TheEnglishHeiress Read online

  “Be kind to her,” Roger urged softly as he parted from his stepmother. “She has lost everything, every person who was ever dear to her. Life has been so cruel to her…”

  “Go to bed, Roger,” Lady Margaret replied, almost sharply. “I assure you I am not wantonly unkind to anyone.”

  Moreover, there was not the slightest need for Lady Margaret to be unkind to Leonie. It became obvious within hours of the girl’s wakening that Roger was the lodestar of her existence. She was not interested in her inheritance, beyond the need for reassurance that she would not be a burden to anyone. Lady Margaret tested and probed, but she could find no flaw in the girl’s character. Balls and parties? “Yes, oh yes,” Leonie replied absently, and then with animation, “Will Roger be there?” Dresses and jewels? “Will Roger like it?” Within days Lady Margaret found that the only way to get Roger out of Leonie’s head and off her lips for even a few hours at a time was to assure her that she could have Roger whenever she wanted him.

  “May I write to him to come and get me today?” Leonie asked immediately, eyes brightening.

  “No!” Lady Margaret exclaimed, and laughed. “It is not decent! There are two hurdles to get over before you can marry. First of all, people will say it was a conspiracy to swallow your fortune into our family. Very nasty things will be said about Roger, and about my husband, who is your Uncle Joseph’s executor, if you are not presented and given an opportunity to receive other offers. Then too, Roger is afraid you are so grateful to him that you do not realize he is much older than you. He wants you to have a chance to meet other men so that you will be sure—”

  “I am perfectly sure. I am not such a fool that I do not know love from gratitude.”

  “I think you do, my dear,” Lady Margaret said. “The trouble is, you must convince him, and he will never be convinced until he knows you have had a choice and still prefer him.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lady Margaret had convinced Leonie that she had to convince Roger the long way. She introduced her to English fashion and English manners, made sure she knew the steps to the latest dances, gave her experience in local balls and assemblies, and then took her to London in the Season and introduced her to society. The only thing she did not bother to explain, because she could not imagine Leonie would be ignorant of it, having come as she did from the French aristocracy, was how Roger might occupy himself while Leonie was being displayed on the marriage market. She did not herself mention that Roger had a new barque of frailty in tow, but other members of the family were not so reticent.

  April passed into May and May into June. London got hotter and stickier. Sir Joseph complained that he was getting hoarse first presenting offers of marriage to Leonie and then explaining to the disappointed suitors that he had no power over Leonie’s choices and could do nothing to force her to accept a proposal no matter how advantageous. Leonie had waited happily in the beginning for Roger to begin his formal courtship, then wept and grew furious over his indifference. To her it seemed clear that Lady Margaret had been mistaken. Roger did not wish to marry her—or probably, any woman. Lady Margaret herself had been somewhat puzzled by her stepson’s behavior, but then she called herself a fool. Naturally Roger would not wish to be one among the mass of Leonie’s suitors. After she had rejected them, he would approach her in the decent privacy of his father’s home and settle the matter.

  It was a pity that no one except Sir Joseph verbalized his complaints. Leonie did not dare speak of her doubts, partly because she did not want them confirmed and partly because she did not want to place Lady Margaret and Sir Joseph, who were always so kind to her, in the position of pressing their son to do something he did not wish to do. She thus had no outlet for her fear and her frustration. Always now, when she thought of Roger, he was talking to, laughing with, caressing a shadowy, indistinct form. That shadow tormented her, until at last she decided she had to meet Roger’s new inamorata.

  Events played into her hands only a few days later. One of Roger’s half sisters complained bitterly to Lady Margaret that Roger had refused to escort a woman friend of hers to the opera that evening, and when she had asked him what better he had to do, he had replied that he was going to Vauxhall Gardens. Lady Margaret had changed the subject so abruptly at that point that Leonie realized Roger would take his mistress there. She pretended she did not understand at the time, but she had slipped away from the ball she was attending that evening with a rather wild young gentleman, whom she had convinced it would be a great “adventure” to go to the Gardens and get back before the ball was over.

