“No, your ladyship. Everything is very clear.”
“Excellent.” Vivian rose. “I shall expect you to present yourself to me, discreetly, in a few days’ time. If the countess does not call for you soon, you are to find a way to attract her interest again. I know you are clever enough to do it.”
There was no answer, but Vivian required none. She swept past the girl and through the drawing room door, massaging her hands in a way that no one might see.
She would know what Mariah was scheming, one way or another. She had long been convinced, given Donnington’s sudden departure following his wedding night, that his marriage to the girl had never been consummated. And though proof of the validity of Vivian’s suspicions might be long in coming, she could certainly find other damning evidence against the hussy … evidence that, when combined with the almost certain fact of Mariah’s virginal state, might prove the basis for dissolution of the ill-conceived union.
Donnington might already be longing for an escape from his ties to Mariah. If he were to be assured that such a dissolution was both possible and desirable.
As the Americans said in their usual vulgar fashion, there was more than one way to skin a cat. And if the cat’s pelt might be acquired with so little trouble to herself, so much the better.
“WILL YOU HAVE ANOTHER piece of cake, Lady Donnington?”
Mariah smiled at Lady Westlake with her best attempt at sincerity. “It is a delicious cake, Lady Westlake. My compliments to your cook.”
“Our chef is indeed an excellent practitioner of his craft,” the viscountess corrected with apparent gentleness, a reminder that her household employed a real French chef instead of the simple cook who served Donbridge.
It was one of those not-so-subtle remarks meant to remind the young matron of her responsibility to make improvements at Donbridge in her husband’s absence, responsibilities that had clearly remained unfulfilled in the wake of the dowager’s refusal to relinquish control of the household.
Lady Westlake and her luncheon guests regarded Mariah with variations of secret glee, hostility and thoughtful speculation. Mrs. Jonathan Brandywyne took pleasure in any discomfiture Mariah might show, while Mrs. Joseph Roberts’s expression was one of puzzled disapproval. Only Madeleine, Lady Hurst, appeared sympathetic to Mariah’s unfortunate plight.
But Lady Westlake was obviously of the same mind as the dowager. Mariah must have driven Donnington away, or he would not have left so suddenly. She made little secret of her belief in the new Lady Donnington’s faults, even as she served up cake and smiles.
Why do you suffer this? Mariah asked herself. But she knew why. She had committed herself to this life and this marriage for her parents’ sake. Hiding away from those who had become her peers would do no good and would only confirm Vivian’s low opinion of her.
As if I care for that. Nor had she, until she’d heard Sinjin’s warning. And since she had found Ash, everything had changed. There was no telling what might happen when he left his cage, which eventually he must do.
Ash. Her thoughts wandered dangerously in his direction. She hadn’t been able to see him today; household concerns, unexpectedly dropped in her lap by the dowager, had kept her occupied all morning. Then there had been this luncheon, which would not end until two at the earliest.
She might comfort herself with the knowledge that, since she still had the key, Ash was unlikely to be disturbed by his unknown keeper, but that didn’t really ease her mind. Eventually she would have to put the key back, and she couldn’t bear the thought of his being alone in that place. If only she could go to him now.
“Your cake, Lady Donnington.”
She snapped back to the present and accepted the second piece from Lady Westlake. Mrs. Brandywyne smothered a titter. She, like many other Englishwomen, obviously thought Mariah’s healthy appetite yet another sign of American ill-breeding.
“Tell me, Lady Donnington,” Mrs. Brandywyne said sweetly, “how are you faring while Lord Donnington is away? How difficult it must be for a young wife.”
“Difficult?” Lady Westlake said. “Some young ladies should be glad to see very little of their husbands after the first few days of marriage.”
A silence fell, partly compounded of titillated shock and partly of agreement that could not be spoken. It was a generally accepted fact that English ladies bore their husbands’ attentions from a sense of duty and the need to provide an heir as quickly as possible, but they were not supposed to enjoy the means of getting a child. Mrs. Brandywyne and Lady Westlake clearly hoped to provoke Mariah.
“I do regret his absence,” Mariah said, meeting Lady Westlake’s probing gaze.
“Of course you do,” Mrs. Brandywyne opined. “Such a lovely young bride as you are, Lady Donnington.”
“When he returns, we shall be all the happier to be together again.”
“‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ as they say,” Lady Hurst put in.
“Let us indeed hope so,” Mrs. Roberts said, her first words in a good half hour.
For a moment, that seemed to be the end of the skirmish, minor as it had been, but Lady Westlake was far from satisfied.
“How fares your father in America, Lady Donnington?” she asked, pretending to take another tiny bite of her own half-finished cake.
Mariah set down her plate. “Very well, thank you. He keeps himself busy.”
“With business interests,” Mrs. Brandywyne said. “How industrious you Americans are.”
“Indeed,” Mariah said. “Hard work agrees with us. Men like my father prefer to earn their own way to prosperity.”
Mrs. Brandywyne nearly dropped her teacup. Lady Hurst smiled.
Lady Westlake smiled, as well, but far less pleasantly.
“We have our own of that kind here in England,” she said. “They feel themselves quite equal to those whose heritage and titles extend back to the service of our greatest monarchs.”
“But your workers are serving the current monarch now, by bringing prosperity to the nation,” Mariah said, “and allowing the titled to continue to enjoy their more … stimulating pursuits.”
This time there was an audible gasp, though Mariah wasn’t sure from whom it emanated. Lady Westlake maintained her smile.
“Oh, their scheming for position only amuses us,” she said in a bland tone. “Though our dear prince shows most admirable tolerance for individuals of lesser station.”
“More’s the pity,” Mrs. Brandywyne said. She was not a part of the coveted Marlborough House Set, the prince’s circle, though she very much wanted to be. Mariah had heard that Bertie preferred his women beautiful, witty and a little fast. Louise Brandywyne was on the wrong side of plain and completely lacking in conversation. Mariah could almost sympathize with her thwarted ambitions.
“How is that you have never applied to join our prince at Marlborough House?” Lady Westlake asked. “Even Americans are permitted there.”
“It would be quite remiss of me to go gallivanting about while my husband is away,” Mariah said. “I prefer a quiet life at Donbridge.”
“Take care it does not become too quiet,” Lady Westlake said with a touch a venom, “or you might be tempted to find some questionable diversion to dispel your loneliness.”
Questionable diversion. Mariah worked to suppress her anger. After what Sinjin had told her, she could not mistake the meaning of Lady Westlake’s remark. Now she knew that Vivian’s unfounded and insulting suspicions were shared by someone else … one who was far more the