The Chadwick Ring Read online

  Bysshe’s reply was equally laconic, his gaze never wavering. “Thank you, sir. I understand we are to call on Grandmere today.”

  Chadwick nodded absently and returned his attention to his enrapt wife. Gently he eased her away from him. He surveyed her at arm’s length, his eyes stroking warmly over her slender figure. She blinked, her small face bemused and faintly disappointed. He patted her cheek and urged, “Go, my dear, fetch your hat and we’ll be on our way. My mother will be anxious to meet you.”

  “Yes, Richard,” she murmured, and she turned in the direction of her room. When she brushed past Bysshe, she glanced furtively at him, and something about his expression made her uneasy.

  In the open phaeton Ginevra sat sandwiched between her husband and his son. A freshening breeze had cleared the air, and the sun beat down on her jaunty straw bonnet, but she was most acutely aware of hard-muscled thighs pressing against her from either side. On her way out the door the butler had handed her the post, and to divert her attention from the disturbing nearness of the two men, she busied herself thumbing through the envelopes. After a moment she looked up in confusion. “These seem to be mostly invitations, but none of the names are familiar to me.”

  Chadwick took the cards and scanned them quickly. “No, you would not know these people, but I assure you they are anxious to meet you.” He grinned. “On our wedding day I warned you how it would be.” He riffled through the invitations a second time. “You should be flattered at the number of hostesses who have contrived to put together some form of entertainment for your benefit. Usually this late in the year everyone has retired to country homes or else Brighton or one of the other watering places.”

  “Then I collect we are reversing the normal process?”

  He shrugged. “To some extent. As it happens, I do have duties that require my presence in town now. I tried to get out of it, but the foreign minister insisted.”

  “You ought to be flattered that you are so indispensable,” Ginevra said.

  Chadwick snorted, “I think I would be more flattered if I were not needed. Ah, well, perhaps I should regard it as penance.” He selected one of the notes and handed it to her. “Here, why don’t you reply in the affirmative to this one? It will be all the way out in Greenwich, but Lady Thorndike’s card party should be innocuous enough. It will give you an opportunity to meet people without all the fal-lal of a formal debut.”

  “Thank you. I should prefer that.”

  “I thought you might. Just don’t let Jane Thorndike talk you into joining one of her everlasting committees. She can be very convincing. If you’re not careful she’ll have you teaching factory children to read or collecting clothing for the poor.”

  Over Ginevra’s head Bysshe glanced at the marquess. He muttered waspishly, “Maybe she could get you to join the Committee for the Suppression of Vice.”

  Ginevra gasped. At the sight of Chadwick’s clenched jaw, she interjected hastily, “I’ll look forward to meeting Lady Thorndike. I think her charitable work sounds most commendable.”

  “Oh, it is,” her husband agreed slowly, relaxing. “It’s just that I don’t want you taking on any duties right now. You’re here to rest and enjoy yourself.”

  Ginevra frowned. “Richard,” she ventured uncertainly, “truly I think I might enjoy myself more if I had something to do. All this ... this relaxation is becoming rather monotonous. It seems to me—”

  “It seems to me that this is something we should discuss later,” Chadwick said, noting the familiar gate just ahead. “We have nearly arrived at my mother’s house.” As he helped Ginevra stuff the letters into her reticule he said to Bysshe, who was scowling sulkily, “The invitation includes you, and I shall expect you to accompany us to the party. The Thorndikes have children about your age, and it’s high time you mixed with young people again. You’ve stayed secluded too long.” Before Bysshe could reply, the carriage pulled to a halt.

  Ginevra was uncertain just what she had expected of her husband’s mother: someone tall and stately, perhaps, with a long nose and an imperious expression—but certainly not this petite and fragile woman lounging on a divan floridly carved in the Egyptian style. Her apparent indolence was belied only by the sharp intelligence of her bright blue eyes. Bysshe stooped so that she could brush her lips across both his cheeks after the French manner, and the sweet smile he exchanged with his grandmother struck Ginevra as the first genuine look of happiness she had ever seen on his young face. Chadwick bent over his mother’s hand with courtly grace; then he caught Ginevra by the arm and nudged her forward. “Mother,” he said, his deep voice throbbing with a note his wife had never heard before, “this is Ginevra. Ginevra, I’d like you to meet my mother, Lady Helena Glover, Dowager Marchioness of Chadwick and Comtesse d’Alembert.”

