“You look exquisite, my dear.”
“Thank you, Justin,” Clare smiled at her husband’s image in the pier glass.
“Here, let me fasten that for you. You can go, Martha.”
Clare shivered as his hands brushed her neck. The sapphire and diamond choker he had given her as his wedding gift fit snugly around her throat and matched the blue of her silk gown perfectly.
“What is exquisite is this necklace, Justin,” said Clare. “I am almost afraid to wear it.”
“Nonsense, my dear.” Justin leaned closer and kissed her right where her shoulder met her neck, and then turned her face to his for a long kiss.
“I suppose we have to go to the ball,” he groaned, pulling away at last.
Clare laughed. “Of course we do. It would look very odd, indeed, if we avoided Lady Bellingham.”
“Well, I warn you, Clare, I am going to be a very unfashionable husband and claim as many dances as I can. I hate sharing you with anyone.” He leaned down and kissed her again, and Clare gave herself over to the delight of being so cherished. Of course, by the time their kiss was over, her hair was no longer perfect, and Martha had to be summoned back. And, as had been their pattern this Little Season, they arrived late to the Bellingham ball.
“How many minutes tonight, Bertie?”
“Twenty-seven and a half. It looks like Crewe is closest again.”
“Lady Rainsborough looks delightfully flushed tonight, don’t you know,” said Crewe, pocketing his money.
“Damn. You would think that after a few months of marriage, they wouldn’t still be in one another’s pockets.”
“I know his sort,” said Marlow, looking over to where Justin was hovering over his wife as she greeted their host and hostess. “Won’t let her out of his sight. Wants her all to himself.”
“Even I admit it is quite romantic,” said Crewe with a mock sigh.
“I suppose you could call it that,” said Marlow, with a shuttered look. “My father was like that with my mother,” he added and left abruptly, leaving his companions nonplussed.
"Tomorrow, I am betting on a half hour.”
“Ah, but look at the way he is leading her out onto the floor, Crewe. Forty minutes, at least.”
* * * *
Clare loved dancing with her husband almost as much as making love with him. Although she was unaware of the more vulgar comments, she knew that people were amused at the Rainsboroughs’ devotion to one another. Let them laugh. She didn’t care, for she and Justin had something that most couples could only dream about.
She had seen the Whittons out of the corner of her eye when she and Justin had moved onto the dance floor. She and Sabrina had exchanged a few short notes during the summer, and she was looking forward to catching up on the local gossip. She had spent so much time at Whitton that it had almost become a second home, and she enjoyed hearing all the news, from the midwife’s latest delivery to the absentminded vicar’s newest gaffe. After her waltz with Justin and a cotillion with Sir Maximillian Ongar, she made her way over to where Sabrina was talking with a group of friends.
“Clare! You look positively blooming,” said Lucy Kirkman, sliding her eyes down to Clare’s waist.
Clare blushed. She was not increasing yet, but one of the embarrassing things about being an obviously besotted couple was that everyone, at one time or another, took the opportunity to subtly or not so subtly inspect her waistline.
She had learned to ignore them, and just said, “Thank you, Lucy.”
Sabrina rescued her by enveloping her in a warm hug. “You do look wonderful, Clare. As does Justin.”
“I would say that marriage agrees with both of you,” said a voice behind Clare. It was Giles, and Clare held her breath as she offered him her hand. He merely held it gently for a moment and smiled down at her affectionately. It was her old familiar friend Giles who stood there, as relaxed and comfortable as he had ever been. She let her breath out in a soft sigh. The Whittons had come up to town late, and this was their first sight of each other since the wedding breakfast. And thank God, it was as she had hoped: they were still friends.
“Do you have a dance free for me, Clare?”
“The next two are spoken for, Giles, but I do have the first waltz free.”
“Good. Then put me down for it. And Lucy, I believe this cotillion is ours?”
“Indeed it is, Giles,” replied Lucy, smiling like the cat who had gotten the cream as they moved off.
“I swear I have become reconciled to your marriage, Clare,” said Sabrina. “But I am not sure I will ever forgive you if I end up with Lucy Kirkman as a sister-in-law.”
