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So the junior footman took the opportunity to do just that when he was pouring his lordship’s wine and nearly dropped the bottle when he got the full force of the cold, blue gaze. Gawd, he thought, backing away to stand by the panelled wall. I wouldn’t want to be in her ladyship’s shoes tonight.
Unaware of the silent sympathy of her staff, Hebe struggled through the meal, politely responding to each question or observation. She was so relieved when it was time for her to withdraw that she could almost have thrown herself on to Starling’s fatherly chest and sobbed when he opened the door for her with a sudden smile that instantly vanished again behind his mask of professional impassivity.
The small salon was pleasantly lit by numerous branches of candles and a fire that flickered cheerfully, although the evening was warm enough for it not to be necess
ary. Starling had realised that his mistress missed the sunnier southern climes and had ordered fires lit in the evening in the hope she would find them comforting.
Hebe shivered, out of nerves rather than any chill, and picked up her embroidery. She had set herself the task of replacing all the dining-room chair-seat covers. As she had not yet managed to ascertain exactly how many chairs there were in the set, she had a sinking feeling this was an over-ambitious project for a reluctant needle-woman. Starling, on being questioned, thought there might be twenty-four in various rooms: she could only hope he was wrong.
Part of her hoped that Alex would not come in. The braver part told her that she could not just let him go off tomorrow to Town with whatever was between them unresolved. But when he did join her, Hebe found no words at all.
‘What did you do for the rest of the afternoon?’ Alex enquired at length, having flicked through the news sheet in silence, trimmed the wick on a guttering candle and picked up a skein of silk from the floor.
Hebe jumped guiltily as though he had demanded the name of her lover and said, ‘I was looking at the portraits in the Long Gallery.’
‘Indeed? What did you make of them?’
‘Some I thought were very fine as pictures, but the ones I liked best were those where you could see the real person there.’ She hesitated. ‘I liked the one of you with your parents and brother very much.’ He said nothing. ‘Your mother was so beautiful.’
‘Yes. She died soon after that was painted. Some sudden inflammation of the lungs. I do not think my father was ever quite the same again after that.’
‘It must have been terrible for you and your brother,’ Hebe said, her voice trembling at the thought of the effect on those two little boys all those years ago.
He nodded, apparently unwilling to speak of it, and Hebe had no intention of pressing him. Then he suddenly remarked, ‘It taught me to conceal my feelings. Perhaps too well.’ It seemed to her that his face softened, the hard lines relaxing until she could see the hurt and the anger beneath the skin.
What devil prompted Hebe to speak she had no idea. It was as though the question left her lips without any thought passing through her head at all. ‘Alex, do you not want children of your own? Do you not want heirs?’
His head came up and he looked at her with all the furious arrogance of the bird of prey she had likened him to in Malta. ‘I have heirs.’
‘You have?’ she faltered.
‘My father had two younger brothers. They have three surviving sons between them and I have lost count of the male grandsons: six, I think, at the last count. I have no need of heirs, Hebe. Believe me, the Beresford name is quite safe.’
‘I am sorry,’ she stammered, unsure what she was apologising for. ‘Will you excuse me? I feel rather tired, I will go to bed.’ She was aware of him getting to his feet, but she tossed her embroidery hoop on to the chair and walked swiftly from the room. Alex did not follow.
Once in her room she rang for Charity and went through the process of undressing and preparing for bed as though in a dream. Not until the maid had slipped her nightgown over her head did Hebe realise it was the exquisite bridal nightgown, just returned from laundering and fragrant with rose scent.
Somehow she got the girl out of the room before she gave way to tears. They were the first she had shed since marrying Alex, for she had resolved to find happiness where she could in this strange alliance and not to repine. But now, certain that he must be bitterly regretting ever having tied himself to this loveless, sterile, marriage, she turned her face into the soft lawn of her pillow and wept bitterly, without inhibition.
How long the tears lasted she had no idea, but she finally sat up, scrubbing at her wet face with the back of her hand and finding her mind clearer. And with that clarity came a growing sense of guilt as she thought back over the past few weeks.
Alex had offered her everything, including his absolute promise not to press on her demands he was certain would be repulsive to her. The only thing he had not given her was love. But how could he, if he had given it to someone else? How would I feel, this new, clear-headed Hebe wondered, if I knew Alex was lost to me entirely? Would I lightly tell someone else that I loved them? Of course not!
But she had demanded a love match and had made it clear that he had forced her to accept him because he could not offer her that. Hebe wrapped her arms around her bent knees and stared ahead into the candlelight.
Anna had told her that men did not have to love the woman they lay with. Why could she not put her high flights of sensibility behind her and go to Alex? She need not tell him she loved him and so make him feel sorry for her, she could simply let him see she craved his affection and nearness. If it made him feel better to make love to her, and if he knew she was not repulsed or frightened by him, surely they could only grow closer? And if she became pregnant again, however many nephews he had, surely he would be happy to have his own family?
Before she could explore this terrifying train of thought any more and lose her nerve Hebe threw back the covers and ran on bare feet to the door. She pulled it open abruptly and took a step back with a gasp as her action almost propelled Alex into the room.
Hebe realised he must have been standing close against the heavy panels, his hands pressed against them. With the reflexes of a cat he regained his balance on the threshold and stood, his hands either side on the door frame, his eyes dark and intense on her tearstained face.
‘Alex! What are you doing here?’
‘I heard you crying.’
‘But I stopped crying quite ten minutes ago.’
‘I know.’ He had been standing there, she realised, prevented by his promise from entering her room, yet unable to leave her weeping alone. Hebe saw he was wearing a long silk dressing gown, his feet bare on the boards.