  Lady Helena’s dark brows rose sharply. “Honestly, Richard,” she drawled, tipping her head so that her grizzled curls bounced, “if you insist on announcing me in the grand manner, you really should tap your staff on the floor and signal a flourish of trumpets. This is not a royal presentation, you know. You’re liable to terrify the child.” She held out a beckoning hand. “Come, my dear, let me take a look at you. Despite what that wretched boy of mine has told you, I don’t bite.”

  Ginevra slipped her hand into the frail grasp and gazed down at the woman, noting the piercing eyes so like Chadwick’s and the silvered hair that must have once been as black as his was now. Her husband’s mother. They were dissimilar in stature, but yes, she would have known, even had no one told her. Slowly she sank to her knees beside the divan. At close range she could see the translucent quality of Lady Helena’s skin, blue veins clearly visible, and her mind harkened with remembered pain to the last summer of her own mother’s life, when she had languished on the sofa at Dowerwood. As Ginevra leaned over to kiss Lady Helena’s cheek, her gold eyes flicked up to meet her husband’s intent stare, and in his grave expression she found the answer to her unspoken question.

  Tea was served, and the visit progressed without untoward incident. Bysshe seemed on his best behavior in his grandmother’s presence, and Chadwick watched indulgently as Lady Helena regaled Ginevra with her memories of the building of Dowerwood, at about the same time as Lady Helena’s arrival at the Glover estate as a bride. “The Gothic style was just coming into fashion,” she said, “and I always admired that house greatly. By contrast Queenshaven seemed a mouldering behemoth. I’m delighted that the properties have been joined now. I hope you spend many happy years there.” She spoke of summertime in Surrey, Christmas in London, the giddy whirlwind that had marked her debut and presentation. She spoke so eloquently that it was some time before Ginevra realized that not once did Lady Helena mention her husband, Chadwick’s father.

  She was beginning her account of a trip she had made once to Scotland with her late sister, a tedious and uncomfortable journey made even more unpleasant by their constant fear that at any moment highwaymen would swoop down upon them, when her butler announced the arrival of another guest, Jules Perrin. The doctor greeted them with surprise and pleasure, kissing both Lady Helena’s and Ginevra’s hands with an elegance of grace only emphasized by his slight limp. When Ginevra noticed him looking about surreptitiously, as if searching for another visitor, she murmured in an amused undertone, “Emma did not accompany me this time, monsieur. I thought she deserved an afternoon’s holiday.”

  Perrin frowned. “I trust Mademoiselle Jarvis is not unwell?”

  “Oh, no, of course not. Emma enjoys the best of health, but she has been very busy of late, and it seemed only fitting that she have some time to herself for a change. She made some mention of visiting the bookstores.”

  Perrin’s grey eyes showed their approval. “She is a very capable and diligent woman. I was most impressed by the assistance she gave me at your country home. Please—extend to her my regards.” Ginevra promised to do so, and the doctor turned to Chadwick and Bysshe. “With your permission, I plan to call upon you tomorrow, if t
hat is convenient. I think I ought to have one last look at that ear.”

  “I shall be busy,” Chadwick said; then he glanced at the boy, who was unconsciously rubbing the side of his head, as if to stave off remembered pain. “Bysshe, do you have any objection to—?”

  With a wave of her hand Lady Helena interjected, “Why don’t the three of you go upstairs and attend to that now?”

  “Ma chère Helene,” the doctor protested, “I did not mean to spoil—”

  “Oh run along, all of you. It will save your making a call tomorrow, and besides, Jules, I know you will refuse to relax and enjoy our company as long as you have medical matters on your mind.”

  Rather to Ginevra’s surprise, the men left the room without further demur. She sipped her tea and noted conversationally, “I like Dr. Perrin. I had almost given up hope for Bysshe before Richard brought him to Dowerwood.”

  Lady Helena agreed. “Jules is a very dedicated physician, and his qualifications are excellent. I doubt that I should have survived the journey back to England had he not agreed to accompany me.” She sighed. “I had hoped that he would find here some of the happiness that was so lacking for him in his homeland, but as yet I do not think he has. Despite Richard’s patronage, his practice is very small, and he is, I believe, rather lonely.”

