Автор: Anne O'Brien
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9781408934326
isbn:
‘I can’t do that!’
‘Well, I would if I found a portrait of an attractive woman in Nick’s attic at Aymestry and then found him kissing her.’
‘Well… put like that…’
‘Especially if, through marriage, they were my attics too… ‘
‘I suppose…’
‘Come along. There is nothing to be gained by dwelling on the unknown and the unknowable. We will find out what we can.’ Thea took her sister in hand, very much the diplomat’s daughter. Sir Hector Wooton-Devereux, she decided, would have been proud of her. ‘I will come with you. All we need is the opportunity to speak to your dark lady alone…’
The opportunity presented itself only a little later in the evening when groups of people began to make their way into the banqueting room, laid out for a light supper. For a brief moment the dark lady was seen to be alone, separated from her escort. Sarah with commendable courage and considerable outrage made her way across the ballroom in that direction. Theodora would have followed, but her path was blocked by a familiar figure.
‘Theodora—I know what she is about. In God’s name, stop her.’
Theodora looked up at the striking Faringdon face, troubled by a range of emotions she could not even guess at. She could not help but allow her heart to soften. The difficulties might be of his making, but she found herself prepared to give him far more sympathy than had her husband. Such was the Faringdon charm, she supposed, although there was little evidence of it at present in the stern expression.
‘I doubt that I can.’
‘It would be better for all.’
‘Are you sure of that?’
‘No. I am not sure of anything at this juncture.’
‘Well, I am. I don’t know what you told Sarah and I don’t know what the truth is, but at the moment she thinks the worst of you!’
‘I know it.’
‘Tell her the truth, Sher,’ urged Thea, deliberately picking up Nick’s affectionate family name. ‘It cannot be worse than Sarah believing what she does, and Sarah can deal with the truth. Better than lies and charades. We had too many of those in the Baxendale family to accept them with any degree of comfort.’ As she remembered her own attempts to hide her Baxendale connections from Nicholas. What a disaster that had been.
Theodora patted his hand and followed her sister to discover the truth.
Sarah had approached the dark lady and come to a halt beside her.
‘Madame. Forgive the intrusion, but I would beg a few words with you.’
‘Do I know you?’ The lady appeared surprised, but not unfriendly.
‘No, you do not. I am Sarah, wife of Lord Joshua Faringdon.’
‘Ah.’ The straight dark brows rose with some hauteur, but there was a distinct sparkle in the lady’s eyes.
‘So I think you know of me,’ Sarah prompted.
‘I do indeed…’ The lady inclined her head. ‘I am the Marquise de Villeroi.’
‘Yes… I mean….’ What do I say now? Are you my husband’s mistress? Sarah discovered the dangers in Thea’s plan to confront the lady. But as she became aware of Thea’s presence beside her, she gathered all her courage and used the only possible opening. ‘I wish, my lady, to know why your portrait is in the attic of my home in London.’
The Marquise smiled. But with no hint of shame or discomfort, or even of surprise. ‘That seems a perfectly reasonable request to me,’ she remarked. ‘I think that we should find a private corner where we might sit—and I will try to explain what I can.’
So the little anteroom was witness that night to a second fraught conversation. The ladies drew the enclosing curtains against any who might be tempted to seek out the private space, and sat on the delicate gilded seats.
‘Well, my lady…’ the Marquise took up the initiative immediately as she spread her skirts and disposed her gloved hands in her lap, before embarrassment could set in ‘…I did not know until tonight that Joshua had remarried.’
‘Yes.’ Sarah was not inclined toward trivial conversation. ‘Some weeks ago. But I would know—what are you to him?’
‘Sarah—may I call you Sarah?’ The lady lifted her hands in what could have been seen as a plea. The hauteur had vanished. Instead there was a warmth here, a depth of understanding, and not a little melancholy. ‘I presume that you and Joshua are at odds over this. I am sorry for it, for the blame is partly mine. I think it will solve all your problems if I tell you my name. I am Marianne.’
Sarah’s lips parted on a soundless ‘Oh’. Theodora’s fan paused in mid-sweep. The two ladies who heard the admission looked at each other in obvious astonishment.
‘I was Joshua’s wife, as you will be aware,’ the Marquise de Villeroi continued, amusement now curving her lips at the stunned silence that resulted.
‘We thought you were dead. The whole family believes you to be dead,’ Thea exclaimed.
‘Not so.’
‘We thought,’ Sarah added, still trying to order her wayward thoughts and come to terms with this development, ‘that perhaps you had been murdered. There have been rumours to that possibility. Murdered by Joshua himself!’
‘Never that!’ The Marquise laughed. ‘Murdered by Joshua? It is a suggestion quite nonsensical, is it not?’
Thea and Sarah again exchanged glances. ‘The family was given to believe—by Lord Joshua himself—that you were struck down by some virulent disease and buried here in France.’ Sarah frowned at the lady who sat before her, in no fashion discomfited, clearly in perfect health.
‘No. As you see. Our marriage ended when a divorce was arranged. Discreetly and to our mutual agreement.’
‘But why? Why the secrecy?’
The Marquise leaned forward to touch Sarah’s hand with fingers heavy with jewels. ‘Forgive me, my dear. That is not my secret to tell. You must ask Joshua. I think that he will tell you now that he knows that we have met.’
‘But why could he not tell me before? Why should he deceive his family? You cannot imagine the difficulties caused by the rumour that he was a murderer!’
‘I think I can.’ The Marquise increased the pressure of her hand on Sarah’s in eloquent sympathy. ‘But as for why he would not… It was, I think, to protect me. He is a man given to gallantry. Or perhaps he was simply under orders to keep silent concerning sensitive matters. We all know what it is like to be held at the whim of those who hold the reins, do we not?’ She shrugged elegantly, a particularly French gesture. ‘But now it no longer matters.’
‘I still do СКАЧАТЬ