  She did accomplish that, and by insisting on a restless wandering “to see it all”, she even managed to come face-to-face with Roger and his woman. She did not pretend disinterest or indifference. She examined Roger’s mistress swiftly from head to toe then looked questioningly at her former lover. He had gone as red as fire when they first met, now, seconds later, he was as pale as ashes. Leonie began to put out her hand to him, but he pulled his companion roughly away.

  Although her absence at the ball was not detected, the adventure was not without repercussions. The following afternoon Lady Margaret burst into Leonie’s room and remonstrated quite heatedly with her for slipping off to such a place without a chaperon and, even worse, being so vulgar as to confront Roger and his mistress. Respectable women with proper upbringings did not do such things. It was their duty to remain blind and deaf to the casual sexual promiscuity of their mates.

  “But I wanted to see her,” Leonie wept. “She is very beautiful. And if Roger loves her—”

  “Roger does not care a farthing for her, nor she for him,” Lady Margaret snapped. “Don’t be such a ninny! Men have needs and must satisfy them. It had nothing to do with you. Oh, why were you so foolish! I was just about to tell Joseph to complain to Roger that you have rejected every offer made, but now he is so furious—”

  “Sir Joseph is angry too?” Leonie asked faintly.

  “Not Joseph!” Lady Margaret raged. A good part of her fury was that her husband would not take the matter seriously. He had nearly had a fit laughing over the confrontation, chortling that the girl showed a fine spirit and it served Roger right. “It is Roger who is in a temper. Who do you think told us of this insanity of yours?”

  Leonie’s tears dried. “Roger is angry? But why? I would have been civil. If he does not want me—”

  “Oh, you silly chit! I’ve told you already that a casual amour has nothing to do with you. Men—”

  “Not my man,” Leonie said quietly.

  Lady Margaret opened her mouth to scold again, then closed it and swallowed. She had often wondered whether Roger had embroidered Leonie’s adventures out of the same doting fondness that had made him, in the beginning, turn all Solange’s faults into “charming ways”. Leonie had been so placid and docile, so sweet and biddable, all the time she had been with them that Lady Margaret found it difficult to believe she could face a riot or shoot an attacker in the head. Now she doubted no longer. The yellow eyes were as bright, fierce and merciless as a she-wolf’s, and the sweet lips were hard and thin. She said nothing else, not even when Leonie rudely turned away from her. Without another word, Lady Margaret left the room.

  Leonie was not conscious that she had been rude. Her own words had sparked a decision in her. If Roger was her man, she had waited long enough for him—but was he? Leonie reconsidered her whole relationship with him and came to the conclusion that either Roger was being singularly and idiotically quixotic—it had never occurred to her that he might feel ridiculous courting her among a crowd of other suitors after what had existed between them—or he was utterly cruel and depraved. If the latter were true, it was time she knew it and stopped longing for him. That was easy enough to decide, because Leonie could not believe it. She had lived with Roger for more than two years, and in all that time no single spark of cruelty had marred his actions. On the other hand, she had evidence enough of his willingness to tilt at windmills.


  Leonie sighed. Lady Margaret was right. She had been a fool to make Roger angry. The last time she had made him angry… A blush suffused Leonie’s face as she recalled the lovemaking that had followed their quarrel. Then she grew pale and then red again. Had Roger taken out his temper on his new companion in the same way? Leonie snarled like her namesake. To waste himself on a slut Lady Margaret said did not care for him! Idiot!

  The more she thought about it, the more Leonie became convinced that Lady Margaret was quite right about one thing. Roger was almost certainly avoiding her to prevent even a breath of scandal rising about her rescue. As for the mistress, she served a dual purpose. She was a sign to Leonie that Roger was not lonely and Leonie need not worry about him; and of course, men did have needs. That made Leonie grind her teeth with rage. Idiot! What about her needs? Did Roger think a woman could turn her body off and on as one could snuff and relight a candle?