Clare laughed with relief and amusement. She was grateful that both Sabrina and Giles seemed able to admit her back into their easy companionship.
Clare was with Justin when Giles came to claim his waltz.
“Good evening, Whitton,” her husband said politely, his eyebrows lifted inquiringly.
“I believe this is our waltz, Clare,” said Giles lightly. “I was lucky to get one,” he added, as he sensed rather than saw Rainsborough stiffen. “Your wife is one of the most sought after ladies at the ball.”
Rainsborough gave him a cold, fleeting smile, and Giles was sure he could feel the earl’s eyes boring into his back as they walked away. Earlier in the evening he had made up his mind to act the old friend as much as possible. Maybe if he acted long enough it would become true. God knows, it is not easy, he thought, as Clare placed her hand in his and he clasped her around the waist. All the perspective and peace he had gained over the summer disappeared as she looked up at him and smiled.
They danced well together; they always had. And after the first few minutes of tension, they both relaxed and began to give themselves over to the music and the movement. Giles was even able to get Clare laughing with the latest story about Reverend Brill.
“He didn’t really start to read the wedding service at a baptism!”
“He did. Only a few lines, but enough to frighten the godmother and godfather out of their wits.”
Since the godparents were the most dedicated bachelor and spinster in the village, Clare could only laugh.
“Come, let me return you to Justin.” Giles walked her back to where Rainsborough was standing. Standing out like a sore thumb, thought Giles, for he was right on the edge of the dance floor where they had left him.
“May I get you a glass of punch, Clare?” he asked after he handed her over to her husband.
“Thank you, Giles,” Clare replied with a smile. “I am thirsty.”
Giles bowed and as he moved away, Justin grabbed Clare’s arm.
“I think we will be going, my dear.”
Clare looked up at him in surprise. His face was set and hard, and his thumb and forefinger dug into her arm. “Going? Where, Justin? Giles is getting me some punch,” she added, completely puzzled by his reaction. A look of pain and surprise passed over her face as his grip got even tighter.
“Ah, yes, Giles. Your old friend Giles.”
Justin’s voice was so cutting that Clare felt he had flicked her with a whip.
“I don’t understand what you mean, Justin. Are you feeling ill?” she stammered. “Is that why you wish to go home?”
“The sight of you smiling up into his face does make me feel sick, my dear. And I do not intend to stand for any more of it.” Keeping his hold on her arm, her husband guided her across the room, nodding and smiling all the while, as though all were well. He made their apologies to their hostess, claiming that his wife was not feeling quite the thing.
Lady Bellingham smiled knowingly, and Clare was handed into their carriage before she realized what was happening. Justin, who had finally released her, sat across from her, his face an unreadable mask. She winced as she rubbed her upper arm. She would have bruises in the morning, she was sure. She was feeling quite disoriented.
Surely Justin, her loving, tender Justin, had not hurt her like that? It felt like an ugly, dark stranger was sitting opposite her. One who resembled her husband, but had somehow taken his place by some sort of wizardry. She was afraid to say anything, afraid to arouse his anger, and so she just sat silently, hoping that when they walked through their door, Justin would have been returned to her.
But when they reached St. James Street, instead of following her up the stairs as was his wont, Justin merely dismissed the footmen and asked their butler to bring him brandy in the library. Clare was left standing on the stairs, hoping for a glance from Justin, a kind word, anything to indicate that this was all a dreadful misunderstanding of some sort.
She dismissed Martha as soon as her abigail had undone the tapes of her gown. She didn’t want her to see the marks of Justin’s fingers on her arm. Her hands were shaking as she undid the clasp of the sapphire choker, and she looked down at it as it lay glittering on her dressing table. She had danced and laughed with a number of partners these past few nights. There had been no difference in her behavior with Giles, had there? Surely she had not given Justin any reason for distrusting her? Had she let Giles hold her too close? Had she looked up at him differently? She couldn’t help caring about him, for he was her oldest and dearest friend. What had she done to make Justin behave like this?
She slipped her dress off and pulled her night rail over her head and looked over at their bed. This was the first night in their marriage that Justin had not helped her undress. The first night, in fact, she thought with a blush, that she even had her night rail on getting into bed.
