Chapter Eight
Farther down the line of the dance, another pair were not nearly so approving of how Valentine and Lord Marbeck danced together. Lady Amelia had long since made up her mind to marry Lord Marbeck. She found him attractive, he was wealthy and a nobleman, and she had indulged in some agreeable flirtation with him. He was notoriously a man not to be caught in any woman’s matrimonial net, but she knew, for one of her brothers had told her, that the bets were being laid in the clubs that this time flirtation might turn to something more serious.
And why should it not? She was far prettier than that gypsy he was dancing with, all dark hair and flashing dark eyes. She was as well born as he was; she had a good portion…That thought made her frown, for her own fortune was not near a hundred thousand pounds, a sum large enough to tempt any man. Although probably not Marbeck, whose own wealth was considerable enough for him to marry where he chose.
As the dance came to an end, Amelia and Sir Richard Brindley exchanged glances. He said, knowing his words would wound, “Marbeck seems mightily taken with Miss Welburn. What a waste, that her substantial fortune should be added to his own immense one.”
Amelia said, “He is a good friend of Lord Mountjoy’s; I daresay he is only dancing with her out of politeness.”
She spoke with an air of indifference, but Sir Richard was not taken in. In truth, Amelia had seen a warmth in Lord Marbeck’s eye as he bowed to Miss Welburn that she didn’t like at all.
She said, “Would not Miss Welburn make a good wife for you, Sir Richard? I know you would like to marry an heiress.”
“She is not the kind of woman I would willingly choose for a wife. She has a wildness to her that appeals, but it could never make for domestic happiness. No, Amelia, do not glare at me for complimenting another woman. Miss Welburn does not have your looks, but believe me, there is a vital charm to her that attracts men. But for me, her most attractive feature—and one that overrides her rather strange background—is the size of her fortune. I could rub along with a wife if I had control of a fortune so substantial as hers. Especially since, once married, I need not see very much of her. I have my own way of spending my time.”
Lady Amelia, despite her carefully cultivated air of fragility, was no fool. She had been brought up in a masculine household with five brothers and an irascible father, so she knew a good deal more about the habits and inclinations of men than most young women of her age and breeding. She knew where Sir Richard’s tastes lay, and she pitied the woman who might marry him, but she owed nothing to Miss Welburn and cared not a jot whether she might have an unhappy marriage. What was that to her?
“You had best go and ask her for a dance, then. Everyone in the room will by now know the size of her fortune, and there will be no getting near her.”
“Oh, I have plenty of address, and besides, I can claim her as an old acquaintance.”
Which he shortly did, shouldering his way through the little throng of people who were gathered around Valentine, bowing with an indolent air, and saying, “I cannot hope that you will remember me, Miss Welburn.”
He quizzed her with his eyes. She flushed, lowered her own eyes, caught her lip, and then, recovering, said, “Why, Captain Brindley, what an uncommon pleasure to meet you again. Of course, I remember you well.”
Very well indeed, for this was a man she had once lost her heart to—or thought she had. A dashing captain with the reputation of being a gallant officer, he was a general favourite in Calcutta: handsome in his regimentals, well liked by fellow officers, a good dancer, an agreeable companion. Her father, wiser in the ways of the world, had warned her against him. “Everyone likes him, but he does not have a reputation for being a good friend in adversity, and his gallantry in the field has sometimes been at the expense of his own men. You must be aware that people are very often taken at their own valuation, and while he may be good to dance with, do not be taken in by him.”
Those words of advice only made her more determined to like Captain Brindley, and during that season they rode together on the maidan and danced and went on expeditions, always properly chaperoned and accompanied, until she was in a fair way to falling in love with him. She knew her father wouldn’t give his consent, and since she was eighteen, she couldn’t marry without his permission. An elopement was spoken of, and Valentine, ignoring the warnings of her mind, was all set to follow her heart into making a fateful decision.
Then an officer in Richard Brindley’s regiment—an older, more experienced man—took the opportunity to ride with Valentine one morning and told her some things about Captain Brindley that, unlike her father’s warning, cast doubts into her mind. Brindley, he said, was a fortune hunter, a man with heavy debts, a gamester with a damaging reputation where women were concerned. “In short, Valentine, you will not be offended when I tell you that he is not the kind of man of which good husbands are made. I fear you may be planning to throw your bonnet over the windmill, as the saying is, and I most strongly advise you not to. Apart from the distress it would bring your father, such a connection will bring you nothing but unhappiness.”
“Are you saying that if I had not my fortune, he would not be showing any interest in me?”
“It is right for every man to marry to his advantage, but I think his dealings with women have been unfortunate. I will be blunt: there have been stories of violence that he has shown toward women. He has a dominating nature, and there are some men who like to inflict pain. I would be very distressed to see you tied to such a man.”
Valentine had not been convinced; she thought the colonel had been put up to this by her father. Then word reached her of how Captain Brindley had beaten a dog, and she remembered the colonel’s words. A man who would beat any powerless creature must be contemptible, and she could see it would not be so great a step from beating a dog to beating a woman, even a wife.
She had known a woman, married to a government official, who would appear with faint bruises, always the result of a fall or her clumsiness, but Valentine’s father had told her that it was not so. She had been horrified and angry at this revelation. “It should not be allowed. The man should be taken into custody, and his wife must leave him.”
Her father had said, sombrely for him, that it was almost impossible for a wife to escape an unhappy marriage; particularly so far from home, without any family to take issue with her husband and protect her. “That is why marriage is a serious business, Valentine, my dear. You put your well-being—and, indeed, your life—into the hands of a man when you marry, so you must make quite sure that he is to be trusted.”
Now, in London, Valentine danced with Sir Richard, for she felt it would have looked singular not to do so. He seemed to have made the same good impression here as he had in India: He was greeted by everyone with smiles and cheerful words, he was suave and polished, and told her that she must not address him as Captain Brindley. “I sold out, you know, upon coming into a title and inheritance. I am now Sir Richard, and I have a pleasant estate with an old manor house. I hope you will do me the honour of paying me a visit there one day, for it is only a short ride out of London.”
Valentine smiled politely, but knew she did not want to renew the acquaintance more than common politeness demanded. Any feelings she had for Brindley had perished utterly on that unforgettable day in far-off Calcutta when the veil had fallen from her eyes. So she smiled and said he was very obliging.
Lord Marbeck said to Lady Mountjoy, “Your protégé seems to be enjoying Sir Richard’s company.”
Eliza’s mouth tightened, “I expect they are old acquaintances from India, but that is not a friendship I wish to see prosper.”
He raised an eyebrow and said, “You are a woman of great good sense, Lady Mountjoy. I would not like to see any woman in the clutches of Sir Richard. His reputation—”
“I know something of his reputation—not from my own experience, I hasten to add, but from what Mountjoy has told me. But I cannot see that Valentine is taken in by him. She is not dancing with the ease or the good humour that she showed when she was dancing with you.”