  The Season was almost over. When it was, Roger would be out of her reach. Lady Margaret would take her to Bath or to some popular watering place for the summer. Philip would be home for the long vacation and Roger would be with the boy. Leonie had not the smallest wish to separate Roger and his son. Far from it! She had very much looked forward to Philip’s company. She liked boys. It would have been a little like having François returned to her.

  Now the dreary summer stretched ahead—more balls, more card parties, more meaningless flirting and gossip. No! Leonie did not care if she never saw a member of the ton again. She had had enough of Roger’s foolishness. He had loved her. Even if Lady Margaret was not right about his continued desire to marry her, even if his passion had cooled, Leonie could see no reason why Roger should waste himself on a succession of indifferent, expensive women. She could provide everything they could, and she would cost less. She wanted him; they wanted only his money. Whether or not he loved her, it was obvious that Roger did not want to marry anyone else. Therefore, Leonie decided, it would be best that he should marry her, and without any more nonsense.

  The decision made, the rest was both easy and complicated. Leonie knew that Sir Joseph had a set of keys to Roger’s rooms. She also knew that Sir Joseph had very regular habits. For an hour before dinner he would be safely sequestered in his dressing room. Leonie rang for her maid and told her she had a sick headache. She would take some laudanum and sleep. She did not wish to be called for dinner. Naturally enough, this brought Lady Margaret anxiously offering comfort. Leonie was not to fret herself. She was sorry she had scolded her. Roger had the sweetest disposition; he would soon be over his temper. No real harm had been done.

  Leonie accepted these assurances with simulated drowsiness and said she was sure she would feel better after she had slept. Having disposed of Lady Margaret, Leonie sprang from the bed with a hushed trill of laughter, locked her door, and began to alter a bonnet and light pelisse for her adventure. When she was sure everyone was busy either dressing for dinner or with duties connected with it, Leonie stole from her room and down to Sir Joseph’s study. He was a most methodical man, and Leonie found Roger’s keys neatly labeled in the drawer with all the others.

  Then it was simple enough to walk out of the house. On the main street that passed the square in which Sir Joseph’s London house stood, Leonie hailed a cab. Twinkling with laughter, she told him to take her to the nearest posting inn. There she knew she could obtain a meal without raising remark. Young ladies of the best quality did not travel unescorted, of course, but less fortunate females—governesses and ladies’ maids, for example—were often constrained to do so. Thus, no eyebrows were raised when Leonie entered the inn, seated herself at a table, and ordered a meal.

  It was not the elaborate dinner that would have been presented at Sir Joseph’s table, and the surroundings were a far cry from the quiet elegance of his dining room. Nonetheless, Leonie enjoyed herself hugely. She had not realized how much her uncertainty about Roger had weighed on her spirit. Now that she was determined to have him—and honorable idiot that he was, she knew her trap would work—everything she saw and heard was a delight. She ate her dinner with excellent appetite, quite slowly, pleased that the bonnet, from which she had removed all trimming and stiffening, gave her so seedy and dowdy and appearance that no one even glanced in her direction.

  When she had finished, she paid and then thoughtfully purchased two newspapers that were being hawked in the inn yard. Probably it would be some time before Roger returned home. It would be just as well to have something to read. After that, she hailed another cab and gave Roger’s address. It was unlikely he would dine at home—single gentlemen seldom did so. Perhaps he would be already dressed for the evening. That would mean his valet would be free too, and the rooms would be empty. If Roger intended to come home to change, the valet might be in the apartment. Leonie hoped she could let herself in silently enough so that she would not attract his attention.

  Actually, the better of the two chances was true. Roger was dining and spending the evening with his eldest half brother, so that Leonie’s plans moved without a hitch. She was able to let herself into Roger’s lodging quietly, and it was quite empty. She had plenty of time to examine the whole apartment, to determine where the servant’s quarters were and where she could best conceal herself it the valet should return. This event did occur, but it did not discommode Leonie. Her bolt-hole was quite secure, but she scarcely needed to have concealed herself since the valet did no more than turn down Roger’s bed and fill the carafe on the bedside table with fresh water.