Suddenly she remembered Lieutenant Lynton and her husband’s insecurity. Of course, she thought with relief. If he was jealous of someone I didn’t even know, then he would naturally feel vulnerable the first time I danced with Giles. When he comes up, I will tell him I understand.
But he didn’t come up, and after what felt like hours, but was, in truth, only one, Clare decided that she would go down to him.
All the servants had been sent to bed, and the only light downstairs was coming from under the library door. Clare knocked gently and when she didn’t receive any reply, took her courage in both hands and opened the door.
Justin was standing by his desk, back to the door. He had a glass of brandy in his hand, and the decanter next to him was already half-empty. Clare was surprised and concerned, for she had never seen him drink much more than a glass of wine since she’d met him. He must really be upset with her if he had drunk so much brandy in such a short time.
“Aren’t you coming up to bed, my dear?” she asked timidly.
He turned around then, and she saw that his face was flushed and his eyes expressionless.
“I am surprised that you desire my company, Clare,” he said in the same cutting tone he had been using since her waltz with Giles. “I am sure you would prefer to have Whitton next to you.”
“Justin, you must know that is not true,” responded Clare, trying to answer calmly and patiently, now that she understood that his behavior was coming from his sense of insecurity. “I danced with Giles because he is an old friend. If there was anything I did to give you another impression, I am sorry. But you are my beloved husband, and Giles only a friend, nothing more.”
“Don’t act the innocent with me, Clare. I saw the way you lingered on the dance floor, looking up at him, leading him on, and right in front of me. I am sure that gossips will have a field day.” Justin gulped down the rest of his brandy, and as he turned to pour another, Clare moved next to him, putting her hand gently on his arm, saying softly: “Please don’t drink any more brandy, my dear.”
Without even turning to look at her, Justin backhanded her across the face, sending her stumbling against the sofa. She pulled herself up and stood there, hand to her reddening and swelling cheek, mouth open, gasping for breath. She was afraid her legs wouldn’t hold her, but she managed to support herself against the sofa arm.
Surely she was in the middle of a nightmare. Surely she would wake up in a moment, next to Justin in their bed. He would kiss away the fear and then make love to her in that wonderful way he had of combining tenderness and passion. But her fingers could feel the cold leather of the sofa arm, and her cheek was throbbing. Her tongue gently probed her teeth, and she was horrified to realize it was automatically checking to see if any were loose. She gave an hysterical sobbing laugh to think that she, Lady Clare Rainsborough, was standing there wondering if her husband had loosened any of her teeth. She had seen women of the lower classes missing teeth and sporting black eyes, and she had pitied them for marrying bullies. But this could not be happening to her. She was the daughter of a marquess, the wife of an earl.
Justin had turned at her laugh, and Clare backed as far as she could into the sofa. It was as though he were truly seeing her for the first time that night: hand to her swollen cheek, shrinking from him, and he let out a deep groan. His eyes were alive again and the cold mask gone, and he reached out his hand slowly and gently, to pull her hand away from her face.
“Oh, my God, Clare. What have I done?”
She looked up at him, pain and fear in her eyes. It hurt for her to talk, but she managed to say slowly: “I swear, Justin, Giles is nothing but an old friend.”
“Don’t, Clare. Don’t even say it. I know he is. Truly I do. I ... I don’t know what came over me. I think it is just that I love you so much and can’t stand to see you with anyone else.”
“But I am not with anyone else, Justin. I am with you.”
He reached out and gently touched her livid cheek. “Did I do this, Clare?”
She only looked the truth at him.
“I know you can never forgive me, Clare, but I swear I didn’t even know what I was doing. It must have been the brandy. I don’t usually drink, you know,” he babbled. “Oh, God, you can’t believe I would ever knowingly hurt you like this?” He looked down at the empty glass in his hand and hurled it into the hearth. Then he poured the contents of the decanter onto the fire, and the flames leapt blue and high. Both Clare and Justin watched them as though mesmerized until they died down.
