talking to Paddy, and watching her. As their eyes locked briefly she tensed, steeling herself for his grin of triumph. All she saw was a slight frown. She reached for the pan of watered-down syrup, trying to shut out the insistent echo, ‘You don’t raise your hand to a lady.’
Chloe Radclyff had drunk her morning tea out of bone china so fine it was almost transparent. She had taken her morning bath in water fragrant with attar of roses. Now she sat at the toilet table in her dressing-room wearing fresh, sweet-scented linen beneath her embroidered silk wrapper. Polly’s sweeping strokes with the silver-backed brush had reduced her headache to a dull pressure at the base of her skull. She was desperately tired, yet jumpy as a cat.
She watched Polly dip her fingertips in a pot of pomade, rub it between her palms, and smooth it lightly over her hair leaving a glossy shine. A fire burned brightly in the grate, and downstairs a variety of dishes were being prepared for breakfast. For the hundredth time that morning she reminded herself of how fortunate she was, how much she had to be grateful for.
Brought up a gentlewoman, marriage had been her destiny. But after … Everyone said her father had done the honourable thing. There was no place in society for a man who couldn’t settle his gambling debts. So he had taken his leave with characteristic flamboyance and a duelling pistol to the temple. While his friends praised his sense of honour, she, with no mother to turn to for comfort and explanations, struggled to come to terms with his abandonment.
Well-meaning friends had lost no time in pointing out the precariousness of her position, for there would be no dowry to compensate for the stain on her father’s name. Their shock when Gerald married her had been profound. As her own had been the evening he proposed.
They had dined early. He had returned that day from London having been away for almost a week. She had noticed immediately his pallor and the dark circles under his eyes.
‘Gerald, are you ill?’ she had blurted, concern overriding good manners. ‘You look so tired.’ If anything happened to him, what would become of her?
‘I’m fine.’ He had patted her hand and smiled reassurance, but his eyes had glittered strangely. That evening as they dined he had seemed preoccupied. Assuming he was still suffering the after-effects of the long journey she had taken the burden of conversation on herself, talking lightly of her activities during his absence, and relaying snippets of gossip she had heard at a committee meeting. He had not bothered with brandy, but had accompanied her to the drawing-room.
Seating herself at one side of the blazing fire she had felt an odd shiver of anticipation as he sat down opposite. She had taken extra care while pouring the coffee aware that her hand was less steady than usual, yet unsure why she should be feeling so nervous.
He had crossed one leg over the other and flicked a speck of ash from his immaculately pressed trousers. ‘As you know, just before he … died … your father entrusted your welfare to me.’
Replacing the silver coffee jug on the tray she had clasped her hands in her lap.
‘It’s been two years. In that time I have become very fond of you, my dear. You possess many admirable qualities. But the one I find most appealing is your gentle nature. I have noticed of late a growing stridency among
‘Leave me alone,’ she whispered, half plea, half dismissal. ‘I’m not – I can’t – If there’s any mercy in you, just let me be.’ She turned away and, with shaking hands began cutting the puddings and spooning them into bowls. She could hear him breathing but he didn’t speak. Then he loped back to his place at the table. He was met by noisy approval for having got rid of William, and further warnings about her.
After several moments, calmer now, driven by curiosity, she risked a glance. He was talking to Paddy, and watching her. As their eyes locked briefly she tensed, steeling herself for his grin of triumph. All she saw was a slight frown. She reached for the pan of watered-down syrup, trying to shut out the insistent echo, ‘You don’t raise your hand to a lady.’
Chloe Radclyff had drunk her morning tea out of bone china so fine it was almost transparent. She had taken her morning bath in water fragrant with attar of roses. Now she sat at the toilet table in her dressing-room wearing fresh, sweet-scented linen beneath her embroidered silk wrapper. Polly’s sweeping strokes with the silver-backed brush had reduced her headache to a dull pressure at the base of her skull. She was desperately tired, yet jumpy as a cat.
She watched Polly dip her fingertips in a pot of pomade, rub it between her palms, and smooth it lightly over her hair leaving a glossy shine. A fire burned brightly in the grate, and downstairs a variety of dishes were being prepared for breakfast. For the hundredth time that morning she reminded herself of how fortunate she was, how much she had to be grateful for.
Brought up a gentlewoman, marriage had been her destiny. But after … Everyone said her father had done the honourable thing. There was no place in society for a man who couldn’t settle his gambling debts. So he had taken his leave with characteristic flamboyance and a duelling pistol to the temple. While his friends praised his sense of honour, she, with no mother to turn to for comfort and explanations, struggled to come to terms with his abandonment.
Well-meaning friends had lost no time in pointing out the precariousness of her position, for there would be no dowry to compensate for the stain on her father’s name. Their shock when Gerald married her had been profound. As her own had been the evening he proposed.
They had dined early. He had returned that day from London having been away for almost a week. She had noticed immediately his pallor and the dark circles under his eyes.
‘Gerald, are you ill?’ she had blurted, concern overriding good manners. ‘You look so tired.’ If anything happened to him, what would become of her?
‘I’m fine.’ He had patted her hand and smiled reassurance, but his eyes had glittered strangely. That evening as they dined he had seemed preoccupied. Assuming he was still suffering the after-effects of the long journey she had taken the burden of conversation on herself, talking lightly of her activities during his absence, and relaying snippets of gossip she had heard at a committee meeting. He had not bothered with brandy, but had accompanied her to the drawing-room.
Seating herself at one side of the blazing fire she had felt an odd shiver of anticipation as he sat down opposite. She had taken extra care while pouring the coffee aware that her hand was less steady than usual, yet unsure why she should be feeling so nervous.
He had crossed one leg over the other and flicked a speck of ash from his immaculately pressed trousers. ‘As you know, just before he … died … your father entrusted your welfare to me.’
Replacing the silver coffee jug on the tray she had clasped her hands in her lap.
‘It’s been two years. In that time I have become very fond of you, my dear. You possess many admirable qualities. But the one I find most appealing is your gentle nature. I have noticed of late a growing stridency among
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