  Ginevra ventured uncertainly, “It must be difficult for him to live among strangers, foreigners.”

  The dowager’s blue eyes darkened, and she scowled. “I expect Jules feels less alien in England than he did in the company of his own kind—the people who murdered his family.”

  Ginevra gasped, and her mother-in-law sighed heavily. “An old story, and not an uncommon one in France these days. Jules is of noble birth. By rights he should now be Chevalier de Beauclair, but during the Terror his parents and sister were killed by a mob that then proceeded to raze his ancestral home. Jules was only a child, and he was spirited away by servants loyal to the family. In the flight his leg was broken, and because they had escaped with nothing beyond the clothes on their backs, the only doctor they could find who would treat the boy was an incompetent quack who set the leg improperly, leaving Jules permanently lamed. I have always thought that Jules’s bitterness over his injury was one reason he studied medicine himself. He has a burning determination to provide the best care available to anyone who requires it, no matter how poor.”

  Ginevra was horrified by the tale, but she could not help observing dryly, “Madam, the Chadwick family can hardly be called poor.”

  Lady Helena laughed and poured herself a second cup of tea. As she stirred sugar into the steaming liquid with a vermeil teaspoon, she said, “No, my dear, but we can provide the support he requires if he is to benefit those who are truly needy. My late husband—Hemi, my second husband—was Jules’s patron prior to his death, and I have tried to carry on in his place. It has not always been easy: Jules is a very proud man, and he still carries within him the scars from his childhood.”

  After a pensive silence Lady Helena continued with seeming nonchalance, “Tell me, how do you get along with that son of mine?”

  “We ... contrive, my lady,” Ginevra said carefully.

  Lady Helena responded impatiently, “Don’t call me ‘my lady,’ I dislike such formality among family members. If you feel you cannot call me ‘Mother’ as Richard does, then ‘Lady Helena’ or perhaps belle-mere will suffice.”

  Ginevra blushed, touching her fingertips to her still-tender lips. Indeed, there were great similarities between her husband and his mother.

  The older woman watched her with speculation. She added gently, “Bysshe called me grandmere, and because of your age you might feel most comfortable with that. Unfortunately, I suspect Richard would not like it at all.” She paused, studying the girl closely. “You are so very young,” she said.

  Ginevra grimaced. “My youth is one deficiency that time will remedy soon enough—belle-mere.” She stumbled over the word. “I’m sorry, did I pronounce that correctly? I don’t speak French.”

  Lady Helena’s brows arched. “Not at all? I’m surprised your parents did not require your governess to teach you.”

  Color rose in Ginevra’s pale cheeks. “I didn’t have a governess,” she mumbled in embarrassment “I was running my father’s household, and there wasn’t enough ... time for formal studies. I made use of his library as much as I could, but there was none at hand who could tutor me in the usual niceties of a young woman’s education, such as French or drawing or playing the pianoforte.” Her hand began to tremble, and she set her cup and saucer on the low table before her, lest she humiliate herself further by spilling something.

  Lady Helena watched compassionately. “Forgive me, my dear,” she said sincerely, “I spoke without thinking. Richard has told me of the way you assumed your mother’s responsibilities after she died. He has spoken with great admiration of your devotion to your father and his tenants, abandoning your own childhood. I think now he would like to help you recapture some of the carefree days you missed before. He wants to spoil you a little.”

  Ginevra’s tawny eyes darkened. “Is that what he is doing? Indeed, I thought he was merely being arbitrary.”

  “I don’t doubt that it seemed that way to you,” Lady Helena said. “Glover men are notoriously peremptory, even when their intentions are the most laudable. Richard is no different, although he is much more amenable than, say, his father was.” She peered thoughtfully at Ginevra. “Just how much,” she asked slowly, “do you know about Richard’s father?”

  “Nothing at all, except that he died many years ago.”

  Lady Helena nodded. “Geoffrey succumbed to apoplexy when Richard was not much above the age you are now. I think his death was a blessed release.”

  “You mean he suffered some painful and lingering illness?”

  The dowager smiled ironically. “No, dear. Geoffrey was always a strong man, robust, still in his prime. I meant his death was a relief to everyone else.” She watched the color drain from Ginevra’s face. “You think that a hard! thing for me to say, don’t you?”