“I will sleep in my dressing room tonight, Clare,” he said without looking at her. “I am sure you don’t want me to touch you. I swear I will not drink like that again. But, oh, my dear, don’t look at Whitton the way you did tonight. It cuts to the quick.”
Clare couldn’t stand it. It had been a nightmare after all, albeit a waking one. A short, brandy-induced madness that had overtaken her husband. And only caused by his love and need for her. Of course, he would be jealous of Giles. It was understandable. After all, she had almost married him. Would have married him, had not Justin come along.
She couldn’t stand the sight of her husband’s back any longer. She slowly walked over to him and slipped her hand in his. “I don’t wish to sleep alone tonight, Justin,” she whispered.
He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed it gently. “Are you sure, Clare? I would not blame you.”
She leaned into him and felt him shudder as he softened against her. “Come, Justin, let us go upstairs.”
They walked hand in hand as though they were two children finding their way in the dark. When they reached Clare’s room, Justin gave her one more chance to send him away, but she just shook her head, smiled, and led him in.
He had never been so gentle. There was a basin of water on the nightstand, and he made a cool compress for her cheek, holding her in his arms as if she were a baby. Then he slipped her night rail over her head and laid her back on the bed.
“I am afraid to kiss you, Clare,” he whispered, and she saw that he had tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you more.”
“There are other places to kiss besides my mouth, Justin.”
He began with her neck and shoulders, and moved down to her breast. His tongue caressed each nipple, and then suddenly he took one breast into his mouth and sucked on it like a child sucking on a sugar teat.
Clare guided his hand in between her legs. Soon they were rocking together, slowly at first, and then faster. He came first with broken cries that were echoed by her own a few moments later. And then tears from both of them.
“Clare, you are the most precious thing in my life,” he whispered. She reached out to caress his face and felt it as wet as her own.
“As you are for me, Justin,” she responded, pulling his head close to her breasts and kissing the top of his head softly.
* * * *
The next morning Clare looked dispassionately at herself in her glass. Her upper arm was indeed marked by purple bruises, but those could be concealed quite easily by several of her morning gowns. It was her face that was the problem. Luckily her eye was not affected, but her cheek was still swollen and red, and she expected it would be a day or two before she was back to normal. She would have to cancel all her engagements for the next two days, for she could not imagine any excuses that would explain her appearance.
When Martha came in to help her dress, Clare saw the maid’s eyes widen at her mistress’s appearance.
“Oh, Martha,” Clare said with mock despair, “I was looking for a book to put me to sleep last night and was foolish enough to think I could make my way without a candle. I bumped right into the doorjamb. I vow, I am almost happy, for it gives me a day or two to myself to rest.”
Clare chattered gaily about this and that as Martha helped her dress and arranged her hair. Usually it was Martha who gossiped away, but this morning the maid seemed to have little to say and Clare couldn’t bear her silent scrutiny. But it was no one’s business, after all, thought Clare defensively. Certainly not her abigail’s.
“Please direct Peters to turn down all my invitation for today and tomorrow, Martha. And I will breakfast up here,” she added, gesturing at the small table by the window.
“Yes, my lady.”
Martha was devoted to her mistress, as were all the servants, and she went down the stairs muttering to herself, “Walked into the doorjamb, my arse. That handsome husband of hers did that to her, I wager.” After she gave Clare’s orders to the butler and the cook, she went looking for the housekeeper, Mrs. Clarke.
“You will not be seeing the mistress downstairs today, Mrs. Clarke.”
The housekeeper looked up from her accounting in surprise. “Is my lady not feeling well? Can she be increasing,” she asked expectantly, after a moment.
“No, no. Her stomach is fine,” said Martha, pulling up a chair opposite. “It is her face.”
“Her face?”
“All red and swollen. And her arm all purple with his fingerprints.”
“Whose fingerprints, Martha? Whatever are you saying?”
“I seen my ma’s face like that often enough,” responded Martha bitterly. “I can tell when a man has hit a woman.”
“Lord Rainsborough? Strike Lady Rainsborough? I am sure you are mistaken, Martha.” Mrs. Clarke’s tone had become quite cool. “Why they are absolutely devoted to one another. He has never been anything but loving when I see them together.”