  Poor Roger had had a far less pleasant day than Leonie, even if one included the scolding she had received from Lady Margaret. No comment Lady Margaret made on Leonie’s behavior could compare with what Roger said to himself about his own. Although he had been telling himself for some time that he had no chance, that Leonie, besieged by offers from far more appropriate suitors, would soon settle on one among them, he had never really given up hope. And as he saw men previously courting Leonie begin to avoid her and realized they had been rejected, that hope had started to grow. As soon as the Season is over, he told himself, if she has not accepted someone, I will ask if she will have me.

  Now he knew it was finished. He could not guess what evil fate had brought them face-to-face under such circumstances—if Roger had guessed Leonie was looking for him he would have been much angrier and much happier. Unable at first to blame himself and incapable of laying the blame on Leonie where it belonged, he had turned on his mistress, quarreled with her, slammed a substantial roll of bills into her hand, and bade her a final goodbye. She was neither surprised nor distressed, having realized from the beginning of their affair that Roger’s mind was elsewhere, whatever his body was doing. It was rather a relief than otherwise. Her pride in her work had been sorely tried by Roger’s indifference, and her nerves had been set on edge by wondering whether each day she saw him would be the last.

  The next morning, equally naturally, Roger was furious with his useless and expensive gesture. He had parted with a prize pullet for no good reason. It was not the sort of thing he could tell Leonie he had done, nor furious as she must be, would she care. He remembered sickly how he had assured her, when she had been jealous, that there would never be another woman. He would never be able to convince her that this had meant nothing. Sure he had lost Leonie, he tried to block her out of his mind, and he lay abed alternately cursing himself for becoming involved with a presentable lightskirt, he could have contented himself with whores, and for dismissing her after the damage had been done.

  Then he began to rack himself for not acting faster in Vauxhall when he first saw Leonie. Perhaps he could have avoided her, but he had been so surprised, so struck with longing when she suddenly turned into the path he was walking along, that he stood stock-still, staring at her instead of getting out of the way. The only effect of these useless regrets was to make Roger late for his first appointment of the day. That had been unpleasant enough in itself, because he had refused to defend a so-called ge
ntleman in a breach of promise suit. This friend of a friend was now insisting on making Roger explain his refusal. Since he had himself told Roger he was guilty, in a rather drunken conversation they had had at the common friend’s house, the situation was unusually delicate.

  The interview was even more unpleasant than Roger expected. His would-be client simply refused to understand why Roger should care that he was in fact, guilty. The girl, he said pointedly, was a nobody. He grew quite abusive when Roger at last convinced him that, in his eyes at least, the law was not subject to class differences. If a man were guilty, he was guilty no matter who the injured party was.

  The day had not improved after that either. Roger found his clerks idiotic, his colleague vapid, and his friends annoying. It occurred to him, after nearly choking on a superlative dinner in his half brother Arthur’s house, where he usually enjoyed himself greatly, that the fault was not in the day but in himself. Acknowledgment brought a kind of release. The image of Leonie flowed into his mind, and he welcomed the pain it brought. Even pain was better than the emptiness he had to impose upon himself to exclude her.

  “What the devil’s the matter with you, Roger?” Arthur had asked. “If you don’t want to stand for parliament, then don’t. I thought after your experiences in France you’d have some valuable ideas for that crowd of halfwits in the Commons, but it’s nothing to look so tragic over.”

  “Sorry, Arthur, I didn’t even hear you. I don’t—I’ve got something on my mind.”

  “So I see,” Arthur replied. “In fact, you look as if whatever you’ve got there is pretty indigestible.” He drew Roger from the drawing room into the corridor beyond. “Look, don’t stay if you don’t want to. No one will notice you’ve gone in this madhouse. We can talk about it some other time.”