  Ginevra floundered, “Well, I suppose if a person were truly of an evil and irredeemable disposition...”

  Lady Helena said, “I would hesitate to call Geoffrey evil; that is not the correct word. He was not depraved, his: dissipations were quite normal—but he was proud, cold,, inflexible, and utterly impossible to live with.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” the older woman said, “it has nothing to do with you. And I managed to make a new life for myself after Geoffrey’s death.” She smiled gently, wistfully. “The happiness I found with Henri compensated for so much ... No, it is Richard who still suffers from his father’s foibles.” She fell silent, and her blue eyes clouded again with memories, unpleasant ones this time. “Geoffrey never asked, he demanded. He expected instant, unquestioning obedience to his every edict, no matter how unreasonable. Richard was his son and heir, his link to eternity, and as such he bore the brunt of his father’s strictures. Geoffrey tried to fashion the boy into a miniature of himself, and this was hard on Richard, for from a very early age he showed an intelligence and sensitivity lacking in his father, a compassion for the needs of others. I’ll never forget how once, when Geoffrey was having trouble with poachers, he ordered his gamekeeper to shoot any on sight. Richard, who was only nine or ten, ran ahead to warn off one of the tenants he had seen trespassing in the woods, a man with a great brood of hungry children. The man escaped, but Geoffrey and the keeper caught Richard beside a sprung trap, which was smeared with fresh blood. Geoffrey was in a rage, of course. When he ordered Richard to identify the poacher, the gamekeeper whispered for the boy to say that the man had fled before he got there. Instead he faced his father and declared, “I am not a liar. I know who did this, but I won’t tell,” and nothing, not even the beating his father gave him, could make him change his mind.” Lady Helena glanced sidelong at Ginevra. “Tell me, does he still carry those scars on h
is back?”

  Sickened, Ginevra muttered, “Not that I’ve noticed.”

  “Thank God. I’ve always been afraid that ...” Lady Helena paused, shaking her head sadly. “Men are so irrational. Geoffrey wanted a son just like himself, and when he got one, the two of them, both proud and obstinate men, made life hell for each other.”

  Ginevra watched the emotions that creased the woman’s face, aging her. She said gently, “It must have been very difficult for you, caught as you were in the middle.”

  “But I wasn’t in the middle. I wouldn’t fight. I retired from the battlefield very early—and for that I shall always feel guilty. Instead of helping my son, I nursed my own hurts—had I been of the Roman persuasion, I think I might have secluded myself in a convent—and I left Richard to face his father alone. I ought to have helped him. I could never have withstood Geoffrey on my own, but I should have given Richard some support, especially in the matter of Maria.” She reached for the teapot, scowling when she touched the cool surface. She rang a small crystal bell, and at its crisp tinkling sound a young maid appeared, who addressed her mistress in French. After the girl had borne away the silver salver to the kitchen, Lady Helena leaned back on the divan, wincing as she twitched an arthritic shoulder.

  Ginevra quickly crossed the narrow space separating her from her mother-in-law. She leaned over the low couch and with great care plumped up the cushions and adjusted Lady Helena’s shawl. The woman reached up and patted her cheek with a frail, bloodless hand, while her blue eyes searched Ginevra’s face anxiously. “You are a sweet child,” she murmured. “I wish my son had found someone like you when he was young. I think his whole life might have been different if he had not married Maria.”

  Ginevra was full of guilty curiosity about her husband’s first wife. “Then ... then you felt the marriage was not ... suitable?” she asked hesitantly, despising herself for prying.

  Lady Helena made a face. “Oh, it was suitable enough, on the surface. Maria was of fairly good family, her father was rich and more than willing to sell his daughter for a title. She was not unattractive—she was tall, and her coloring was much like Bysshe’s—and I thought it surprising that she had reached the age of twenty-one without! snaring a husband, but no one asked my opinion. I also thought sixteen was far too young for Richard to marry, and when Geoffrey and Maria’s father arranged the match between them, at first Richard was reluctant too. But Maria set out to dazzle him, and by the time of their wedding, the boy was wildly in love. I have no idea how long it took him to discover that Maria’s dash and sophistication had been acquired through intimate contact with half the men of the ton, but I do know that when she promptly became pregnant, an entry was placed in the betting book at White’s regarding the paternity of the child. Thank God even as an infant poor Tom was the image of Richard!”