“Aye, well my stepfather was like that, too. Could charm the birds out of their nests, when he was in the mood to do it. And then in an instant, if my ma did one little thing wrong, like scorch his shirt collar, he was on her.”
“I am certain you must be wrong. Did Lady Rainsborough say anything to explain her appearance?”
“Oh, she had a good story. My ma could have written books, she had so many stories, too. My lady said she went down to get a book from the library and ran into the doorjamb. And pigs can fly,” added Martha.
“Then I am sure that that is what happened, Martha,” replied Mrs. Clarke. “You can hardly compare your mother’s situation with that of the quality,” she said repressively. “And you are not to go spreading this story of yours around, do you hear? Lord Rainsborough is a kind man. Why, I have hardly heard him raise his voice to a servant, much less his wife.”
Martha got up with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, I will keep quiet, Mrs. Clarke. But for my lady’s sake and no one else’s. But mark me, the first time is never the last.”
Justin had been up early that morning, and Clare did not see him until early afternoon. She had spent the day quietly reading and embroidering and was so enjoying the peace of a day without social obligation that she was almost grateful to her husband for providing the opportunity. She did feel a pang of guilt when Martha brought up Sabrina’s card. “Peters wasn’t sure if you wanted to turn Lady Sabrina away with all the other ladies.”
“I would welcome her company, Martha. But not today,” said Clare, her hand automatically feeling her cheek, as she had off and on all day to see whether the swelling had gone down at all. “Tell her I am not feeling well.”
“Yes, my lady.”
A short time later, Martha was back. “Lord Rainsborough wishes to know if you will see him,” she announced in absolutely neutral tones.
“Why, of course,” said Clare, laughing nervously. Justin had never asked for permission before this. Theirs had been a delightfully informal marriage, with both feeling quite free to walk in on the other at any time.
Martha admitted Justin and closed the door behind him. She stood for a minute outside, glaring at the door as though he could feel her through the solid wood. “You had better not touch her again while I am around, my lord,” she muttered, before she moved off.
Justin looked almost as bad as she did, thought Clare with some genuine amusement. His face was pale, and his eyes a little swollen from the drinking and from his tears of the night before.
“Good day, my dear,” she said, in tones as close to normal as possible.
“I am sorry I ran off this morning, Clare. I confess, I couldn’t bear to look at what I’d done to you.”
“Well, Justin, neither of us is a pretty picture today,” she said lightly. “But we must put this behind us and move on,” she continued more seriously.
Justin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small oblong box. “This is a sort of pledge, Clare,” he said quietly. “I saw it and thought of you immediately.”
“Justin, you did not need to do anything like this,” she protested.
He came over to her and put his finger gently on her lips. “Hush, my darling. Close your eyes and let me fasten this.” Clare felt his fingers brush the nape of her neck as he fastened a small necklace around her throat. She was relieved it was nothing as big as the sapphire choker, for he had been far too generous with jewelry during their short marriage.
“Stay there,” he whispered into her ear, “and keep your eyes closed.” He went and got her hand mirror from the dressing table and coming back, held it in front of her. “Now you can open them, Clare.”
Clare opened them and caught her breath in surprise, gratitude, and strangely enough, dismay. Around her throat was a delicate gold chain and suspended from it a heart-shaped amethyst. It was so similar to Giles’s gift and so different from Justin’s usual taste that there was something disturbing about it. Clare fingered it gently, completely at a loss for words.
“I don’t know what to say, Justin.”
“You don’t have to, Clare. It looks just how I imagined it: a perfect length and a deep enough purple to bring out the violet in your eyes. I have always regretted making you remove Whitton’s gift, Clare, for it was flattering. Now you have something as lovely that I gave you.”
“It is very beautiful Justin. I will treasure it.” Clare was touched and grateful, and she wished she felt only that. But her gratitude was somehow marred by a feeling of ... well, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It just seemed strange that Justin would want to remind her of Giles, after his jealousy. It was as though he were giving her and Giles a sort of message. Almost marking her as his own. Normally she loved his slightly possessive shows of affection. They made her feel essential to him. But although the necklace was an exquisite piece and she would wear it to honor Justin’s gesture, she was sure she would never feel quite comfortable in it.
