Page 49

Lord Purfoy said, ‘Don’t tell me, Ferdy, you’re in on this?’

Max Flambard intervened in the conversation, looking shamefaced. ‘I’m afraid it’s all my fault. Ferdy is too good a friend and, much against his will, he allowed me to go through with my plan.’

Ferdy said, ‘As you can imagine, Rav, I’m mortified at what a betrayal it is of my betrothed. I can appreciate just how dishonourable this seems.’

Max said, ‘At least I am no longer living under Ferdy’s roof.’

Corinna offered second helpings of the fruit-filled pudding and, turning to Lord Flambard, asked, ‘I presume your relationship with the lady continues?’

‘It does, my dear Cory. In fact, I don’t think I could end it even if I wished.’

Raven Purfoy poured everyone another glass of burgundy and drawled, ‘Of course, this is just the retelling of an old story; the killing of the cuckold by the cuckolder who then continues his amorous dealings with the cuckold’s wife. It’s Hamlet without the poetry.’

Lord Flambard snorted, ‘We may lack poetry, but there’s no shortage of pleasure, I promise you, dear Purfoy.’

Raven Purfoy was exasperated. ‘You are incorrigible, Flambard. Capricious and self-indulgent too. Surely your duty is not to your own pleasure but to refrain from embarrassing your friends. What about Ferdy in all this?’

Ferdy laughed without mirth. ‘Yes, dammit! What about me, Max? In fact, this confusion of my interest with your romantic entanglements gives me sleepless nights.’

‘I assure you, my dandy friend, you are at the forefront of my mind. And, indeed, your sleepless nights might be due to the realisation that you are not as happy as you thought about your choices in love.’

There was an assorted collection of gasps round the table. From his Eton days, Lord Flambard had been known as a straight-talking braggadocio with a powerful right hook; he was not sought out for his poetic, sensitive soul. But this seemed a trifle too frank. Everyone glanced at Ferdy to see how he would take such a verdict on his most private affairs.

Ferdy’s face had turned pale, but he managed to regain control over his wildest feelings. With icy restraint, he said, ‘You should know me well enough by now. I have made my decision and, as a gentleman, I know my duty is to honour this. I am happy to be settled at last.’ Suddenly, his pallor was suffused with colour as he flushed and in anger, turned away. ‘Where would Society be if men went back on their word? We would quickly return to the swamp.’

Lord Flambard continued, unabashed. ‘Well, if you have to be noble and sacrifice yourself to uphold civilisation single-handed, we cannot save you.’

Corinna had flown to Ferdy’s side and put her arms around his shoulders. ‘Dearest Ferdy, you are the most beloved of our acquaintances. All we’ve ever wished for you and ourselves is honour and happiness.’ And she kissed him on the cheek.

Lord Flambard, aware of his part in upsetting their friend, attempted to make amends. ‘As the least kind-hearted of us, and the least concerned with honour, you shouldn’t take any account of my words, Ferdy.’ Max Flambard was not one to be chagrined for long, and he caught Corinna’s hand as she returned to her seat and murmured, ‘Of course, there is nothing to stop his betrothed breaking off the match. I have a plan. It’s the least I owe to Ferdy for his friendship and loyalty through the years.’

Corinna looked at him sharply. His saturnine good looks and flashing eyes seemed ominous with mischief.

8

THE BETRAYAL

Madeleine arrived at breakfast and was surprised to see both of her Lockhart cousins already at the table. Henrietta was less sulky than usual, chewing her way through a large slice of toast. She nodded in greeting, then turned to her brother who was flipping idly through yesterday’s The Times. ‘Edwin, pass the jam.’

Lord Lockhart glanced up and scowled in the direction of his cousin. Their grandmother’s startling will had utterly unbalanced the family relationships in the house. The dowager Lady Lockhart had been resentful of the responsibility of giving a home to her orphaned niece and dismissive of the girl’s aspirations, but her manner now became a mixture of peremptory and insinuating, determined as she was on making sure Madeleine agreed to marry her son. In her mind, it was a matter of duty, propriety and virtue to restore the Lockhart fortune to the male head of the family. It was of little matter to her whose rights and desires were trampled in the process.

Henrietta’s attitude towards Madeleine also had altered, due more to a change in her own heart than to the transformed fortunes of her cousin. Miss Lockhart’s determination to marry Mr Paget, a young Oxford graduate from the mercantile classes and very rich indeed, had horrified her mother. But even that fierce lady was no match for the mulish obstinacy of her daughter; Henrietta had won the battle of wills and her temper had improved. ‘Maddie, you’re looking well this morning. I have a pale blue shawl that would match that morning gown, if you should wish to wear it?’

Madeleine looked down at her favourite sprigged muslin and smiled. ‘Thank you, Hen, I would like that.’

With the prospect of great wealth through marriage, Henrietta had also turned generous. ‘And when I’m in possession of the Lockhart jewellery, I’d like you to choose a piece to remember Grandmama by.’

‘That’s very kind, indeed.’ Madeleine poured herself a cup of coffee and offered the pot to her cousins. She looked at Lord Lockhart’s face, bored, petulant, seemingly unaware of her presence. Now the only man she could ever love was going to marry Miss Payton, she perhaps should do her duty and accept Edwin’s hand after all, but sitting there in the faltering sunlight, she was struck with the thought she would rather die than endure for the rest of her days the sight of his handsome, weak, discontented face and his purposeless, wastrel life.

Madeleine knew this visceral recoil was in part the effect of writing her novel: how could life ever live up to a romance? But the emotion of her final scene still pulsed in her brain, and she promised herself she would not settle for less. Breathing the same breath, and in the conspiracy of souls, they were uncertain where one began and the other ended. Words seemed to be tumbling through her mind like breakers on the shore, wave after wave. So insistent were the ideas in her imagination that she had to resist the impulse to flee from her cousins’ company to return to her room and her book hidden under the mattress.

As if sensing this change of energy, Edwin Lockhart glanced across at Madeleine and for the first time really noticed her, a puzzled frown on his face. ‘You look like you’ve turned a bit queer, cousin. Have some toast or a cinnamon bun?’

‘No, thank you. I’m just thinking, that’s all.’

The young man gave a harsh shout of derision. ‘Thinking’s not to be recommended for anyone, especially not the fairer sex. I hope you’re not changing your mind?’

Madeleine’s heart shrank a little. ‘Changing my mind about what?’