It was three days before Clare’s face was back to normal and when the Rainsborough’s finally reappeared at the next rout, the glances down at her waistline and the inquiries after her health were not subtle at all.
Sabrina was at Clare’s side almost immediately, solicitous and concerned. “I was getting really worried, Clare, when Peters sent me away again yesterday.”
“I hated to do it, Sabrina, but I was still not feeling quite myself,” apologized Clare.
“I don’t mean to pry, but I hope it wasn’t anything serious?”
“No, just fatigue and a cold. And no, I am not increasing,” added Clare, with a twinkle in her eyes, answering Sabrina’s unspoken question. “And don’t you start inspecting my waist. I promise you will be one of the first to know, after Justin, of course,” she added.
Giles had seen their arrival from across the room. Clare was dressed in lavender sarcenet and had violets threaded through her hair. There was a flash of purple at her throat as she walked by a candelabra and he realized it was something new, obviously a gift from her husband. When he saw her with Sabrina, he made his way over.
“Clare, I am very happy to see you here,” he said after they greeted one another. “When I came back with your punch the other night and you had gone, I was afraid you had been taken ill. And then Sabrina told me I was right. You are recovered, I hope?”
“Lady Rainsborough is completely recovered, Whitton,” said a voice behind Giles as Justin joined them. “Thank you for your concern.”
“Clare is an old friend, and I will always be concerned for her welfare,” Giles said easily.
“Ah, but that is not at all necessary, Whitton, for she now has a loving husband to care for her. Come, my dear, I wish to introduce you to someone who has just returned from the West Indies. I want him to meet my beautiful wife.” He took Clare’s arm and they were gone very quickly, leaving Giles and his sister looking at one another in consternation.
“Well, Rainsborough certainly is making his feelings clear, Sabrina.”
“Oh, Giles, I am sorry. I am sure it is none of Clare’s doing. She still has all the old affection for you. And though I am loathe to say it, were I Rainsborough, I would be tempted to keep my wife away from old friends and suitors.”
“Oh, I can understand it,” said Giles. “Although what he thinks he has to worry about, I don’t know. Clare was clearly besotted from the first time they met. He has no rival in me,” he added bitterly. “Did you see her necklace?”
“Yes. Isn’t it the one you gave her, Giles? I thought it was a pretty gesture on her part to wear it again.”
“No. It is enough like mine to remind you of it and different enough to give the clear message that if anyone is going to bring out the purple lights in my wife’s eyes, it will be me, thank you very much. It is an odd gift, don’t you think, Brina?”
“Perhaps you are just overly sensitive because it is Clare, Giles.”
“I suppose so. Well, message received, but I’ll be goddamned if I do not claim a dance with her tonight and whenever I will.”
* * * *
Although Clare had told herself that Justin’s jealousy was a thing of the past, that the incident was closed, that she had convinced him she felt nothing for Giles, she had made sure to fill her dance card quickly and only had a country-dance available for her old friend. She had been relaxed for their fateful waltz, but for this dance she was still and unresponsive, always wondering whether Justin was somewhere on the sidelines watching. Her smile was forced, and after the music stopped and Giles led her off the floor, she thanked him breathlessly and asked him to take her over to where Lucy Kirkman and a few friends were chatting. It was clear to Giles that she was dismissing him, but he only smiled a polite good-bye, as though nothing had changed between them.
Clare was relieved that her husband had not been hovering at the edge of the dance floor, but engrossed in conversation with a group of acquaintances. Since she had no more dances with Giles, she was able to relax and enjoy the rest of the evening. Her waltzes with her husband were delightful, and they left early, each eager for the passionate lovemaking they knew was to come.
And when Clare awoke the next morning and looked over at her sleeping husband, she knew that difficult as it was to pull back from Giles, it was well worth it if it kept her husband happy and their marriage as solid as it had every indication of being. There was only one thing that would make her happier, she decided, running her hands across her belly. That was to satisfy all the gossips and give Justin the son he and she wanted.